“Half of them.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“We’ll negotiate en route.” Nikolai sighs, offering his hand. Alya grabs it, already chattering about which presents she plans to claim.
Lev hesitates by the door. “Should I go, too?”
I study him for a moment. Lev, with his unreadable eyes and quick mind. Almost a man now, though I still see the small boy who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.
“Stay,” I decide.
He closes the door behind Nikolai and Alya, then leans against it, hands in his pockets, trying to look at ease and failing.
My father moves to the window, gazing out at the garden below. “You spoke with the Elder Council.”
Not a question.
“Yes.”
“And they want an answer.”
“By the end of the week.” I join him at the window. In the garden below, I can see the wrought-iron table where I suspect my wife painted butterflies with my daughter. The thought creates an unexpected ache. “The situation has become… precarious.”
“Gregor is making his move,” my father says quietly.
“Yes.”
“And the others?”
“Divided.” I turn to face him. “They want leadership, Father. Decisive action. The old ways are no longer sustainable.”
Lev shifts by the door, and I’m reminded of his presence. This wasn’t how I planned this conversation. Not with my son in the room, hearing things no child should hear, even one raised in our world. But I also know better than to dismiss him now. He’d only listen at the door.
My father seems to reach the same conclusion. He sits heavily in Alya’s desk chair, suddenly looking every one of his seventy-three years.
“I’ve come to a decision,” he says, his voice dropping into the register he uses only for matters of grave importance. The voice that once sentenced men to death with a single word. “My last asPakhan.”
The air in the room thickens. Even Lev straightens from his casual slouch.
“You will succeed me, Konstantin.” My father’s eyes, still sharp as ever, fix on mine. “The Council will need to vote, but my endorsement will carry enough weight.”
The moment stretches between us, taut as wire. It’s what I’ve been preparing for since I was younger than Lev. What was always meant to be. And yet—
“There’s a condition,” he adds.
Of course there is. With my father, there’s always a condition.
“I’m listening.”
“Filipp and Tatiana.” He says the names like they’re weights being placed on a scale. “They will have positions of honor. Protected. Respected.”
Something cold slides through me. “After what they did?”
Anatoly gives me a look. The kind that sayshe knows. The kidnappings. The side deals. The way Tatiana moves in shadows and Filipp plays both sides like it’s a sport.
My father was never stupid—not even in a coma. He knows everything. But he’s grown soft. Weak. In my opinion, that’s the same thing.
