"Why the show?" She gives me her full attention.
"Maksim." His name tastes strange on my tongue. Too intimate, too real. "He told me I need to move in with him. After the wedding. To sell the marriage to the Albanians."
Jelena's expression shifts from curiosity to something harder. Concern edged with frustration. "Victoria. I told you from the start this was a bad idea. Bringing the Severyns this close to Eryan Nis? That's not strategy. That's playing with matches in a munitions factory."
"I don't have a choice." The words come out sharper than I intend, defensive. I force my voice to soften. "It's either this or I might as well sign my father's death warrant myself. And as much as I despise that man, I can't quite bring myself to do it."
"You don't owe him anything." Jelena's voice carries the weight of someone who knows exactly what my father is, what he did. Or rather, what he failed to do.
"I know." The acknowledgment sits in my throat like ground glass. I hate that I still care. Hate the weakness of it. "But if the Albanians kill him, there's no guarantee they won't come after me next to collect what he owes. At least this way, I control the variables. I'm protected."
"You have the protection of Eryan Nis," Jelena points out, leaning back in her chair. "You don't need the Severyns."
"Right now, the protection of the Severyn Bratva is more powerful." I meet her eyes. "And the money from this marriage will be substantial."
"You don't have to sacrifice yourself for funding." Her voice gentles, and I hear the concern beneath the pragmatism, the friendship beneath the professional relationship. "We can get the capital another way. Like we've been doing."
"We've been lucky so far." I hold her gaze. "No one's gotten seriously hurt. But luck runs out, Jelena. Eventually, our number comes up. And the operation needs to scale exponentially, or we're just applying bandages to bullet wounds."
Silence settles between us, heavy with implications neither of us wants to name.
Above, someone laughs, bright, carefree, the sound filtering through the vents like music from another world. A world where women don't have to choose between safety and survival, between protection and autonomy.
"How did it go last night?" I ask, shifting to safer ground. Business. Operations. Things I can control.
Jelena's mouth curves with satisfaction. "Flawless. In and out in seventeen minutes. Secured the merchandise without incident. As we speak, it's en route to the buyer for delivery. Payment already hit the account this morning."
"And the primary cargo?"
"Also successful. Already at the safe house."
Relief cuts through me, sharp and clean. "Good. That's very good."
I think about the couple who had lunch upstairs today, to the woman who kept glancing around with nervous energy barely concealed beneath designer clothes.
"Speaking of the safe house," I say, "the couple who were here today. Everything went according to plan?"
"In motion as we speak." Jelena makes a note on her paperwork.
"Good." The word feels inadequate for the magnitude of what we've just accomplished. Another woman safe. Another monster left empty-handed.
Jelena taps her pen against the desk in that particular rhythm that means she's thinking something she knows I won't like. "If you're determined to spend the next year this close to the Severyns, maybe we should add them to the list. After all, with inside access, it would be easy to plan and execute."
The suggestion cuts through me like ice water down my spine.
"You know why they're not on the list." My voice drops into something harder, colder. "That's not open for debate."
"They would have made the list in the past." Jelena doesn't back down, which is one of the reasons I value her. She challenges me when no one else will, forces me to examine my own logic. "The Valkov Bratva ran operations that put them squarely in our target profile. Shouldn't the Severyns pay for those crimes too?"
"The Severyns ended those operations when they took control." The words come out forceful, final.
I lean forward, let certainty ring through my voice. "They're not saints, Jelena. They're violent criminals who run an empire built on blood and fear. But they drew a line. That matters."
Jelena raises both hands in surrender, but there's knowing in her expression. "You're the boss."
The title sits uncomfortably on my shoulders.
"I couldn't do this without you," I say, and I mean it more than she probably realizes. "Any of this. You keep the operations running. I'm grateful."
