"To the estate." My voice carried exhaustion, each word heavy as lead.
"Yes, sir."
The car merged into New York's late-night arteries. I closed my eyes, head pressed against the headrest, that damn phone call echoing in my skull. It hadn't been my father calling—it was fucking Dmitri, the old man's most loyal lapdog. He'd used that bureaucratic tone toinform me, "Igor, the Don wants you back at the estate immediately. Final arrangements for the engagement ceremony need confirmation with the Ivanov family."
At the end, he'd added with pointed meaning, "The Don says he hopes you'll always remember—Bratva comes first."
My jaw clenched instantly, muscles jumping beneath the skin. That bastard always knew exactly how to drive his words like ice picks straight into my bones.
Family. Bratva. From the moment I drew breath, those two words had been carved into my blood and bone. Being the Bratva Don's only son didn't just mean power and status—it meant chains and responsibilities I could never shake.
I'd inherited everything from my father—that cold-blooded, tyrannical, power-hungry bastard. Taking over this sprawling underground empire and pushing it to even greater heights was both my ambition and my fate. To achieve it, I had to accept marriage to the only daughter of another Russian crime family that controlled vast drug networks.
Natasha Ivanova. I'd met her several times—a classic Slavic beauty, tall and seductive. Years of ballet training had given her perfect posture, her straight spine radiating inborn arrogance. She and Elena... Christ, they were creatures from completely different worlds.
Elena embodied every fantasy I'd ever had about women. Her blonde, slightly curling hair caught light like spun silk, her blue eyes clear as the finest crystal. And those lips—full enough to make any man desperate to taste them.
She was sweet and kind, impossibly perfect. Except she lacked that one crucial qualification—being "the daughter of a family controlling drug networks."
But that single fucking title was the deciding factor.
I opened my eyes, ice forming in my gaze. We'd already left the slums where Elena's shabby apartment sat. Now the entrance to the luxurious estate in Long Island filled my view—manicured hedges, carefully tended gardens. A completely differentuniverse.
It didn't matter. Once this was all settled, I'd take good care of Elena. I'd buy her the finest penthouse in the Upper East Side, set up a trust fund she could never exhaust. She'd become my most precious secret. She'd be happy. That sweet girl treasured even the diamond necklace I'd casually given her, too precious to even wear. Give her a few comforts and she'd glow for weeks.
The thought brought a twisted sort of comfort to my restless mind.
When the Bentley stopped before the main house, I saw my father, Konstantin Vorontsov, standing with the Ivanov family on the stone steps, winter light casting long shadows around them. Alexander Ivanov noticed my car first—Natasha's father, a man whose hearty laugh masked fox-like cunning. His gaze shifted to me, and the others followed.
I took a deep breath and opened the door, cold air flooding my lungs.
"You're late." My father's voice held no warmth.
"Traffic," I replied expressionlessly, my eyes scanning past Natasha, who was watching me with burning intensity. Tonight she wore a tight red dress that clung to every curve, her makeup flawless, sultry eyes roaming over me. When she caught my gaze lingering on her, she raised her crimson lips in a perfect smile.
We entered the massive sitting room where flames roared in the fireplace. Under crystal chandeliers, the long table displayed an array of drinks—whiskey, vodka, wine. I found a seat and leaned back, spending the next hour like an outsider, letting their conversation drift past my ears.
"Speaking of which, Natasha just keeps excelling." My father actually smiled—a particularly false expression on his face. "I heard she just landed the principal dancer with the New York Ballet Company. Igor is fortunate to marry her, as is the Vorontsov family."
Natasha turned toward my father as if they'd rehearsed this countless times. "Mr. Vorontsov, you're too kind. Standing beside Igor is my honor."
Her voice was impossibly soft, but her eyes never left me.
Alexander let out a booming laugh, clapping my father's shoulder. "Konstantin, you're too modest. Everyone in New York knows Igor's methods. He's not only taken over the business but made all challengers simply vanish. I can truly rest easy knowing my daughter will marry such a man."
The mutual ass-kissing between these old foxes made me sick. I grabbed the whiskey, letting the amber liquid burn down my throat, trying to use alcohol's fire to chase away the disgust.
Natasha's mother, who'd been sitting elegantly silent, chose this moment to speak gracefully. "Since this is a union of equals, the spectacle must match both families' status. I've confirmed with the Royal Hotel management—every detail of the engagement banquet will be the highest caliber. We'll show all of New York this isn't just an engagement party, but the birth of a new empire."
The moment she finished, Natasha picked up the thread, her gaze locked on me. "Mother's absolutely right. Igor, our union is destiny."
The two old foxes exchanged satisfied looks, their smiles heavy with anticipation for the coming alliance.
Alexander steered the conversation back to practical matters. "The Ivanov family's South American supply channels will open completely to the Vorontsovs. And your transportation networks must provide the safest possible passage for our goods."
"Done." My father's response was crisp and decisive.
"I have one requirement." I set down my glass, meeting Alexander's gaze. "Your supply sources are valuable. But transportation stays under our complete control—from port unloading to final distribution, every step involves only our people. I don't want to see any Ivanov personnel interfering with security on my territory."
