Eventually, he sighs and leans back, bringing the cigar to his mouth with a practiced flick of his wrist. He takes a long drag, the orange tip flaring briefly before he exhales. Thick smoke plumes from his lips, curling into the air and momentarily cloaking his face from view like a veil.
“You want advice? Cut your losses,Pakhan,” he says, voice slow, almost pitying.
My eyes narrow.
“Mikhail wants attention,” he continues. “Don’t give it to him. Let him bark into the void all he wants. You’re still in charge, you’ve still got the power here. Use it and let her go. You can have another heir. Another woman—abetterone. One who stays, whowantsto be a part of this world instead of running from it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Alisa watching me carefully. She hasn’t said a word since Luka’s little monologue, but she didn’t need to. Her silence is enough of an opinion of its own. Though her expression remains unreadable, it gives enough away. She agrees with him.
Not entirely—Alisa rarely ever sides with anyone completely—but the foundation of her opinion is the same as his. They both think I’m being reckless and emotional. That I’ve let a woman and the idea of a family turn me into a liability.
Alisa speaks again. “You’re not thinking clearly, Maksim. The Bratva just clawed its way back from Anton’s mess. We needstability.Your job isn’t to rescue a girl. Your job is to lead.”
I almost laugh. It bubbles up in my throat, bitter and dry, threatening to spill out. It’s not amusement, it’s rage.Contemptat the sheer absurdity of what I’m hearing. Ofthem, sitting on their thrones, acting like the Bratva’s survival was ever in their hands.
As if they were the ones who buried brothers in shallow graves and then walked back into meetings with their enemies like they hadn’t just left a piece of their soul behind in the dirt. They didn’t fight like we did, bleed like us.
They watched from the safety of their estates. From behind bulletproof glass and guarded gates. They waited to see which way the wind would blow, refusing to pick sides until the smoke started to clear. UntilIhad already taken the brunt of the storm andwon.
My lip curls. “Will you help or not?”
Alisa’s eyes narrow, her voice dipping low with suspicion. “Would you give up everything for them? Even the Bratva, if it meant saving your little family?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
They share a look. “You’ve gone soft.”
I already know the answer, have known it since the moment I saw Leo’s face for the first time and heard him call for his mother. Since the moment I realized Ivy was still fighting, still risking everything for the child I never had the chance to protect.
They share a glance. It’s a quiet exchange, but I see it for what it is. A judgment. A sentencing.
“You’ve gone soft,” Luka mutters, as though the word disgusts him.
Then the screen goes black. Just like that, the call is over, the line severed.
Their rejection is clear.
For a split second, I sit in stunned silence. Not because I’m surprised by their answer but because it still hits like a blow to the ribs. Then the rage catches fire, causing me to nearly throw the laptop.
My fingers flex around it, knuckles blanching as I force myself to keep hold, the urge to shatter something barely contained. The device creaks under the pressure of my grip. It would be so easy to hurl it across the room and hear the satisfying crunch of it breaking.
But that would be useless.Pointless.
I’ve come too far for that.
Instead, I rise from my chair, breath seething through my nose as I pace the length of my office like a caged animal.
Soft.
They think I’ve lost my edge, that I’ve forgotten who I am, but they couldn’t be more wrong. They don’t understand what it means to be a father, to be a man who was denied the right toknowhis own son and have tasted the possibility of peace, only to have it ripped away by a ghost from a blood-soaked past.
They don’t understand but they will, because one way or another, Iwillget Ivy and Leo back. If I have to tear the Bratva apart brick by brick to do it, then so be it.
When my phone rattles in my pocket, I pull it out without thinking, the screen lighting up in my palm. I don’t bother to glance at the caller ID. I’m too wound up to care.
“What?” I snap, harsher than I mean to, but I don’t have the energy for pleasantries anymore.
There’s a pause, then Lev’s voice comes through, low and cautious. “Before I say anything, you need to know this is not verified.”
