"What if I say no?"
His smile falls like a mask removed.
"Then you doom everything your father built," he says. "Everything he died for. Everything your grandfather and his father before him worked toward. Generations of Petrovs, and you'll be the one who ended it."
I see through him immediately, detecting the desperation underneath his threats.
If the Petrov legacy dies, the Volkov legacy dies with it. They're parasites. Always have been. They need us. Need our reputation, our connections, our power. Without us, they're another mid-level family scrambling for scraps.
"Forget my niece." He waves dismissively, attempting to recover his casual demeanor. "She's not good enough anyway. Too much attitude. I've been talking with the Morozov family. Their daughter—now she's special. Rare. Crimson red hair, eyes like?—"
I take another step, and a scent hits me.
Faint. Mixed with his cheap cologne and the vodka smell. But unmistakable once I recognize it.
Jasmine and amber.
Lila's perfume.
The one I spent an afternoon tracking down.
I wasn’t imagining it.
My heart gallops in my chest.
This fucking roach has been near her. Maybe he touched her. Certainly stood close enough for her perfume to transfer.
She's alive.
Dmitri must see the change in me. "Let's not do anything reckless, Petrov?—"
I move before he finishes the sentence, crossing the remaining distance in one stride and grab his throat. I lift himout of the chair with one hand. His glass shatters on concrete. Vodka spreads like spilled blood.
"WHERE IS SHE?!"
His face goes purple immediately. His hands claw at mine, trying and failing to break my grip.
Red laser dots appear. On my chest. My head. His chest. His head. Multiple dots from multiple angles. Snipers from both sides find targets. Fingers on triggers await orders to fire.
"Ivan," he gasps, barely getting the word out. "Think about this."
"This was never about alliances." I press harder, watching his eyes bulge. The veins stand out on his forehead. "Never about territory or tradition. This is about your survival, you fucking roach."
I shake him, not hard enough to snap his neck, but hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
"You're a parasite. Without my family's lines and reputation, you die. The parasite Pakhan of a parasite line before him."
His face is turning blue now. Lips darker. Eyes starting to roll back.
"WHERE IS SHE?!"
"I..." The word is barely air.
I wait, giving him enough slack to speak. To provide the answer I need. A location. An address. Something.
"Fuck... you."
Wrong answer.
