I leaned back in my chair, studying her. The color had risen in her cheeks, her eyes bright with agitation. She was beautiful like this—animated, alive, fighting for something even if she didn't know what.
"You were in marketing," I said. "Consumer analytics. Demographic targeting."
"You know exactly what I did. You stalked me, remember?"
"I remember everything about you." I stood, moving around the desk to lean against its front edge, closer to her now. "I also know you were good at your job. Better than they gave you credit for."
Surprise flickered across her face. "How would you know that?"
"I had someone review your work. The campaigns you developed, the analysis you provided. You have a gift for understanding what people want—what motivates them, what drives their decisions." I paused, letting the words land. "It's a useful skill. One I could use."
"Use how?"
"My organization has legitimate business interests. Import-export, real estate, hospitality. They require the same strategic thinking as any other company—market analysis, customer acquisition, brand positioning." I watched her carefully, gauging her reaction. "My brother Semyon handles most of it, but he's spread thin. He could use assistance."
She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "You want me to work for you."
"I want to give you a purpose. Something to occupy that brilliant mind of yours besides plotting escapes you'll never achieve."
"I can't—" She shook her head, backing up a step. "I can't help you run your empire. I can't be complicit in—"
"In what? Real estate development? Import licensing? These are legitimate operations, Gabrielle. Legal, above-board, boring enough to make your eyes glaze over." I pushed off from the desk, following her retreat. "I'm not asking you to count bodies or launder money. I'm asking you to review marketing strategies and consumer data. The same work you did in New York."
"For a criminal organization."
"For businesses that employ hundreds of people. That contributes to the economy. That exists, in part, to give men like me something legal to point to when the authorities come askingquestions." I stopped, leaving space between us. "You can say no. I won't force you. But I thought you wanted something to do."
She was quiet for a long moment, her expression warring between suspicion and something that looked almost like interest.
"I'd be working with your brother?"
"Primarily, yes. Semyon handles the legitimate side of operations. He's the strategist—brilliant with numbers, less intuitive with people. You'd complement each other."
"And you trust me with this? Access to your business dealings?"
"I trust you with my life." The words came out before I could stop them, raw and honest in a way I hadn't intended. "The rest is just details."
She blinked, thrown off balance by the admission. I watched her process it—the confusion, the disbelief, the reluctant softening she was trying so hard to hide.
"I'll think about it," she said finally.
"Take all the time you need." I returned to my chair, picking up the financial reports as if the conversation hadn't just shifted something fundamental between us. "Semyon flies in tomorrow. If you decide you're interested, I'll arrange a meeting."
She nodded once and left without another word.
But as she walked away, I saw her shoulders relax slightly. Saw the tension ease from her spine.
I'd given her something she needed. And in return, she'd given me something too—a glimpse of the woman she might become if I could convince her to stop fighting.
***
She was at the pool that evening.
I hadn't meant to—had been walking the grounds, restless after a day of conference calls and strategic planning, seeking the particular exhaustion that came from physical movement. The pool was on my usual route, tucked into a terrace on the south side of the estate where the cliffs dropped away to the sea.
She was in the water when I rounded the corner. Swimming laps with a focus that bordered on desperate, her arms cutting through the surface in clean, efficient strokes. She hadn't heard me approach—the splash of water and her own breathing masked my footsteps.
I should have left. Should have given her the privacy she probably assumed she had. Instead, I stood in the shadows of the pergola and watched.
