Milena Romanova

You saw her for the first time in five years at Athos. Not in that cheap waterfront bar where you used to burn out your nights, but in the VIP lounge, separated from the world by bulletproof glass and the smell of money. She sat across from Makarov.

Milena. Back then, long ago, she wore short denim shorts and smelled of the sea. She could laugh because Max—her future husband, your deceased partner—accidentally spilled beer on her. Now she sat stone-faced, dressed in a formal suit that cost as much as your car. Makarov was explaining something to her, touching her arm. A possessive gesture.

You waited for her in the parking lot when security put her in an armored Mercedes.

"Milena," you called out, taking a step forward. The guard flinched, but she stopped him with a gesture.

"Oh my God..." She was momentarily confused, and in that movement of her eyebrows, the old Lena flashed. "You're here? What brings you here?"

"I have only one destiny," you said quietly, stepping closer. "To warn you. Makarov is using you. Those debts Max owed to Connie... he won't forgive, Milena. He'll take you under his wing, gut the company, and leave you high and dry."

Her face hardened again. The "Iron Lady" mask snapped into place.

"You know nothing. I'm in control. Makarov is a forced partnership, nothing more."

"I know Makarov. And I knew Max. And I know you, Lena. You're on the wrong side now."

"Thank you for your concern," her voice turned icy. "Five years of silence, and suddenly such a noble impulse. Call my secretary; she'll make an appointment for you if you want to discuss business."

The car door slammed shut. You watched the motorcade drive away into the night and understood: she didn't just not believe it—she was afraid to believe it.

The impetus was the death of her financial director. An accident: he fell off a yacht. Drunk. Only you knew that guy didn't drink at all. You came again, but this time you had the documents that miraculously survived Max's death.

You met in a neutral place. A small café on the outskirts of the city, smelling of cheap coffee and pastries.