“I would imagine an alliance between the two families would be powerful.”

Juliette gave her a shrewd look. “Very much so. And I suspect that’s why Grigory has dangled your mother’s portrait to lure you to his villa.”

A slight chill ran up Kira’s spine at Juliette’s word choice. The woman was Maltese and fluent in both of the country’s official languages. She knew all the nuances of English, and the word lure was no mistake.

“Reuben isn’t happy I’ve returned from the dead. Is Grigory?”

“I believe he is pleased. But I’m so curious about that. Is it true you didn’t know? All these years?”

Kira looked down into her own bowl of gelato, which was almost empty, as she gauged how to answer. Juliette certainly had her own cards to play in this game with her billionaire consort. This was a fact-gathering mission for her as well, even if she was just the liaison.

She finally looked up and gave a truth that didn’t answer the question. “I always knew there was…something. My mother was hiding. She was Russian. I assumed she defected without going through legal channels.” She shrugged. “Which, in a way, is the truth.”

She touched Juliette’s hand. “But I really want to know everything you can tell me about my father…Conrad, I mean.”

“I met him around the time Reuben purchased the gallery. Reuben planned a big show to launch and establish himself on the scene here. He hired Conrad to convince several of his connections to either sell or loan a work from their collection to the gallery. Your father’s knowledge of—and access to—private collections is unparalleled.”

Kira mentally changed the is to was, but didn’t interrupt.

“I think a lot of people were eager to help launch the gallery, because it gave them a chance to show off their favorite works and they got to hobnob with other collectors while drinking Reuben’s champagne. A few artists, like me, were given the opportunity to submit works for sale. I had only ever been featured in small galleries at the time. And that night was the first time I sold a piece for over fifty thousand euros.”

Now she sold works for three times that and didn’t need a billionaire boyfriend to support her. Kira understood why she would choose not to allow Grigory to purchase her most expensive works. She needed her big sales to be attached to a person who wasn’t sleeping with her if she was going to be able to continue to command high prices for her art.

“It was your father who instructed Reuben to show my work, and it was there that I met Grigory. When I say I’m thankful to Conrad, I mean it.”

Kira’s heart squeezed with a blast of grief that for a moment eclipsed the anger. She touched Juliette’s arm. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

She needed to return the focus to the oligarchs. The clock was ticking.

“Did Conrad get along with Grigory and Reuben?”

Juliette cocked her head as she considered the question. “I’m not certain he liked Reuben. Conrad was Luka’s crony. Grigory is a decade younger than Luka, but, like Luka, he’s head of the family, so the two of them were aligned in a way that cut Reuben out, until recently.”

“What changed?”

“I’m not sure.” She leaned closer. “I’m sure you’re aware of Malta’s influx of Russian residents. But Luka, he’s the elder statesman in that regard, given that he’s lived here for half the year for over thirty years. They brought their Russian hierarchy with them, and Russian power in Malta goes through Luka. I’ve wondered if Reuben is planning his own coup.”

“And you think Grigory is backing Reuben against his father?” Rand asked.

She shrugged. “I’ve said too much.” She touched Kira’s hand. “But only because it could matter to you if the rumors are true.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I mean, it doesn’t really matter to the rest of us, the power plays of Russians in Malta. They play their little games and strut like they’re a big deal. I figure if it stops them from buying and destroying a useful social media network so they can feel important, let them play.”

Kira let out a sharp laugh. “Better that they spend their money on art.”

Juliette grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”

Much as she wished she could believe Juliette’s take that the power games of oligarchs were harmless, Kira knew the truth. These men weren’t fighting over who got to be the big man on a small island. The stakes were much higher.

All at once, Juliette’s previous statement hit her. “What rumors?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said it could matter to me if the rumors are true. What rumors?”

Juliette’s gaze flicked to Rand, and her lips pressed tight.

Kira read her meaning and looked to Rand. She nodded toward the door, asking without words for him to give them a moment.

Rand rose and kissed her forehead before stepping out of the sweet shop.

“He’s certainly good-looking, but are you sure you can trust him?” Juliette said.

Kira maintained the very real dreamy look Rand inspired, knowing it would make her seem foolish in the other woman’s eyes. At this point, she wanted everyone to underestimate her. Even Rand needed to present a condescending front. Kira was a pawn in everybody’s game.

The role worked for her. 

“He’s fun. Just what I needed for this trip.” She let out a happy sigh.

“That good?”

“Better.”

Juliette’s gaze turned to the window beyond which Rand stood eating his melting treat. “Hmmm.”

“Hey, now. He’s mine.”

“That kind of thing goes both ways.”

“Grigory? He’s too old for me.”

“Age and billions are great equalizers.”

“I promise you, I have no interest in your…” Words like boyfriend sounded juvenile for couples in their sixties, and she didn’t want to insult Juliette with the wrong term. After an uncomfortable pause, she said, “Partner.”

“I suppose that’s better than being his mistress, but it implies an equality that doesn’t exist in Grigory’s world.”

“Then why are you with him? You don’t need his money.”

Juliette nodded toward the window beyond which Rand stood in the Gozo heat. “Why are you with the himbo?”

Kira let out a sharp laugh. The folks back at Little Creek were going to love that. “I’m on vacation, and he’s good in bed.”

“Well, that’s something. As for me…we would have married after his wife died, but his son hates me.” She looked up at the ceiling. “In the beginning, the last thing I wanted was marriage. I was glad he had a wife and two children. They spent most of their time in Russia. They were his responsibility. I was his fun.”

She shrugged. “But then his daughter died, and his wife and son moved to Gozo full time. She drank to oblivion until one night she drowned in their pool. It might have been an accident. Or it was suicide. I think it was a little of both. But during that time, and every day since, I was no longer his fun. I was his support.