"That's… that's wonderful,malysh." I force brightness into my voice, even as my chest constricts with the weight of what he's asking. "You deserve it. You've worked so hard."
"So you'll help me come? Just for a week, maybe two? The professor says it would make all the difference for my applications. To show I'm serious, that I understand what these schools offer." He pauses, and I hear the hope in his silence. "Could you maybe help with the airfare? I know it's expensive, but I thought…"
I close my eyes, the numbers from my spreadsheet burning behind my eyelids. International airfare. At least fifteen hundreddollars, probably more. Money I don't have. Money I can't conjure from nothing, no matter how desperately I want to give him this opportunity.
"Let me see what I can do," I whisper. "I'll figure something out."
"Really? Eva, thank you! I knew you would help. You always help." His joy is pure, untainted by the knowledge of what his dreams cost me. "I love you,sestrichka."
"I love you, too."
The call ends, and I sit in the silence of my office, staring at the phone in my hand. Through the glass wall, I can see Roman at his desk, his attention focused on documents, his profile sharp and controlled. He has money. More money than I can imagine. Money that could solve this problem with a single phone call, a single transfer.
But asking him would mean owing him. Would mean binding myself to him in ways I'm not ready to examine. Would mean admitting that I need him for more than just the salary he pays me.
I set the phone down carefully, then bury my face in my hands. The weight of my failures crushes my chest, making it hard to breathe. I can't afford to bring Alexei here. Can't give him this chance to see his future, to understand what he's working toward. Can't be the sister he deserves, the one who makes his dreams possible.
The tears come hot and fast, and I press my palms against my eyes, trying to stop them. But they won't stop. They spill over, soaking my hands, my desk, the careful composure I've maintained since walking into this building.
I'm drowning. And I don't know how to save myself.
14
ROMAN
David Brennan sits across from me in my office. His expression is professionally neutral, but I see the concern in his green eyes. He's delivered bad news before, but this is different. This is catastrophic.
"The IRS audit is comprehensive," David says, his voice measured and controlled. "They're examining every transaction from the past five years. Every account, every transfer, every corporate entity. Someone has given them a roadmap, Roman. They know exactly where to look."
"And the banks?"
"Two major institutions have frozen our accounts pending 'routine compliance reviews'." David's tone makes it clear what he thinks of that excuse. "It's coordinated. The timing is too precise to be coincidence. Someone is systematically dismantling your money laundering infrastructure."
Blyat.I stand and move to the windows, my hands clasped behind my back. The city spreads below me, my kingdom, and I'm watching it crumble. Every legitimate business I've built,every carefully constructed corporate entity designed to clean my criminal profits, is being exposed. Without the ability to launder money, my entire operation becomes vulnerable. Cash is useless if you can't move it, can't invest it, can't make it work for you.
"How long do we have?" I ask, my voice low.
"Weeks, maybe. A month if we're lucky." David removes his glasses, cleaning them with methodical precision. "Every time we establish a new channel, it gets exposed within days. Whoever is feeding information to the regulators has access to real-time intelligence about our operations."
The implication hangs between us, heavy and suffocating. Someone inside my organization is betraying me. Or someone very close to my inner circle.
My gaze drifts through the glass wall to Eva's office. She's at her desk, phone pressed to her ear, taking notes with that neat handwriting I've come to recognize. Her blonde hair is pulled back in its usual sleek bun, and she's wearing a tailored green dress that hugs her curves in ways that make my hands itch to touch her. Even now, with my empire crumbling, I can't stop noticing the way the fabric stretches across her breasts when she leans forward, the curve of her ass when she stands to retrieve a file.
I force my attention back to David. "Options?"
"We restructure everything. Create new corporate entities, move assets offshore, establish fresh banking relationships in jurisdictions with less regulatory oversight." He replaces his glasses, his expression grim. "It will take time and significantcapital. And there's no guarantee the new channels won't be compromised as quickly as the old ones."
The office door opens without knocking. Lev enters, his dark suit immaculate despite the early hour, his expression all business. He takes one look at the documents on my desk and his jaw tightens.
"How bad?" he asks.
"Catastrophic," David answers. "Someone is feeding the IRS detailed information about our money laundering operations. Every channel we establish gets exposed within weeks."
Lev settles into the chair beside David, his dark eyes meeting mine with the understanding that comes from two decades of friendship. "Yakovlev."
"Has to be." I return to my desk, pouring vodka for all three of us. "The pattern is too consistent, too strategic. He's not just attacking our operations. He's destroying our ability to function."
We spend the next several hours in emergency strategy sessions. David outlines legal maneuvers, corporate restructuring, and ways to create distance between my legitimate businesses and the criminal activity. Lev coordinates with our financial team, moving assets, establishing new accounts, and creating the infrastructure we'll need to survive this assault. It's exhausting work that requires absolute focus, but my mind keeps drifting.
