I let the silence stretch before answering. “You stepped down because the doctors said you couldn’t take it,” I say quietly. “I’m the one keeping this family alive now. I don’t obey.” I meet his gaze, steady. “Not to you. Not to Boris. Not to anyone.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “Power doesn’t change blood. You’re only sitting there because I built it all first.”
“You built it, sure,” I say. “I’m the one who kept it from falling apart.”
His jaw tightens. “You think that makes you better than me?”
I shrug. “No. Just not as rotten.”
The air feels heavier. The smoke from his cigar hangs between us, thick and bitter. I’ve hated that smell since I was a kid, but he loves it—loves the way it fills a room until everyone breathes what he wants them to.
He takes another drag, the tip burning red. “Boris Petrov runs Queens and Long Island. Irina’s his heir. This marriage ties everything together—money, protection, legacy.” He looks at me over the smoke. “You’d really throw that away because your conscience suddenly woke up?”
“I’d rather not tie our name to human trafficking.”
He scoffs. “A moral Pakhan. The world will laugh.”
“The world already daes,” I say. “They think you’re too old to matter.”
That lands, making a vein pulse in his temple.
He rises slowly, using the cane like it’s part of the performance. “You’re my son, Artyom, don’t forget this” he says. “And sons don’t defy their fathers.”
I rise. No Morozov ever allows another to tower over them, this is what I’ve been taught and a rule I keep until this very day. “You call it loyalty, but it’s tyranny. You abdicated, Father. When I took yourthrone, your rule ended. I won’t serve in its shadow and you know very well my approach is different than yours. I won’t deal with human trafficking and I certainly won’t followBoris’ lead and agree to his ridiculous schemes. Why on Earth would I marry Irina?”
He takes another drag, watching me like he’s measuring weight for a moment, then smiles. “You’ve grown arrogant.”
“I’ve picked up a few habits,” I say.
He gets up and walks the length of the desk, slowly coming towards me, and stops close enough that the tobacco is on my skin. “Do you know what happens to arrogant men, Artyom?”
“I’ve killed enough to know.” The words come out flat.
His eyes go sharp, like something there just woke up inside him. “Irina loves you. And she’s such a pretty girl.”
“She doesn’t love me, she barely knows me,” I answer.
“That’s enough.” He taps the desk with two fingers, as if marking time.
“She despises Mikhail, they have a history, he did something to offend her in the past,” I say.
“That’s not your problem.” He shrugs. “This is politics.”
“It is my problem when I have to share her bed.” The sentence lands harder than I expected.
He snorts. “When did you start caring whose bed you’re in? You’ve slept with women across half of Europe.”
My jaw tightens. “There’s a difference between someone you sleep with and a contract you must sign. Don’t confuse them.”
“You sound like a petulant child,” he says.
I step closer until his chin tilts up to meet my eyes and the room narrows. “A child would have left your empire in ashes, not made it more powerful.”
He studies me a long time; the quiet between us feels sharp. Finally: “You forget—men like Boris demand respect. Refuse his daughter and he’ll take what you have.”
“We are allied anyway, Father, why the fuck would I agree to marry his daughter?” I ask.
He shakes his head, slowly. “Power isn’t permanent. One bad move, one broken promise, and everything you’ve built falls apart.”
