He stays. Watching me. I pour another vodka. Don't offer him one.
"Drogo," he says finally. Voice soft. Almost… fatherly. "Son. Please. Let's talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"You can't go back to London—"
"I can. I am."
"She's moved on—"
"I don't care."
"Then why?" He leans forward. "Why risk everything for a woman who's forgotten you?"
I look at him. At this dying man who refuses to die. At the father I never wanted. "Because you pull any shit around her now—any—and I'm done protecting you."
"Drogo—"
"I leave in an hour," I say, voice flat. Cold. "My men take lead here. You stay out of my way. You don't touch her. You don't threaten her. You don't even think about her."
"Or what?"
I lean forward. Smile. "Or I'll keep you alive. Skinned. Bone by bone. Salt on the muscle. Dried in the sun like a grape until you're begging me for death. And I won't give it to you. I'll keep you alive for years, Klaus. Long enough to regret every choice you made. Every threat. Every time you used her against me."
Klaus stares. For the first time in two years, I see it. Fear. Real, genuine fear. He's looking at the monster he created. And he's finally understanding what that means. What I'm capable of. What I'll do if he crosses this line.
"You made me this," I say quietly. "You wanted a son who could lead. Who could kill without hesitation. Who could become vor in ways you never could." I stand. "Congratulations. You got exactly what you wanted."
I walk to the door. Stop. Turn back. "One hour, Klaus. Then I'm gone. And if anything happens to her while I'm there—if she gets so much as a scratch—I'm coming back. And you'll wish the cancer had killed you."
I leave. Klaus doesn't follow.
• • •
One hour later, I'm in the back of a black SUV heading to JFK. Private jet waiting. Flight plan filed. London in seven hours.
My phone buzzes. Email from Yuri. Subject: OLIVER SUTHERLAND.
I open it.
Oliver Sutherland. Age 34. CEO, Sutherland Holdings. Net worth: £400M. Properties in London, Monaco, New York. Single. No criminal record. No debts. No scandals. Clean.
Met subject (Alena Lupus) through mutual friend Lucy Zhang. First date: last night. Took her to Alain Ducasse. Drove her home. Kissed her cheek. No further contact yet. Awaiting your orders, Boss.
I read it twice. Three times. Perfect. He's fucking perfect. Rich. Handsome. Clean. No baggage. No violence. No Bratva stars covering his body. No blood on his hands.
Everything I'm not.
I text back. "Continue surveillance. Both of them. Report everything."
Response comes instantly. "Yes, Boss."
I pull out the tablet. One last look. Alena's house. Morning now. She's in the kitchen. Coffee. Alone. The man from last night is gone. Good. She looks… tired. Sad. I zoom in on her face. Touch the screen.
"I'm coming," I whisper.
To claim what is mine.
