Dmitri
I grab the crystal tumbler from my desk and pour vodka. The burn does nothing to clear my head. All I can think is her.
The door opens without a knock. Only one person does that.
Igor steps inside, closing it behind him. His scarred face holds that expression I've learned to recognize over the years.The one that says he's about to ask questions I don't want to answer.
"Don't," I warn him.
He ignores me. "What are you doing?"
"Running a business." I take another drink.
"That's what you're calling this?" Igor crosses his arms, thick forearms covered in prison tattoos. "You met her once at a gala.Once.She barely spoke to you."
"Your point?"
Igor doesn't flinch. He never does. That's why he's survived this long at my side. He's the only man in the Bratva who tells me the truth even when I don't want to hear it.
"My point," he says slowly, "is that since that night, you've had Yuri tracking her movements. Every day. Every location. Who she meets, where she goes, what time she wakes up."
My jaw tightens.
"You've dug into her background so deep you know her kindergarten teacher's name.Kindergarten, Dmitri. You know what brand of coffee she orders. You know she still visits her dead brother's grave every Sunday at exactly seven in the morning."
"Thorough research for an alliance?—"
"Bullshit." Igor's voice doesn't rise, but the word cuts through my excuse like a blade. "This is not research. This is obsession."
The word hangs between us.
I don't deny it.
"This is not you," Igor continues. "You are patient. Calculating. You wait for opportunities, you don't manufacture them. You don't manipulate business meetings so you can spend time with a woman who wants nothing to do with you."
"That's the last time you talk to me like this."
Igor doesn't move. Doesn't blink.
"Is it?" he asks quietly.
The vodka burns in my stomach. I set the glass down before I throw it at his head. "You work for me. Remember that."
"I work for you because I'm the only one who can handle your bullshit." Igor takes a step closer. Not threatening. Worse.Concerned."I stayed because after that night in Volgograd, I owed you my life. But I also stayed because you're the closest thing I have to family,brat."
Brother.
"Don't," I warn him.
"Someone has to say it." Igor's voice stays level. Patient. The way you talk to a man holding a live grenade. "Right now, you're going to fuck everything up. Everything we've built. The alliance with the Sartoris. Your position as heir. Your father's legacy."
My fingers curl into fists. "Careful."
"If evenoneperson learns you've been obsessing over the Sartori princess —" Igor shakes his head. "The other families will smell blood. They'll think you're weak. Compromised. And they won't be wrong."
I move before I think. One second I'm behind my desk; the next I have Igor's collar twisted in my fist, our faces inches apart.
He doesn't resist. Doesn't even raise his hands.
