Chapter 49 Aria
ARIA
The morning sun streams through the massive windows of my new building, throwing golden rectangles across the hardwood floors. I should be excited. This space is everything I dreamed of when I started Thyme & Tide. Instead, my stomach churns with dread that has nothing to do with morning sickness.
My architect stands near the exposed brick wall, his tablet clutched against his chest like a shield. The contractor hovers by the door, his weathered face arranged in an expression I've learned to recognize as bad news delivered with reluctance. Neither of them will meet my eyes.
"Just tell me," I say, my hand moving instinctively to the swell of my stomach. The baby kicks against my palm, responding to my spiking anxiety.
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 from Nikolai'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 watching everyone 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.
"The wives who work for you," Lara continues, "they're already creating goodwill. Making you seem less like an outsider and more like someone who understands our world. Using Bratva suppliers would strengthen that perception."
"Or make me look like I'm laundering money." I force myself to meet her gaze. "Like I'm just another front for illegal operations."
"Only if you let it become that." Her hand covers mine on my stomach, the touch surprisingly warm. "You set the terms, Aria. You decide what kind of business this becomes. But you can't do it alone anymore. Not with a target on your back."
The baby kicks against our joined hands, and I feel tears sting my eyes again. This child deserves better than a mother who's constantly looking over her shoulder, who can't build a business without worrying about bullets through walls.
"I need to think about it," I say, but even I can hear how weak the words sound.
Lara stands, smoothing her emerald dress with practiced grace. "Don't think too long. Your suppliers want answers, and finding alternatives who'll work with you will take time you don't have."
She moves toward the stairs, her heels clicking against the hardwood, then pauses at the top step. "For what it's worth, I think you're stronger than you realize. Strong enough to use Nikolai's resources without losing yourself in the process."
The door closes behind her, and I'm alone with my thoughts and the ruins of my independence.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to find a text from the architect.
Need decision on suppliers by Friday. Can't hold the timeline without commitments.
Friday. Three days to decide whether I'm willing to tether my business to Nikolai's world permanently. Three days to choose between maintaining my principles and actually building something that might survive.
I think about the Bratva wives who've become more than employees. Irina with her methodical precision, Svetlana's sharp mind for numbers, and Mila's infectious enthusiasm. They're already part of this, already connecting my business to the organization in ways I can't undo.
Maybe Lara is right. Maybe I've already lost the battle for complete independence. Maybe the question isn't whether to accept help, but how to accept it without losing the core of who I am.
My hand moves to my stomach again, feeling the baby's movements beneath my palm. This child will grow up in Nikolai's world whether I like it or not. The question is whether I'll be strong enough to carve out space within that world for something that's still mine.
The door opens again, and this time it is Nikolai's security guard. His expression is grim as he crosses the space toward me.
"Mrs. Alekseev," he says, his voice tight with controlled urgency. "We need to leave. Now."
My pulse kicks up, adrenaline flooding my system. "What's wrong?"
"FBI agents just arrived at the building. They're asking questions about the ownership, about your husband's involvement in the purchase." His hand finds my elbow, already guiding me toward the back exit. "The Pakhan wants you somewhere safe while he handles it."
I let him lead me down the stairs, my mind racing through implications I don't want to examine. The FBI. Here. Asking questions about Nikolai's connection to my business before I've even decided whether to accept his help.
The choice I thought I had just evaporated like morning mist.