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I can't shake the image of Denis stumbling back home that night, his body a mess of blood and bruises, his skin burning with fever. Even now, two weeks later, as I watch him head back to work all mended and healed with the pain far behind him, the memory sends a chill down my spine.

My sister Sofia's words echo in my mind: “I handle this life because I have to. Because there's no way I'm leaving our family to face the dangers alone.”

I twist a strand of my hair around my finger, chewing my lower lip. Denis has healed now, back to his enigmatic, brooding self. But for how long?

The clock on the mantle ticks away the minutes until he returns home. My stomach churns with worry. What dangers does he face out there, all alone? And from how I’ve reacted in the past, he’s obviously never going to tell me the worst of his day, in fear that I’d judge him and wall off.

A sadness tugs at my heart when I put myself in his shoes. Were the roles reversed, he’d be there to ease my mind without a second thought. I’ve seen how far he’s capable of going to make my dreams come true, and how much he sacrifices to hear my fears, to help me overcome them by forcing me to push my creative boundaries.

But that same door isn’t open to him, and that seems totally unfair.

I've been naive, blind to the harsh realities of this world I've married into, and ignorant of all Denis faces. No more. I need to see what we're up against and Denis’s offer comes to mind from back when he asked me to see all the good he does. Once again, I think of Sofia and how she felt that families like ours were a necessary evil to keep the worst from happening.

In a strange way, she was convinced we act as protectors by fighting groups far worse than us, and that’s something I’d like to see. Suddenly, I realize, I might be ready to take Denis up on his offer. It’s time I see the world he’s been impatient to show me.

***

That evening, the front door opens and Denis's tall frame fills the entryway. His hair is slightly disheveled, but otherwise, he looks impeccable in his tailored suit.

"Natalia," he says, a rare smile softening his chiseled features as he crosses the hallway to me.

I stand, my curvy frame dwarfed by his muscular build as he pulls me into an embrace.

"How was your day?" I ask, my voice muffled against his chest as I take a deep breath to smell him as well as I can. It’s strange, and I don’t know when we started hugging, but somewhere between being worried sick at seeing him so hurt and watching him leave for work like nothing ever happened, I started waiting for him to come back home. I began hugging him goodbye and he switched up hellos for warm, lingering embraces.

It’s familiar. Nice.

He pulls back, his eyes searching mine. "Uneventful. Yours?"

I take a deep breath. "Denis, I want to see your operations. Tomorrow morning."

His brows shoot up with genuine surprise, those green flecks in his eyes becoming more pronounced. "Why the sudden interest?"

I square my shoulders, lifting my chin defiantly. "Because I can't keep pretending I don't know what you do. I want to understand, to… to help if I can."

Denis cups my face in his large hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Natalia, you know I’d love nothing more than to show you my world. I’ve always wanted that, but you don't need to concern yourself with—"

"But I do," I interrupt, my stubbornness flaring. "I want you to be able to talk to me. I’ve been worried for you ever since you came back that night, and I don’t want you to feel like nothing happened when you come back home. Please, Denis, I can no longer pretend like our life isn’t what it is."

He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but I can see his mind working overtime. Finally, he sighs with a small smile then, as though I’ve passed whatever assessment he had going on in his mind. "Very well. Tomorrow morning, I'll show you."

I nod, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through me.

As Denis leads me to the dining room for dinner, I can't help but wonder: am I ready for what I'll see?

Well, no going back now.

***

The next morning, I stand beside Denis at the edge of a sprawling private shipping dock, my eyes wide with astonishment. The sheer scale of the operation before me is staggering. A dozen massive ships, their hulls gleaming in the early sunlight, line the dock like silent sentinels. Behind them, an acre of storage space stretches as far as I can see, filled with towering stacks of colorful shipping containers.

"This is… incredible," I breathe, my gaze darting from one enormous vessel to another. "I had no idea it was so… big. And that too, in New York. Wait," I look at him with a playful frown. “Just how rich are you?”

Denis chuckles softly at my question, his arm casually draped around my shoulders as he guides me further into the dockyard. “Ever asked your brothers that?”

“No,” I laugh.

“Well, let’s just say you’d never have to worry about money,” he gives me a small smile.

I nod and look up at his face. In this moment, with the sun coming in strong from the other side, he literally glows.

“You know,” I say, in a near-whisper, “the money never mattered right? I’ve always wanted to make it on my own. That’s why I work so hard on my designs. For some reason, it’s always felt sweeter when earned.”

Denis's gaze softens as he listens, a hint of pride glinting in his eyes. “I know. And I respect that about you, Natalia. Now, let’s show you all the ropes around here, shall we?”

