The architect clears his throat. "Three of your suppliers backed out overnight. The restaurant equipment company, the commercial refrigeration installer, and the HVAC contractor. All citing concerns about association."
The words hit like physical blows. "Association with what?"
"With you." The contractor's voice is gruff but not unkind. "Or more specifically, with your husband. The media attention has made people nervous."
I sink onto the window ledge, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. "They can't do that. We have contracts."
"Contracts with termination clauses." The architect swipes through his tablet, pulling up documents I signed when everything seemed possible. "Standard language about unforeseen circumstances that might impact project completion. They're invoking those clauses."
My vision blurs at the edges, and I force myself to breathe slowly through my nose. This can't be happening. Not when I'm so close to rebuilding everything I lost.
"There's more," the contractor says, and something in his tone makes my chest constrict painfully. "Your insurance company called this morning. They're threatening to cancel your policy due to elevated risk factors."
"What risk factors?" But even as I ask, I know the answer.
"The shooting at your previous location. The media attention. Your connection to…" He trails off, but the implication hangs in the air like smoke.
My connection to Nikolai. My connection to violence and danger and a world that destroys everything it touches.
I press my palms against my closed eyes, trying to will away the tears threatening to spill. This was supposed to be my fresh start. My chance to rebuild something that's mine, separate fromNikolai's empire. Instead, his world is contaminating everything I touch, turning my dreams into liabilities no one wants to risk.
"How long do I have?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
"The suppliers want answers by end of week," the architect says. "The insurance company gave you thirty days to find alternative coverage.”
The door opens, and I look up expecting Nikolai's security guard. Instead, Lara Utkina sweeps into the space like she owns it, her platinum blonde hair swept into that signature chignon, her pale blue eyes missing nothing as they assess the situation with practiced efficiency.
"Gentlemen," she says, her accent wrapping around the word with elegant precision. "Would you give us a moment?"
They practically trip over themselves leaving, and I watch them disappear down the stairs with something between gratitude and resentment. I don't need rescuing. I need solutions.
Lara settles onto the window ledge beside me, close enough that I catch the scent of her perfume. Something expensive and floral.
"You look like hell, dear," she says without preamble.
"Thanks." I wipe at my face with the back of my hand. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."
Her lips curve into something that might be sympathy. "This is the cost of being the Pakhan’s wife. Everything you touch becomes a target. Every business relationship gets scrutinized. Every supplier weighs the risk of association against potential profit."
"I know that." The words come out sharper than I intend. "I'm living it."
"Are you?" She turns to face me fully, and the intensity in those pale blue eyes makes my breath catch. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're still trying to operate like you're separate from Nikolai's world. Like you can maintain some kind of independence that doesn't exist anymore."
The brutal honesty makes anger flare hot in my chest. "So I should just give up? Let his world swallow mine completely?"
"I'm saying you should use the resources available to you." Lara's fingers trace the edge of her Romanov pendant, that tell I've learned to recognize when she's about to say something I won't want to hear. "The Bratva has suppliers who won't be scared off by media attention. Contractors who understand discretion. Insurance companies that specialize in high-risk clients."
My stomach drops like a stone thrown into deep water. "You're suggesting I use Nikolai's connections."
"I'm suggesting you stop fighting a battle you've already lost." Her voice softens fractionally. "Your business will never be completely separate from his world. Not now. Not after everything that's happened. But that doesn't mean you can't build something successful. It just means accepting help from people who understand the reality of your situation."
I think about the destroyed kitchen at my old location, about Matvey's men shooting through walls while I huddled in the walk-in cooler. About the photographs that turned our most private moments into weapons. About the FBI agents watchingeveryone who associates with Nikolai, cataloging connections and building cases.
"If I use Bratva suppliers, my business becomes part of his empire." The words taste like surrender. "Everything I've worked for gets absorbed into something I can't control."
"Or," Lara says quietly, "you build something stronger. Something that can withstand the scrutiny because it's backed by people who know how to operate in shadows."
The logic is sound, but it makes my chest ache with loss for the dream I had. The legitimate business built on talent and determination, untainted by violence or corruption. That dream died the moment I jumped into that storm-tossed ocean. I just didn't want to admit it.
