"They won't find another supplier."
"I know." I lean back, forcing my attention to the actual problem in front of me instead of the one thirty feet away, dusting picture frames. "Which means this is a test. They're seeing if I'll bend."
"And when you don't?"
"They’ll think they can take me and I'll remind them why people don't fuck with me."
Mikhail shifts his weight. Arms crossed. That look on his face—concern wrapped in loyalty. "You've been distracted lately, boss."
It's not a question. I raise a brow.
"I'm handling it."
"Are you?" He doesn't push. Doesn't need to. The evidence is sitting right here—me watching security feeds during business prep, losing focus mid-conversation, spending more time tracking one girl than running an empire worth half a billion dollars.
In my world, distraction kills.
But I can't stop.
Can't stop watching her move through my house like she belongs here. Can't stop filing away the small sounds she makes as she works. Can't stop imagining what other sounds I could draw from her if I stopped watching and started touching.
I can’t fucking help this obsession. This need.
"The Italians arrive in an hour," Mikhail says finally. "Where do you want them?"
"Sitting room. Keep it casual." I stand, rolling tension from my shoulders. Business. Focus. This is what I'm good at—reading people, calculating angles, knowing exactly how hard to push before someone breaks.
The same skills I'm using on Valerie, just in a very different context.
"And Mikhail? When they push on the renegotiation—because they will—we handle it my way."
"Understood." He heads for the door, pauses. "Boss. Whatever you're planning with the girl. Be careful."
I don't answer.
Because careful stopped being an option the moment I decided not to put a bullet in her brain.
The Italians arrive precisely on time.
Marco Ricci leads them—mid-forties, expensive suit, cologne so strong I can smell it from across the room. Trying to project confidence while his eyes track exits and armed men.
He's nervous. Good.
Nervous men make mistakes.
"Lev." He extends his hand, smile too wide. "Thank you for seeing us."
I shake briefly. His palm is sweaty. "You said it was urgent."
"Yes. We've been reviewing the agreement, and given current market volatility—"
"No." I cut him off before he can build momentum. "The agreement stands as written."
His smile tightens. "Of course, but surely you understand that circumstances have changed. Shipping costs have increased substantially. Competition has driven prices down in certain sectors. We're simply asking for a modest adjustment to reflect—"
"You're asking me to take less money because you fucked up your cost projections." I keep my voice conversational. Reasonable. "And you thought coming here in person would make me more sympathetic."
"We're not asking for charity, just—"