"Then don't say anything." I reached for the coffee pot, pouring myself a cup I didn't need. "We can pretend it didn't happen, if that's easier."
"Is that what you want?"
The question hung between us. I set down the pot and looked at her—really looked, letting her see the truth I'd been trying to hide.
"No," I said quietly. "That's not what I want."
Her breath caught. I watched the pulse flutter at the base of her throat, watched her fingers tighten around her cup.
"I don't know what I want," she admitted. "Everything is confused. You're—this is all—"
"Complicated. I know." I stood, needing distance before I did something foolish. "Semyon wants to discuss your analysis this morning. I'll send for you when he's ready."
I left before she could respond, feeling her eyes on my back all the way to the door.
***
"She's good."
Semyon said it like an accusation, tossing her Aegean Shipping report onto my desk. His pale eyes were sharp with reluctant respect.
"I told you she was."
"You told me she was smart. You didn't tell me she'd identify three separate revenue leaks in six hours, then design a retention strategy that's actually implementable." He dropped into the chair across from me, running a hand through his light hair. "I was trying to overwhelm her. Gave her disorganized data, impossible timeline. She should have missed half of this."
"But she didn't."
"No. She didn't." He was quiet for a moment, studying me. "You were right about her. I underestimated the situation."
Coming from Semyon, that was practically a declaration of love. I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself a small smile.
"Does this mean you'll stop treating her like a security threat?"
"I'll treat her like an asset. Which is what she's becoming, whether either of us intended it." He paused. "Speaking of threats—we need to talk about Pankratov."
The name wiped the smile from my face. "What now?"
"He's escalating. Our sources say he's planning something bigger than the warehouse raids. Possibly a direct strike on one of the clubs." Semyon's expression hardened. "The men need to see their Pakhan, Vasily. You've been on this island for weeks. Rumors are starting to spread."
"What kind of rumors?"
"That you've gone soft. That the woman has you distracted. That maybe the Chernov Bratva isn't as strong as it used to be." He held up a hand before I could respond. "I'm not saying it's true. I'm saying it's what people are whispering. And in our world, perception becomes reality very quickly."
He was right. I knew he was right. I'd built this organization on being present, being visible, being the iron fist that held everything together. Hiding on an island while my enemies circled was the worst possible strategy.
But leaving meant leaving her.
"I'll fly back next week," I said. "You can prepare the ground—let the men know I'm coming, arrange meetings with the lieutenants. But I need a few more days here."
Semyon's eyebrows rose. "A few more days? Vasily—"
"I'm not asking for permission." My voice came out harder than intended. "I'm telling you how it's going to be. Handle New York until I arrive."
He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he nodded once and stood.
"I'm leaving this afternoon. There's a situation with the Brooklyn distribution that needs personal attention." He paused at the door. "Whatever's happening between you and the woman—be careful. You're not thinking clearly when it comes to her."
"I never have been."