I look around, nodding enthusiastically. There’s an energy in the air here, a busyness, a sense of pursuit and productivity that already excites me.

Denis's hand now rests on the small of my back, a comforting warmth against the cool morning air. "This is just one part of our operations," he explains. "My brothers handle the actual shipments. I oversee maintenance and personnel."

I turn to look up at him, noting the way the breeze ruffles his black hair. "What does that mean, exactly?"

He gestures toward a fleet of trucks parked nearby. "I make sure all our equipment is in top condition—trucks, forklifts, cranes. And I manage the workers, ensure they're taken care of."

As we walk along the dock, the bustle of activity surrounds us. Workers in hard hats and reflective vests scurry about, their voices a cacophony of different languages. I can't help but feel a swell of admiration for Denis, seeing how he navigates this huge operation with such ease.

"And what's that?" I ask, pointing to an enormous piece of machinery being unloaded from a nearby ship.

Denis's lips quirk into a small smile. "That's new equipment from China. It's for loading—"

Suddenly, a group of workers approaches us, their faces alight with something that confuses me for a second—gratitude. One of them, a middle-aged man with weathered hands, speaks up. "Mr. Zolotov, we wanted to thank you again for saving us. We owe you everything."

I blink in surprise, looking between Denis and the workers. What could they be talking about? Denis's expression remains calm, but I notice a tightness around his eyes.

"There's no need for thanks," he says softly. "You're safe now. That's what matters."

A woman with tear-filled eyes steps forward, her voice quivering. "Those were the most horrible months of my life until you came for us two weeks ago, Mr. Zolotov. I didn't think we'd ever…" She breaks off, overcome with emotion.

Two weeks ago? That's when Denis disappeared for a few nights before he came home battered and feverish. My heart pounds as the pieces start to fall into place.

Denis's demeanor softens, and he gently places a hand on her shoulder. "It's over now," he says, his voice low and soothing. "You're safe here. Try to focus on the present and the future. There's work to be done, and you all have an important part to play."

I watch, mesmerized, as Denis effortlessly calms the group. His words seem to have an almost magical effect, and soon the workers are nodding, wiping away tears, and returning to their tasks with renewed purpose.

As Denis guides me further into the vast space, my mind races. I turn to Denis, my curiosity piqued. "Denis, what did they mean by 'saving' them?"

His gray eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something dark and dangerous in their depths. "It's a long story, Natalia. One I'm not sure you're ready to hear."

I square my shoulders. "Try me," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "I want to understand, remember?"

He glances at me, his expression guarded. "Natalia, some things in this world are better left—"

"No," I interrupt, surprising myself with my boldness. "I need to know. These people, they're talking about when you vanished, aren't they? When you came home injured?"

Denis sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "You're more perceptive than I give you credit for, Nat.”

I roll my eyes. “I know you’re deflecting, but I want to understand your world, Denis. All of it. That’s what you wanted for me too, didn’t you now?”

I hold Denis's gaze, my heart racing as I await his response. He breaks into a small, haunted smile and I can see his expression turn harrowed, as though he’s remembering something he wishes he didn’t have to.

Finally, he nods. "Very well," he says softly. "Mark and I… we received word of families being held captive by a rival group. Used as slaves." His jaw clenches, a flash of anger crossing his features. "We couldn't let it stand. There were teenagers in there. The weakest of our society, immigrants lied to and brought in, their passports seized. The conditions they were in, Natalia, are beyond reproach. Sick, starved, worked like dogs."

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. "That's horrible! So you…"

"We went in," Denis confirms, his voice low. "It wasn't easy. These people, they guard their 'property' fiercely." He spits out the word 'property' like it's poison. "But we managed to get them out."

I reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. "That's why you were hurt?"

He nods, a small, grim smile tugging at his lips. "A few scratches. Nothing I couldn't handle."

"And now?" I ask, gesturing toward the bustling dock around us.

"Now, we help them heal. Give them work, safety… a chance at a new life. They’ve been hired for our out-of-sight operations. It’s the only way I can ensure their safety. If they’re seen, they could risk being captured again," Denis's eyes soften as he looks at me. "It's not perfect, but it's something."

I feel a rush of emotions—pride, admiration, and a ton of shame for having misjudged him. "Denis, I… I was wrong about you. About all of this."

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

"I want to see it all," I declare, my voice stronger than I feel. "Your operations, your world. I want to know every aspect of it."

Denis studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. "Are you sure? Once you step into this world fully, there's no going back."

I nod, my resolve firm despite the butterflies in my stomach. "I'm sure. Show me everything."