"And speaking of the Krasniqi family, what were you doing at Ramiz's house last night? I thought the Severyn Bratva didn't have business with the Albanians."
The sarcasm in her voice cuts deep. Sharper than I expected. This isn't just anger about Era. This is about me. About choices I've made. About the life I'm living that pulls me away from the work we started together.
"They don't," I say, forcing my voice to stay level. "The Severyns don't have business with the Albanians. We were there because of my father's debts. Trying to smooth over a situation Arthur created before it escalates into war."
Jelena stares at me. Long enough that I have to resist the urge to look away, to break the connection first.
Finally, she exhales. Her shoulders drop slightly.
"I'll tell Era to leave," she says, quieter now. "We'll find another way to get the information we need."
Relief floods through me, sharp and immediate.
"Thank you."
"But Victoria." Her eyes find mine again, and there's worry beneath the anger now. "We need funds. Soon. The safe houses are expensive. The forged documents are expensive. Every woman we pull out costs money we're running through faster than we're generating it. We need a plan."
"I know." The words feel inadequate. "I'll figure it out. Give me a few days."
She nods, but skepticism lingers in her expression. Like she's not sure I can deliver anymore. Like she's not sure where my loyalties lie.
I leave before either of us can say the thing that will shatter what's left between us.
Vitor is waiting by the SUV, practically vibrating with anxiety. I slide into the back seat, and he pulls away from the curb with more speed than necessary.
The city passes beyond tinted windows. My reflection stares back at me, and I barely recognize the woman looking back. When did I become someone who lies to everyone? Who maintains multiple identities and hopes none of them fracture under the pressure?
Jelena's words echo in my head.Playing house with the Severyns.
Is that what I'm doing?
Maybe I could ask Maksim for an advancement on the payment we agreed to at the end of the marriage. Five million. More than enough to fund operations for years.
But the thought of asking him for money makes my stomach turn.
Because somewhere between the wedding and last night, between his kiss at the altar and his hand holding mine in the SUV, the money stopped mattering.
I don't want payment anymore.
The realization crashes over me like cold water.
I've developed feelings for Maksim. Real feelings. The kind that makes my chest ache when he looks at me. The kind that makes me replay conversations in my head, searching for subtext, hoping for meaning beyond the transactional.
And then there's Alexei. His kiss in the pilates studio ignited what Maksim sparked at the wedding. That wild, reckless energy that makes me want to laugh and surrender at the same time. The way he looks at me like I'm both the danger and the prize.
And Zakhar with his quiet intensity and the way he makes me feel protected even when he's suspicious. The way his rare smiles feel like gifts I don't deserve but desperately want.
I could tell them about Eryan Nis.
The thought forms and dies in the same breath.
There are too many lives at stake. Too many women depending on secrecy for survival. Too many moving pieces that could shatter if I misjudge their reaction.
I can't risk it. Can't risk them.
The SUV pulls up to the house, and my stomach drops.
Zakhar is standing in the entrance hall. Waiting.
