He exhales through his nose, a quiet huff that might be amusement or irritation. “I expected you to have missed your old man.”
“Let’s not pretend either of us missed the other.”
He studies me for a moment, eyes narrowing faintly, as if trying to decide whether it was worth summoning me at all.
I break the silence first. “Why did you call me here, Father?”
“Can’t a father ask to see his son?”
“You can,” I say evenly. “You just never do unless you want something. So, let’s not pretend and save us both time.”
That earns me a longer look, intended to make men squirm. I don’t.
He steeples his fingers, settling back in his chair. “Straight to the point, then.”
“Always.”
He nods once, as if conceding a minor point in a game he still believes he’s winning. The room feels smaller when he finally speaks again.
“You’ll marry Irina Petrova,” he says, voice low and deliberate. He doesn’t need to shout. He never did. “It’s time.”
I take the chair opposite him, uninvited. “No.”
A flicker of irritation crosses his face. “No?”
“You heard me.” I unbutton my jacket, slow and calm. “I won’t marry her.”
He studies me the way he used to study his enemies before breaking them. “Boris has made it clear that the wedding must take place in one month. Thirty days, Artyom. That’s all he’s given us—thirty days to bring our families together. You’re treating this like a request.” He leans forward, the light catching the silver in his hair. “And what are you, if not my blood? If I tell you this is how the Morozovs survive, you’llobey.”
The word tastes wrong. He still says it like I’m a child, as if I’m not the one who took his place when his health failed him.
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.”
