The screen lit up in my hands.
Zero missed calls.
CHAPTER 12
DARIUS
"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Gregor snapped.
His face flushed crimson, the vein above his eye pulsing.
I sat at the head of the table, directly across from my nephew in his war room. I had to admit it was surprisingly comfortable. We were in the Ivanov compound, this little sanctuary he had built not far outside of DC.
It was business-appropriate, with a large, polished mahogany table surrounded by leather chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows with automatic dimmers that limited the afternoon sunlight. It wasn't too dissimilar to my meeting room in London.
The table was covered with files, scattered and untouched coffee cups, and random intel on targets and acquisitions.
The room was also secure. No one was getting in here, planting anything, or listening in without our knowledge and permission.
If only he applied this intense attention to detail to all aspects of the family business.
Mikhail and Artem sat on either side of the table, closer to a very pissed off Gregor.
Gregor's fists slammed onto the table, the sound echoing through the room. His knuckles blanched white, tendons standing out like cords beneath the skin. His anger was palpable, and that was a personal failing that I was going to have to correct.
A man who showed his emotions so readily could have them turned against him.
"Calm yourself," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "I will not let your emotions ruin us."
Gregor launched himself across the table and almost got close enough to touch me before Artem and Mikhail grabbed him by his shoulders and slammed him back down into his seat before retaking theirs.
The chair scraped against the floor. Gregor's breath came in harsh pants, his chest heaving.
"My emotions? Your ego is wounded, and you are going to get us all killed, or worse, imprisoned. What the fuck did you do?" he demanded.
"I told you what I did," I said, keeping my tone even. "I put a two-point-three-million-dollar necklace around the neck of the senator's daughter. Then I video-called her to show her it was armed. If you're worried about the cost of the necklace, don't be. It's insured."
"I don't give a fuck about the necklace." He got to his feet and waved Artem off before stepping away from the table to pace off some of his emotions, his movements clipped and restless.
I took a long look at my nephew, really looking at him for the first time in years. Was this what happened as a result of Gregor’s having spent too much time with women and children? When had one of the most ruthless and logical men I had ever met turned…soft and malleable?
It was disgraceful, and worse, distracting.
The surreal thing was, he was only five years my junior and raised more like a little brother than anything else. But he was still my nephew, and I feared his current path was as much my fault as anyone else's.
His father and Artem's father were both gone now. Both of my brothers had been taken from us by weakness.
Sickness took one, his body unable to fight, and cowardice took the other when he died by his own hand. I was the last of my generation. Although I never wanted to lead, and heading this family was never a goal I ever bothered to consider, let alone aspire to, the role fell to me all the same.
If Gregor thought that this display of emotion showed strength, then I had failed him. Maybe I had allowed him to lead independently too soon. Maybe I should've made him come to London to report in more frequently.
"Why are you even here?" Gregor said between clenched teeth.
Artem followed his every move, ready to jump up in case Gregor took a swing at me. Artem had always been good at reading his cousin. A feat that was less impressive now since Gregor wore his emotions on his sleeve.
Even Mikhail, the family assassin who had dared to marry my niece, inched his chair back from the table, ready to get to his feet again at a moment's notice.
His hand drifted toward his side. Checking for the weapon I knew he always carried.
