I turn to find Nikolai leaning against a brick column, his eyes tracking my movements with an intensity that makes my skin prickle with awareness. He's not looking at the space. He's looking at me, and the heat in his gaze makes my pulse hammer in my throat.
"What are you thinking?" His voice is rough, intimate despite the realtor hovering near the stairs.
The words tumble out in an excited rush I can't contain. "I could expand here. Offer cooking classes like I mentioned before. Host intimate dinner parties in this space upstairs. Maybe develop a line of prepared foods for retail, partner with local markets." My hands gesture wildly as I speak, painting pictures in the air. "The café downstairs could serve breakfast and lunch, generate steady income while I build the catering side back up. And the natural light, Nikolai, it's perfect for food photography, for social media content."
He pushes off the column and crosses to me in three strides, his hands framing my face with a gentleness that contradictsthe predator I know lives beneath his expensive clothes. "Keep going."
"The Bratva wives who want to work could staff the café, learn front-of-house skills. I could rotate them through the kitchen, teach them prep work, basic cooking techniques." The possibilities make me dizzy. "This could be more than just a restaurant. It could be a training ground, a community space, something that gives them real opportunities."
His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I feel the tremor that runs through his body. "You're building an empire."
"I'm building a business," I correct, but even as I say it, I understand what he's seeing. The network I'm creating, the influence I'm wielding through employment and opportunity rather than fear and violence. It's power of a different kind, softer but no less effective.
"It's yours." The words come out rough, absolute. "Whatever you want, however you want it. I've already arranged for an architect and design team to meet with you next week."
My breath catches. "Nikolai, I haven't even decided if this is the right location."
"It is." His hand slides down to splay possessively across my rounded stomach, and the baby kicks against his palm like it recognizes its father's touch. "I can see it in your eyes. This is home. Besides, I have the architects on standby for when you found the right place."
The word settles over me like a weight and a promise all at once. Home. Not just a business location, but something more. A place that's mine but also ours, where I can build something thatbelongs to both of us rather than existing in the spaces between his world and the one I'm trying to maintain.
"The security will be state-of-the-art," he continues, his other hand finding my hip and pulling me closer. "Cameras, reinforced doors, panic buttons in every room. No one will get to you here."
The reminder of why we need such measures makes my stomach tighten, but I force myself to focus on the positive. This space, these possibilities, the future I can build here. "What about the lease terms?"
His lips curve into something that might be a smile. "I'm buying the building."
"What?" The word comes out sharper than I intend. "Nikolai, that's too much."
"It's an investment." His thumb traces circles against my stomach, the touch sending heat cascading through my body despite my attempt to stay focused on the practical concerns. "The arts district is developing rapidly. Property values are increasing. And more importantly, owning the building means no landlord can decide to sell out from under you or raise the rent to force you out."
The logic is sound, but it still feels like too much. Like I'm accepting more than I should, becoming more dependent on him than I'm comfortable with. "I can't let you just buy me a building."
"You're not letting me do anything." His forehead drops to rest against mine, and I feel his breath warm against my lips. "I'm choosing to invest in my wife's business. In our future. In giving our child a mother who's fulfilled rather than resentful."
The way he frames it, like this is about more than just money or control, makes something warm bloom in my chest. "You really think I can make this work?"
"I know you can." His eyes hold mine with absolute certainty. "You built Thyme & Tide from nothing. There's nothing you can't do when you set your mind to it."
The fierce way he defends my capabilities, even to me, makes tears sting my eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones. "I love you."
The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and honest and terrifying. His body goes absolutely still against mine, and for a heartbeat, I think I've made a terrible mistake. That I've revealed too much, shown weakness he'll exploit or dismiss.
Then his mouth crashes down on mine, the kiss desperate and claiming. I taste surprise and hunger and something that might be relief, and when he finally pulls back, both of us breathing hard, his eyes are blazing with heat that has nothing to do with lust.
"Say it again," he demands, his accent thick with emotion he's not trying to hide.
"I love you." The words come easier this time, steadier. "I've probably loved you since the island, but I was too scared to admit it. Too afraid of what it meant."
"Aria." My name on his lips sounds like a prayer and a curse all at once. "I love you. I've loved you since you looked at me on my yacht like I was just another obstacle in your way. Since you jumped into that ocean without hesitation. Since you challenged me at every turn and refused to be diminished by my world."
The confession makes my chest constrict painfully. "You've never said it before."
"I know." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, catching a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "I didn't know how. Didn't think I was capable of it anymore. But you've taught me that strength and vulnerability aren't opposites. That I can be the Pakhan and still be human."
He half grins. "Besides, you never said it before, either."
I rise on my toes and kiss him again, pouring everything I feel into the contact. Love and fear and hope and desperation all tangled together until I can't separate one from the other. His hands slide down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard length of him pressing into my stomach.
