"Cane Harris. The loan shark who was using Maya." I force myself to meet his gaze. "What's Nikolai going to do to him?"
Cyril's expression goes carefully blank, and the sudden absence of emotion tells me everything I need to know. His silence stretches long enough that my stomach starts to churn with dread and something else I refuse to examine too closely. Something that might be satisfaction.
"You won't have to worry about him anymore," he finally says, his voice dropping to something cold and absolute.
The words should horrify me, should make me demand details, insist on knowing exactly what Nikolai has planned. Instead, I feel a dark sense of relief settling in my bones. Cane Harris used my sister, squeezed her for information, and fed her addiction to serve his own purposes. Whatever happens to him is justice of a sort, even if it's delivered outside the law.
"Thank you," I whisper, and I'm not entirely sure what I'm thanking him for.
Cyril studies me for a long moment, and I see something that might be approval flicker across his features. "You're stronger than you look. That's good. You'll need to be."
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes against the counter. Lara Utkina's name flashes across the screen, and my stomach tightens with instinct that this isn't a social call.
"I need to take this," I say, already moving toward my small office in the back.
Cyril nods and returns to his position by the door, giving me privacy while maintaining his watchful presence.
"Lara," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Aria, dear. We need to talk." Her accent wraps around the English words with elegant precision. "Are you free this afternoon?"
The careful neutrality in her tone makes my pulse quicken. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing that can't be addressed. But it requires a conversation best had in person." She pauses, and I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of jewelry. "I'll send a car in an hour. We'll have tea."
The line goes dead before I can respond, and I stare at my phone with growing dread. Lara doesn't summon people for casual tea. This is about something serious, something that requires the kind of careful navigation I'm still learning.
The hour passes in a blur of nervous energy. I change into one of the dresses Nikolai's people delivered, something simple but elegant in navy that emphasizes my figure without being ostentatious. My hand moves unconsciously to my stomach, to the subtle swell that's becoming harder to hide, and I wonder if that's what this is about. The pregnancy. The scandal. The photographs that turned our most intimate moments into tabloid fodder.
Lara's car arrives precisely on time, the same Mercedes I remember from our first meeting. The driver opens the door with professional courtesy, and I slide into the leather interiorwith Cyril following in a separate vehicle. The drive to Lara's mansion passes too quickly, my mind racing through possible scenarios, each one worse than the last.
She's waiting in the same salon where I first met the Bratva wives, her platinum blonde hair swept into that signature chignon, her pale blue eyes missing nothing as I enter. A tea service sits on the low table between us, delicate China that probably costs more than my monthly rent.
"Sit, dear." Lara gestures to the chair across from her, and I obey, my spine straight despite the nerves making my hands tremble.
She pours tea with practiced grace, the silence stretching until I want to scream. Finally, she sets down the pot and meets my gaze with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"The photographs," she says without preamble. "The ones from the island. They've caused quite a stir among the wives."
My stomach drops. "I didn't ask for those to be taken. We didn't know anyone was watching."
"I know that." Her voice softens fractionally. "But perception matters, Aria. And right now, the perception is that you've made Nikolai look weak. Vulnerable. Human."
The word lands like a slap. "Is that such a terrible thing?"
"In the Bratva?" Lara's lips curve into something that might be sympathy. "Yes. The Pakhan’s strength is absolute. His authority unquestioned. Those photographs show him as something other than the cold, calculating leader these women's husbands fear and respect."
I set down my teacup before my shaking hands betray me. "What are they saying?"
"That you're a distraction. That Nikolai's judgment is compromised. That he's making decisions based on emotion rather than strategy." She pauses, her fingers tracing the edge of her Romanov pendant. "Some are questioning whether you're worthy of being the Pakhan’s woman."
The words hit like physical blows, each one stripping away another layer of the fragile confidence I've been building. "And what do you think?"
Lara's pale blue eyes hold mine with uncomfortable honesty. "I think you jumped into a storm-tossed ocean to save his life. I think you're carrying his child. I think you have more courage than half the women in this organization." She leans forward slightly. "But courage alone won't be enough. You need to show them you understand the rules of this world. That you can navigate the politics without compromising Nikolai's position."
My throat tightens with emotions I can't name. "How?"
"You need to get in front of this. Control the narrative before it controls you." Lara's voice drops to something almost gentle. "The wives are watching, Aria. Waiting to see if you'll crumble under pressure or rise to meet it. If you lose their respect now, you'll never get it back. And without their respect, you'll have no power, no influence, no way to protect yourself or your child when the next crisis comes."
