Page 8 of The Arrangement

Chapter 4

Maksim

Dinner with the love of my life. What more could a father want?

As I sit across from Adelina, my four-year-old girl, her excitement fills the room. The soft glow of the dining room chandelier dances in her eyes as she chatters about her day, about the ballet recital she's been tirelessly preparing for. Her enthusiasm is infectious, even to a man like myself, accustomed to concealing his emotions behind a veil of calculation and control.

"Papa, Ms. Elena says I'm getting better. She says I might be ready for the solo part!" Adelina's voice is full of hope and pride, her small hands gesturing with every word she speaks.

I can't help but see her mother, Ana, in her in these moments—her grace, her passion for dance. It's both a comfort and a pang of loss. "That's wonderful, Ade. Your mother would have been so proud to see you dance," I say, my voice steady, despite the turmoil Ana's memory always stirs within me.

Adelina's smile falters for a moment, a shadow of sadness crossing her features. "Do you think Mama can see me from where she is?"

I pause, the weight of her question grounding me. "Yes, I believe she can. And I know she's very proud of you, just like I am."

She nods, accepting this, and quickly bounces back to her usual bubbly self. "I'm going to practice every day so I can be the best!"

"Being the best requires discipline and hard work. I have no doubt you'll achieve whatever you set your mind to," I encourage, my words deliberate, aimed to instill the values that have guided my own path—though I hope hers will be far less fraught with shadows.

Adelina giggles, clearly pleased with the conversation. "Will you come to see me dance?"

"Nothing could keep me away," I assure her.

My commitments to the family business are always secondary to the promises I make to her. It's a balance, a careful orchestration of priorities that few in my position might understand. But Adelina is my number one, a fact I've made abundantly clear to everyone, from my father to the men who operate under me.

As Adelina chatters on, her excitement about the ballet recital painting her features with a joy I rarely allow myself to feel, I can't help but draw parallels between her and her mother. "You're so much like your mother," I find myself saying.

"Why do you say that, Papa?" Adelina asks, curiosity lighting up her eyes. “Is it because we’re both dancers?”

"It's not just the dancing," I explain, watching her closely. "You have her smile, Ade. The same one that could light up a room." As the comparison settles between us, her smile falters into a sigh.

"I wish I could remember her," she murmurs, a shadow of longing crossing her young face.

Irina, our matronly housekeeper and Adelina's de facto nanny, chooses that moment to step in. Her timing, as always, is impeccable. She catches the tail end of our conversation, and her expression shifts into one I've come to know all too well—the look that says she believes it's high time I find a wife, a mother figure for Adelina.

“Alright, Ade,” she says, her Russian accent thick. “Time to get ready for bed. If you cooperate, we can have a little sherbet before I tuck you in.”

“Yay!”

Irina takes Adelina upstairs and I’m left alone with my thoughts. The day is over for my little girl, but there’s still business to attend to for myself. My father wishes to meet with me, to have one of his little meetings that I wonder, at times, are more about demanding my time than actual necessity.

I prepare myself an espresso, my mind already shifting gears to the tasks awaiting me. Irina comes down a bit later, likely off to the kitchen for Ade’s dessert.

"I'll be home late," I inform her.

"You know, a beautiful wife would keep you home more," she retorts, a smile on her lips.

I laugh. "Irina, why don't you just marry me and solve all our problems?"

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, as they say. Now, shoo. Don’t keep that grump of a father of yours waiting.” Adelina's voice calls out for her, pulling her attention away from our banter.

Once alone, I glance at my watch, the sleek hands indicating it's time to shift gears from family to business. I leave the warmth of home behind, stepping out into the crisp Chicago evening.

The drive to my father's place isn't long, but the few miles span a world apart. We both reside in an exclusive gated community in Lake Forest, a haven for Chicago's elite. His mansion dwarfs my own spacious, five-bedroom home, a silent testament to the hierarchy within our family, though I've never felt lacking—not in space or in stature.

As I navigate the familiar route, the grandiosity of my father's residence looms ahead, its opulence a sharp contrast to the simpler, albeit comfortable, life Adelina, Irina, and I lead. Aleksey, my ambitious half-brother, also calls this affluent neighborhood home, though our paths seldom cross outside the obligatory family gatherings.

The security detail outside of my father’s estate recognizes my car immediately, waving me through with a nod of respect. Tiffany, my father's wife and Aleksey's mother, greets me at the door. Her appearance, ever the epitome of luxury and cosmetic perfection, prompts the customary exchange of pleasantries as I peck her Botoxed cheek—a gesture of politeness rather than affection.

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