Chapter 27 Aria
ARIA
Istand at my prep station in Thyme & Tide's commercial kitchen, reviewing next week's catering schedule with a pen that's running out of ink.
The familiar scent of herbs and stainless steel usually calms me, but today my mind keeps circling back to Nikolai's accusation about Maya.
The bruise that vanished too quickly. The calculated tears.
The way my sister's eyes flickered with something that looked like guilt before she left.
What if he was right? What if I've been so desperate to believe in Maya's recovery that I've been blind to the manipulation I've seen a hundred times before?
The thought makes my stomach churn, and I force myself to focus on the schedule. Three dinner parties next week, a corporate lunch on Thursday, and a wedding consultation on Saturday. Normal. Manageable. Mine.
I remember the way she touched that bruise. Not wincing, not protective, but almost performative. Like she was reminding me it was there.
My hand trembles slightly as I write, exhaustion pulling at my bones.
I haven't slept properly in days, caught between my sister and a man who sees through her in ways I've been too afraid to.
The doubt tastes like copper in my mouth, bitter and metallic, because questioning Maya feels like betraying the little girl who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.
But that little girl grew up. And I'm not sure I know who she became.
The bell above the door chimes, and I glance up, expecting a delivery. Instead, two men in suits step through the entrance. Everything about them screams money and power, from their Italian leather shoes to the way they move with the casual confidence of people who've never been told no.
My security guard, the one with the scar bisecting his left eyebrow, straightens from his position near the door. His hand doesn't move toward his weapon, doesn't signal danger, which tells me everything I need to know before the men even open their mouths.
These men belong to Nikolai's world.
"Miss Levin." The taller one extends his hand, his smile professionally warm but his eyes cold as winter. "I'm Viktor Petrov, and this is my associate, Dmitri Volkov. We're financial advisors for Mr. Alekseev's organization."
I shake his hand because refusing would be childish, but my stomach tightens with instinct that screams danger. "What can I do for you?"
"We'd like to discuss a business opportunity." Viktor's gaze sweeps across my kitchen with the assessing look of someone calculating value. "Is there somewhere we could speak privately?"
Every nerve in my body tells me to refuse, to tell them I'm busy and they need to make an appointment.
But my guard's relaxed posture suggests this isn't a request I can decline.
My pulse kicks up, a steady drumbeat of warning against my ribs as I lead them to the small office in the back, barely large enough for my desk and two folding chairs.
My guard positions himself just outside the door, close enough to intervene but far enough to maintain the illusion of privacy.
Viktor and Dmitri settle into the chairs with practiced ease, and I remain standing behind my desk, needing the barrier between us even if it's just cheap particleboard.
I notice the way Viktor's eyes catalog everything—the stack of invoices, the framed photo of Maya and me at my culinary school graduation, the permits on the wall.
Dmitri's hands rest loosely on his knees, but there's a stillness to him that reminds me of a coiled spring.
"Thyme and Tide has excellent potential for expansion," Viktor begins, pulling a leather portfolio from his briefcase.
"Your reputation is growing, your client base is loyal, and your coastal-inspired cuisine fills a niche in the market.
With proper investment, you could open multiple locations, cater larger events, and build something truly impressive. "
My hands grip the edge of my desk, knuckles whitening. "I'm not looking for investors."
"Of course not." Dmitri's smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"You've built this business through your own hard work and determination.
That's admirable. But imagine what you could accomplish with proper capital and connections.
The organization would provide everything you need.
Equipment, staff, access to premium suppliers, introductions to high-profile clients. "
Viktor slides a document across my desk, the pages thick with legal language and numbers that make my vision blur.
"We've already drawn up the preliminary agreements.
Very generous terms. You'd maintain creative control, of course.
We simply ask that certain transactions flow through your business accounts. Legitimate on paper. Clean. Simple."
The words hit me like ice water. They want to use my business to launder money. To corrupt the one thing in my life that belongs entirely to me, that I built from nothing through years of relentless work and sacrifice. My vision tunnels, rage flooding through my veins hot enough to burn.
"In exchange," Viktor continues, apparently mistaking my silence for consideration, "you'd receive substantial capital investment.
Two million dollars initially, with additional funding as needed.
Enough to open three new locations within the year.
We've already identified potential properties in prime area such as the waterfront space in Harbor District, the corner lot on Merchant Street, and a beautiful historic building in Old Town that would be perfect for your upscale clientele. "
My heart hammers so hard, I'm certain they can hear it. Two million dollars. Properties already scouted. This isn't a spontaneous offer. They've been planning this, watching me, calculating exactly how to trap me.
"The Harbor District location alone would triple your revenue," Dmitri adds, leaning forward with the enthusiasm of someone discussing a legitimate business venture rather than a criminal enterprise.
"Prime tourist traffic, parking, outdoor seating with ocean views.
The permits are already in process. We have connections with the city planning commission. "
Of course they do. My throat tightens, and I force myself to breathe slowly through my nose, to keep my expression neutral even as my mind races.
Viktor's watching me with the patience of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run.
Dmitri's fingers drum once against his knee, the only tell that they're not as confident as they appear.
"This is inevitable, Miss Levin," Viktor says, his voice dropping to something almost gentle. "Your business is already connected to the Alekseev family through your relationship with Nikolai. This simply makes that connection official. Profitable. Protected."
The word "inevitable" sends ice down my spine. They've already decided my future, already drawn up the papers, already identified the properties. They're just waiting for me to accept what they believe I have no power to refuse.
I force myself to breathe, to think past the fury threatening to choke me. Did Nikolai know about this? Did he approve it?
A memory surfaces unbidden—the first event I ever catered on my own.
A small wedding reception in someone's backyard, just forty guests.
I'd been terrified, working from a borrowed kitchen, transporting everything in my beat-up Honda.
But when the bride had tasted the lemon lavender cake and tears had filled her eyes, when she'd hugged me and said I'd made her day perfect, that was the moment I knew.
This was mine. Built from nothing but determination and talent and countless sleepless nights perfecting recipes in my tiny apartment kitchen.
Every client I've earned, every five-star review, every referral—I did that. Not because of connections or family name or money. Because I was good enough. Because I worked harder than anyone else. Because I refused to compromise on quality even when it would have been easier, more profitable.
"Think about what you could accomplish," Viktor continues, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Your sister Maya could manage one of the new locations. Give her a real opportunity to prove herself. Stable income, legitimate work. A chance to rebuild her life."
Using Maya as leverage. Of course they would. They've done their homework, know exactly where to apply pressure. The thought of my sister finally having stability, a real chance. It's tempting. God, it's tempting.
"The papers are ready," Dmitri says, producing a leather portfolio from his briefcase. "We just need your signature. Everything is already arranged. The LLC formation, the partnership agreement, and the property leases. We can have the first location operational within sixty days."
They've thought of everything. Planned it all out without me. This is what being with Nikolai means. This is the reality I've been trying to ignore. His world doesn't ask permission. It doesn't negotiate. It simply takes what it wants and dresses it up as opportunity.
And maybe that's what hurts most. Not that they're trying to absorb my business, but that Nikolai might have let them. That he might have sat in some smoke-filled room and nodded along while they carved up my life like it was just another deal to be made.
But this… Thyme is different. This is the one thing I built alone, the one piece of myself I swore I'd never let his world touch. It's my line in the sand. I meet Viktor's eyes with steel in my spine, my voice steady despite the rage threatening to crack it. "No."