And if the Empire were inherited through male primogeniture, father to son to son.
Otherwise, there were other claimants, ones descended through matrilineal lines or an unbroken line of non-morganatic marriages.
And to be fair, royals like us didn’t really care about who would inherit the actual title because there was no money or property associated with it, only a target on your back. The amount of blue blood in one’s veins meant more than ownership of an extinct title.
I tapped my shot glass a little harder as I set it on the table, signaling the glass should stay down and not be filled again.Four shots in less than fifteen minutes were enough. “It is good to meet you and your associates, Anisim Popov and Leonty Fedorov.”
Everyone nodded, a sign that this was casual.
All right, back to the plan.
My first priority was immediately shutting down this deal, whatever it was. “I’m not sure what my uncle has told you, but our assets are quite tied up right now.”
Demyan glanced at Michel and back at me as he set down the vodka bottle. “We are planning to front an investment in your portfolio as part of the deal.”
Diplomatically backing out of business where money flows toward you is more difficult than the other way. “I’m not sure now is a good time for such a deal.”
The faintest smirk creased Volkov’s gray eyes. “There’s never agoodtime for it. Trust me on this. You do it anyway.”
Extricating myself from Michel’s promises was not going to be easy. “I’m not sure this is suitable for us. I have prior commitments.”
Volkov barely shrugged one shoulder. “That’s never been a problem, for us or your ancestors. You were baptized Russian Orthodox, weren’t you?”
What a weird line of conversation. Perhaps Volkov was very religious and only did business with other Russian Orthodox Christians, though that seemed unnecessarily restrictive. Most Russian mobsters were devout but not finicky when it came to business. “Baptized and chrismated as an infant, yes. Orthodoxy is generally not negotiable in my family, what with forcing generations of Prussian princesses to convert the day before they married us.”
Demyan Volkov didn’t crack a smile. “Your family has been estranged from Russia for many years.”
“It wasn’t our idea.”
Volkov looked at the table under his hands and shrugged as if the February Revolution had been a minor inconvenience. “You aren’t involved in politics.”
“Absolutely not.”
“But you are interested in Russia.”
“I wish Russia well, but I have no interest in it. My entire family are private citizens now, nothing more,” I recited.
“But you speak Russian.”
“Da,”I confirmed, and then continued in Russian, speaking with the same accent Volkov had. “I speak enough Russian for little conversation, even though there’s no reason for me to speak it, ever.”
He squinted at me a little. “You sound like you’re from Sankt-Peterburg.”
He knew I hadn’t lived in or even visited the city of St. Petersburg.
It would have made headlines.
And probably my obituary.
“One of my teachers was Petersburger,” I admitted, continuing to speak in Russian.
“That explains it. It’s more cultured than Muscovite accent.”
I didn’t answer. Disparaging any Russian accent was asking for trouble.
“It’s good that you speak Russian,” Volkov said. “My daughter thinks it’s important for children to learn their mother tongue.”
A Russian mobster who listened to what his daughter thought was unusual, and the comment seemed out of place in the conversation. “Certainly.”
