"Sorry." Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but she corrects immediately.
We fall into the familiar rhythm of teaching and learning, and for a few hours, I almost feel like myself again. Not the Pakhan’s woman, not the target of media scrutiny, not the pregnant wife trapped in a gilded cage. Just Aria, the chef who built something from nothing through sheer determination and skill.
"You're a natural teacher," Katya says during a water break, her eyes bright with genuine admiration. "Have you thought about offering more classes? The other wives would love this."
The suggestion makes something warm bloom in my chest. "Maybe. Once things settle down."
"Things are never settled in our world." She says it matter-of-factly, without bitterness. "But we find ways to carve out normalcy, anyway."
Her words echo in my mind as we return to work, as I guide her through more advanced techniques, as the afternoon light fades to evening through the kitchen's windows. Maybe she's right. Maybe this is as close to normal as I'll ever get.
We're cleaning up, putting away knives and wiping down surfaces, when Katya's phone buzzes on the counter. She glancesat it, and her face goes pale, all the color draining from her cheeks in an instant.
"What's wrong?" I ask, my stomach tightening with instinct that screams danger.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide with fear, and her voice drops to barely above a whisper. "I need to tell you something. But you can't let anyone know I told you."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "What is it?"
Katya glances at my security guard, then pulls me toward the walk-in cooler, the only place in the kitchen where we might have a moment of privacy. The cold air hits my skin like a slap, raising goosebumps along my arms.
"I overheard my boyfriend on the phone an hour ago." Her hands shake as she grips my arms. "He was speaking Russian, but I caught enough to understand. Matvey is planning an attack, Aria. And it's happening tonight."
42
NIKOLAI
Istand in the ruins of Matvey's shipping warehouse, watching flames lick at the night sky while my men secure the last of the contraband. The acrid smells of burning wood and chemicals fill my lungs, but satisfaction burns hotter in my chest. This is the third operation we've hit tonight, systematically dismantling everything Matvey has built piece by piece.
My phone vibrates against my thigh. Cyril's name flashes across the screen, and something in my gut twists with instinct that screams danger before I even answer.
"Boss." His voice is tight, controlled, which makes the words that follow hit like bullets. "Matvey's men are attacking Thyme and Tide. Multiple shooters. Aria is inside."
The world tilts sideways. My blood doesn't run cold. It evaporates, leaving nothing but ice spreading through my veins like frost across glass. Then it ignites with fury so cold it terrifies even me.
"How many?" The words come out lethal, precise.
"At least six. Maybe more. Your security team is holding them off, but they're outnumbered."
I'm already moving, sprinting toward my car with speed that makes my lungs burn. "Get every available man to that location. Now. I want a perimeter established, and no one gets out alive."
"On it."
I end the call and dial another number, barking orders into the phone as I wrench open the car door. My hands shake with rage I can barely contain as I start the engine, the tires screaming against asphalt as I peel out of the warehouse district.
She's pregnant. Vulnerable. My fault for not anticipating this move.
The thought loops through my mind like a curse I can't shake. I should have known Matvey would go after her. Should have predicted he'd strike where I'm most vulnerable while I was busy destroying his operations. The Pakhan in me catalogs the tactical error with brutal efficiency, but the man who's learning to care about something beyond power wants to put his fist through the windshield.
Every red light feels like an eternity. I run three of them, my hand pressed against the horn, my ice-blue eyes scanning traffic for the fastest route. The city blurs past in streaks of light and shadow, and I force myself to breathe, to think past the terror clawing at my throat.
If Matvey has hurt her, I'll make his death last days.
My phone rings again. Cyril.
"Status," I demand.
"Your team has neutralized three hostiles. Three more barricaded inside with the women. No casualties on our side yet, but we can hear gunfire."
