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DMITRI

I check my phone for the tenth time in an hour, a smile tugging at my lips as I read Tash's latest message. She's complaining about a new board member touching the artifacts without gloves. The horror.

Can't you have him removed?

I type back a response, imagining the eye roll this will earn me.

I could, but watching you get worked up is more entertaining.

The weight that's been crushing my chest these past weeks has lifted. Having her know everything and accept who I am despite it all has freed something inside me I didn't realize had been caged.

You're impossible

Nikolai pokes his head into my office. "What's got you in such a good mood?"

I school my features, but it's too late. He's already seen.

"Nothing that concerns you," I say, sliding my phone face-down on the desk.

"Right." He smirks. "Tell Tash I said hello."

I don't dignify that with a response, but my brother's teasing doesn't bother me like it used to. Everything feels lighter now that I don't have to maintain the perfect facade around her. Even my control doesn't feel as rigid.

My phone buzzes again.

Lunch?

Can't today. I’ve got a meeting with Erik about the shipping manifests.

Dinner then? That new French place opened on 5th Avenue.

I consider my schedule. The Lebedev situation still demands attention, but I want to prioritize something else for once—someone else.

I'll pick you up at 7

I text back.

Three dots appear as she types.

Perfect. Don't be late, Ivanov.

When am I ever late?

I reply because we both know I'm pathologically early for everything.

The familiar banter settles something in my chest. This is how we should be, easy, natural. No more lies between us.

I settle into my chair at the head of the conference table, my thoughts clearer than they’ve been in weeks. The weight of hiding things from Natasha had been more burdensome than I'd realized.

Viktor takes his usual spot to my left, his weathered face grim as he reviews the latest weapons shipment reports. Katya Petrova adjusts her silver pendant—a reminder of her efficient handling of problematic officials. Marcus Chen's dragon tattoo peeks above his collar as he shuffles through Pacific shipping manifests.

Alexi sprawls in his chair, tablet in hand, while Nikolai maintains his perfect posture across from me. The empty seat where Erik should be draws my attention. My brother's absence speaks volumes about his current preoccupation with Katarina Lebedev.

"Updates," I command, and the room snaps to attention.

"Pacific routes are clear," Marcus reports. "Three new shipping lanes established."

Katya's red lips curve. "The Amsterdam gallery is ready for the next acquisition. Papers are perfect."

I nod, processing each report with renewed focus. I won't have to split my attention between business and wondering how to keep Tash in the dark. The truth has simplified things considerably.

"Erik's absence is noted," Nikolai states, his tone carefully neutral.

"He's handling other matters," I reply. We all know what, or rather who, those matters involve. I understand his fixation more than I'd like to admit. These women have a way of getting under our skin.

Viktor clears his throat. "Speaking of Lebedev matters..."

I raise my hand, cutting him off. "We'll discuss that privately." Some details of our operation against Igor Lebedev are confidential.

I study Viktor's weathered face, noting the tension in his jaw. He's been with us since before Father died, one of the few who stayed loyal through everything. The oath he took to our family wasn't just words—it's carved into his bones.

Marcus and Katya are excellent at what they do. Marcus keeps our Pacific routes running smoothly, while Katya's network of art forgers and thieves is unmatched. But they're contractors, not family. Not bratva.

"We'll reconvene in an hour," I say, my tone brooking no argument. "Marcus, Katya—good work. Keep the regular operations flowing."

They gather their papers and leave without question. That's why I keep them around—they know when to push and when to disappear.

Viktor stays seated, his scarred hands folded on the table. Nikolai hasn't moved either. The three of us share a look that speaks volumes about the weight of our discussion.

The Lebedev situation isn't just business—it's personal. It's about family honor, about power structures that have existed for generations. Marcus and Katya might be loyal to their paychecks, but they don't understand the deeper currents of Bratva politics. They don't need to know how Erik's growing attachment to Katarina Lebedev could reshape alliances that have stood for decades.

"Now," I say once the door clicks shut, "about Igor Lebedev..."

I lean back in my seat, studying my brother's face. Nikolai has always been the most levelheaded of us, who can see ten moves ahead while I'm still caught up in the immediate battle.

"We need to end this before it spirals," Nikolai says, his steel-gray eyes fixed on me. "Igor Lebedev is a rabid dog, but even he must see the futility of prolonging this conflict."

Viktor shifts in his seat. "The old bastard won't negotiate while we have his daughter."

"That's precisely why we need to use her as leverage now," Nikolai counters. "Before more of our men end up dead. Before civilian casualties draw unwanted attention."

He's right. The thought settles like lead in my stomach. Every day this drags on, Natasha is at greater risk. And Erik... my brother's growing attachment to Katarina complicates everything.

"What are you suggesting?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Let me handle the negotiations." Nikolai's voice carries the weight of authority he rarely exercises with me. "I'll arrange a meeting. Neutral ground. We discuss terms for Katarina's return and a ceasefire."

"And if Igor doesn't play ball?" Viktor's scarred hands clench on the table.

"Then, at least we tried the diplomatic route first." Nikolai meets my gaze. "Brother, we both know this needs to end. For all our sakes."

I nod slowly. "Set it up. But choose the location carefully. I want every advantage if this goes sideways."

"Already have a place in mind." Nikolai pulls out his phone. "I'll make the call."

I keep my expression neutral, but relief floods through me at Nikolai's words. An end to this war means Tash will be safer. The thought of her getting caught in the crossfire has eaten at me more than I care to admit.

"The sooner, the better," I say, my tone measured and professional. Viktor's presence reminds me to maintain the facade of the ruthless CEO he's known for years. "What timeline are we looking at?"

Nikolai checks his phone. "We can have everything arranged within forty-eight hours."

I give a sharp nod, deferring to his authority.

"The usual security protocols?" I ask, though I already know the answer. I ask this calculated question to show Viktor I'm focused on business, not personal matters.

"Double them," Nikolai orders. "We can't afford any surprises."

I recline in my chair, projecting an air of calm control even as hope stirs in my chest. The end of this conflict would mean one less threat to worry about, one less reason to post guards outside Tash's apartment.

But I keep these thoughts carefully hidden behind my practiced mask of indifference. Viktor has served our family loyally for years, but there are some vulnerabilities leaders can't afford to show.