The room shifts. I shoot to my feet before I can think. “What the hell areyoudoing here?”
The words slice through the air like a blade, and immediately I regret the tone, but not the reaction.
Tatiana freezes, then smiles as if I’ve just told the punchline of a mildly amusing joke.
The other women laugh. Not maliciously but amused. Even delighted. I catch Maura’s sparkle-eyed glance toward Elena, and Elena’s muttered, “Oh, this’ll be good.”
Tatiana steps fully into the room, unbothered as always, and shrugs out of her coat. “I’m here on Yuri’s orders, darling,” she says smoothly, hanging her coat on a nearby stand. “He asked me to retrieve some files. The office is shut down, obviously, and there’s still work to be done. So here I am.”
Tatiana walks straight to the bar cart in the corner like she owns the place. She takes the crystal decanter and pours herself a generous glass of something amber and expensive. She swirls it like it’s a performance, then takes a slow, deliberate sip.
“Help yourself, why don’t you,” Isabella mutters, one perfectly arched brow lifted.
Tatiana lifts her glass in a mock toast “If ever a day called for whiskey…”
Her words trail off. The silence that follows is heavy and pointed. The women share a glance—the kind that means something without saying a word. A flick of the eyes. A twitch of the lips. All of them reading one another in code.
Tatiana frowns. “Alright,” she says, “what did I miss?”
“It’s Bratva business,” Isabella replies smoothly.
Elena nods, tossing a brief glance toward me. “No offense, Astrid, but we need a moment.”
I lift my hands. “None taken.”
“It’s not personal,” Maura says warmly, swirling the last of her wine before downing it in a single elegant sip. “The less you know about Bratva business, the better. Legally speaking.”
The women stand up—perfectly choreographed, graceful as swans—and leave the room, murmuring softly to one another as they disappear into the hallway.
And I’m left alone with Tatiana. The air thickens. My shoulders coil with tension.
She says nothing for a moment, just leans against the mantle with her whiskey, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace. It’s not clear if she’s going to start another round of insults or keep sipping and ignore me entirely.
Then, she surprises me.
“I was a bitch,” she says flatly. “Back in the cafeteria.”
My eyebrows lift. “You think?”
A dry smile. “I deserved that.”
There’s a pause—tight and uncertain—and then she turns to face me. “I shouldn’t have commented on your figure. That was low. Truth is, I had a hard time letting go when things ended with Yuri. Still do, apparently.”
Something softens in her. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe we’re both too damn tired to fight.
“I guess I didn’t think about him being interested in someone else,” she goes on. “Especially not someone like you.”
“Like me?” I ask, instantly defensive.
“Smart. Quiet. A little sharp around the edges.” She shrugs. “Truth be told, I’d hoped he was still carrying a flame for me. But the moment I saw how he was around you, I knew that wasn’t the case. And I hated it.”
“I don’t quite know what to say to that.”
A silence settles between us though no longer uncomfortable.
She finishes her drink and sets the glass down with a faint clink. “I should get back to work. These files don’t decrypt themselves.”
And then she’s gone.
