“I don’twantit.” I move to the edge of the desk, hands braced on the carved wood. “I’mtakingit. You either bless it, or you delay what’s already inevitable.”
He watches me with that look only a father gives—like he built me with his bare hands and still isn’t sure I deserve the breath I take.
“Isabella,” he says finally.
Of course. Suka.
“She’s not one of us,” he adds. “You think this family will bow to a woman who’s never held a gun? Never tasted blood in her mouth? She’s—”
“You made the choice last time. You picked Irina Mikhailova.”
His eyes narrow, but he stays silent.
“She walked out on your empire like it meant nothing. Abandoned your grandchildren. That was your call.”
A beat. Thick with things neither of us say out loud.
“And now?” I lean in, voice low. “I’m making mine.”
Anatoly takes his eyes off me. Reaches for his glass. Takes a long, measured sip like he’s swallowing down whatever thought nearly made it to his mouth.
I take a step closer. “You want to know if I’m ready? Here’s your answer: I’ve already secured assets on three continents, buried two boardrooms, and married a woman who makes me fucking dangerous. Because for the first time in my life—”
I pause.
Then he looks back and studies me.
“This isn’t about her,” I change tack, voice flat. “It’s about the position. And the timing.”
Anatoly’s jaw flexes. He doesn’t like being spoken to like this. I don’t care.
“You know what Filipp’s doing,” I say. “You’ve seen the moves. The alliances he’s trying to build. You think he’s going to wait for your blessing?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.
“You step down clean,” I continue, “or we lose control of the narrative. You want a war inside your own house?”
He takes a slow sip, still seated—like he’s got all the time in the world. Like I’m just another boy trying to sound like a man in his presence.
Then he sets the glass down, smooth and deliberate. And says—
“Let me tell you something about love… It’s useless, and a fucking leash wrapped around your neck. You think it makes you strong, but it just tells the world where to strike.”
Love.
The word doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. Not with Irina. Not with anyone.
I fucked her. We had kids. She vanished. That’s not love. That’s a contract that expired early.
So why the hell is he talking to me like I’m some romantic idiot waiting to bleed for it?
I’m not here to cry about feelings. I’m here for the fucking seat.
41
Konstantin
The door shuts with a whisper.
