“Voi helvetti!”

  Viktor flicks on the light switch in his penthouse and nearly dies of a heart attack. There Alex sits in the dark, - on his favorite chair, mind you - legs crossed like the cheesiest comic book supervillain ever.

  She takes a finger to her tongue, dampening it before turning the page on a magazine - One where he looks particularly exquisite on the cover, if he does say so himself - situated on her lap, ignoring him.

  “Were you reading in the dark?” He hangs his jacket up on the coat rack.

  “I have impeccable eyesight.” she replies, eyes still trained on the magazine.

  This is his house goddammit, and he was going to wrench control back if it killed him. Hands in his pockets, gait nonchalant, he strolls to the bar in the corner of the room, and pours himself a glass of high grade Vodka.

  He'd offer Alex some, but struggling to get the attention of the person you are in the middle of a power play against, does not a tycoon make. Instead he corks the bottle back and angles himself, so he has a vantage point of the entire living room.

  “How did you get in?”

  “The window.” she says, short and sweet. “I was returning the favor.” For Christ's sake, her head is still buried in that God forsaken magazine.

  “We are 74 storeys up.”

  “That,” She flips a page. Again. “is honestly not my business. We need to talk.”

  Viktor waits an agonizing 5 minutes for her to start the proceedings. She has started to linger more on the pages now, holding a page mid-flip to read something that just so happens to catch her eyes at the last moment. He has thrown back two glasses of vodka already, any more and he might be a bit drunk - Yes, it was that potent - to properly deliberate with her, what is basically a life or death situation for him.

  He sets the cup down on the bar a bit aggressively, striding to where Alex is seated. He wrenches the magazine from her hands and tosses it. Where it ends up, he doesn't care.

  She steeples her hands on her still crossed legs, and lets a patronizing smirk slip onto her face. “Rude.”

  “I've read that magazine front to back fifteen times. It is not that intriguing.” He bites out.

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  “You sent an assassin after me.” She says apropos of nothing.

  Viktor blinks startled at the conversation change for a second, before schooling his face into something neutral.

  “I have no idea what you're talking about.” He lies convincingly.

  “Oh, cut the crap.” Alex says, uncrossing her legs and lifting off the chair. She paces the length of the living room, stopping to swipe a finger the entire length of the bar, inspecting said finger with a frown. “I had a really nice talk with him, intention to kill notwithstanding.”

  He had been caught out. Continuing to lie would not turn out well.

  “Can you blame me?” He takes his favorite chair, the one she's just vacated, trying not to wiggle too much in Alex's periphery. “You did threaten me.”

  “For good reason, Mr Novik. For a damn good reason.” She growls.

  Point one for Viktor being able to elicit a reaction from her. He pats himself mentally on the back. “If you're here to kill me like you promised, you're doing a rather poor job of it.”

  Alex scrunches her nose, “I promised to kill your brother, not you.”

  “You also promised unspeakable horrors to anyone who stood in your way.” He gestures to himself as if to say'which is exactly what I am'.

  “As therapeutic as de-boning you would be,” Alex lets a wistful look settle on her face, “I'm here for the scroll.”

  He starts to reply, but she holds up a single hand halting him efficiently, mid word. And he hates himself just a little bit.

  “Just the scroll.” She says.

  He scans her face for a moment, finding nothing but earnestness. “And my brother?” He asks to be sure.

  “I promise I won't go after him.”

  “You promise?” He scoffs.

  “I am insulted.” She lifts a hand to her heart, “I have been known to keep my promises you know. Matter of fact, I'm currently keeping one, by having this discussion with you civilly.”

  “This is supposed to mean something to me?” He asks.

  Alex rolls her eyes, stalking to stand imposingly in front of him. “Fine, an exchange. You seem to be more at ease when a barter is in place, I take the scroll and owe you a favor.” she says.

  Viktor rolls the idea about in his mind. His mother was probably rolling over in her grave watching him consider a transaction with Alex Jordan. But having said Jordan owe you a favor was never a bad idea. He nods to himself. “Deal.”

  With a poof of black smoke, the scroll appears in his outstretched hand. Alex rolls her eyes once more, before taking it from him, unimpressed.

  “You just can't help yourself can you?” She slips the rolled up scroll into her jacket.

  “I'm a warlock. We're meant to be ostentatious.”

  “Akio wasn't-- isn't.” she counters.

  “Akio has no idea what he's missing out on, then.” He lifts from his seat, strides to the bar and retrieves a second glass to accompany his already in position. Pours a fine helping of vodka for himself, then Alex.

  Alex grabs her glass, and he proposes a toast. “To returning brothers. Even those of us that absolutely hate theirs.”

  Alex snorts and they both throw back the spirit, Alex wincing a little at the taste.

  She deposits her cup back on the bar with a tiny nod, and strides towards the door. Stopping by the framed cover of him as the GQ Man of the Year, taking up about two-thirds of his wall.

  “The narcissism thing is so not sexy.” She admonishes with a prim frown, before exiting his home.