Mikhail did not come to the hotel. He sent lawyers. That was smarter. At ten the next morning, my attorney walked into the private meeting room with a black folder thick enough to make me nervous.

"What is that?"

"Apparently, your husband has discovered paperwork."

I waited twenty minutes before answering Sofia. Not because Mikhail told me to. He didn't. I waited because I wanted my attorney to confirm that the warehouse evidence was already copied somewhere I could not delete even if I lost my mind and tried. Then I texted one wo

I chose the meeting place. A hotel lounge in Midtown. Public enough that Luca Ferraro could not pretend I had come to him on his terms, private enough that we could talk without microphones in our faces. Mikhail was in the building because I had agreed to that. He was