Chapter 6 - The Library of the Romanovs
By Friday evening, the rain had cleared from the sky over Chicago, leaving the air crisp, clean, and smelling of autumn leaves.
The library inside the Romanov estate was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the stone fireplace.
Catherine sat in the deep leather armchair by the fire, wearing a comfortable cashmere sweater and dark trousers, holding a glass of dry red wine. On the low mahogany table before her lay the final audit reports of Vale-Henderson Logistics—now officially placed into federal receivership, its assets liquidated to pay back the municipal creditors Jason had defrauded.
The double doors opened quietly, and Nikolai walked in.
He had changed out of his suit into a dark wool sweater and slacks, looking less like a syndicate boss and more like the master of an ancient, quiet estate. He carried two porcelain mugs of black coffee and set them down on the table before taking the seat opposite her.
"Your husband’s corporate counsel has officially resigned," Nikolai said, a faint, dry amusement in his deep voice. "Henderson is cooperating with the U.S. Attorney’s office in exchange for immunity. They estimate Jason will be facing twelve to fifteen years in federal prison for securities fraud and identity theft."
Catherine took a slow sip of her wine. The bitter, complex flavor felt good on her tongue.
"And Allison?" she asked.
"Allison’s landlord evicted her from the Tribeca apartment this afternoon when the corporate lease guarantee bounced," Nikolai replied smoothly. "She’s currently staying with her parents in Schaumburg, wondering why successful men aren't as charming when they're broke."
A quiet, unburdened laugh escaped Catherine’s lips.
For thirty-seven years, she had believed that survival meant being small, being quiet, being the kind of woman who absorbed other people's cruelty and called it love.
Sitting in this quiet library, surrounded by thousands of books and protected by a man who didn't blink when empires fell, she realized she had survived because the core of her was made of something much harder than anything Jason Bennett had ever understood.
"Thank you, Nikolai," she said softly, raising her glass toward him. "For the lawyer. For the car. For not letting me drown in that restaurant."
Nikolai picked up his coffee mug, his slate-gray eyes meeting hers across the flickering firelight.
"You didn't need to be saved, Catherine," he said, his voice dropping into a register that made her heart skip a beat. "You just needed someone to hand you the keys to your own armory."
He set his mug down and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"What happens to the boutique?" he asked. "The design studio Jason tried to steal?"
"It’s mine," Catherine smiled, a bright, fierce expression that reached all the way to her eyes. "Daniel Brooks helped me reincorporate it under my grandmother’s name this morning. We already have three new commercial accounts on Michigan Avenue."
May you like
Nikolai’s mouth curved into a slow, approving smile.
"Good," he murmured. "Because I have a penthouse on the Gold Coast that desperately needs an interior redesign. And I happen to know the best designer in the city."
