She touches my cheek and says, “You already have.”
37
EPILOGUE - LEANNA
“I think I’m fine,”I insist, one hand pressed to my lower back as another dull ache rolls through me.
Nik’s eyes narrow. “Fine?” His voice drops an octave — the dangerous one he uses when he’s two seconds from taking over. “Leanna, you’re pale.”
“It’s just Braxton-Hicks,” I say, forcing a casual tone. “False alarm. I’ve been having them all week.”
He doesn’t look convinced. His jaw flexes, that slight muscle ticking. “You’re sure it’s not the real thing?”
I shrug, wincing as the next contraction tightens low and mean. “Pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure doesn’t cut it when you’re nine months pregnant,malishka.If this gets worse, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I told myself it was just another false alarm I could ignore.
So I did.
I came to the office anyway, determined to push through.
After all, I’ve recently taken over leadership of my father’s entire real estate portfolio. This was supposed to be the next step on my path to entering the business without wading through blood.
We both thought this was the best way for me to dip a toe into true leadership in the company.
Now, I sit at the long conference table, listening as our Chicago executives give their reports one by one. And every tightening in my belly makes me grip the armrest harder.
Beside me, Nik’s knee bounces under the table, restless energy barely contained. His face, though, gives nothing away, balanced somewhere between menace and boredom.
I’ve been shadowing my father for two years now, and despite everything I’ve learned, I still have no stomach for the violence, the threats, the necessary ruthlessness.
That’s where Nik comes in.
He handles what needs to be managed.
And every day, I’m thankful for that.
“The offer is one hundred thousand less than asking,” one of our real estate agents says, referring to a massive downtown apartment in a desirable area.
“Is it the only offer?” I ask.
“For now.”
“Well, it’s day one, and we haven’t even held the open house,” I remind her.
“Even at less than asking, we’d be turning a profit. Remember, this was a rehab. We bought low.”
“I understand that,” I say, careful to keep my tone even. “But taking a lowball on day one sets a precedent. And we’ve got more units in that building to move.”
She exhales heavily, clearly impatient. “So what’s your call?”
“Host a private open house for top-tier agents only. Make it exclusive—like they’re walking into an opportunity, not just a listing. Highlight every luxury feature. I want them leaving convinced this property is a smart investment, not just a beautiful one.”
“Okay,” she says, but the doubt in her tone is impossible to miss.
“You can come back at full price,” I tell her evenly. “Let them know we’re not budging.”
