I don’t answer immediately. I let him finish.
His voice hardens.
“If you can kill him,” he says, “and take back your legacy….”
A breath. Like a decision being made in real time.
“I will serve you,” he finishes, “until I die.
“Wonderful.”
As soon as I hang up, I dial the next number.
Mikhail Orlov. Another general.
“Who is this?”
“I’m calling on a Petrov line,” I say evenly. “Listen carefully.”
Silence. Then a short, skeptical laugh.
“Petrov line?” he repeats. “That family is gone.”
“I’m not,” I reply.
Silence. Then his tone shifts—still doubtful, but sharper now. Assessing.
“And who exactly are you supposed to be?”
“Valeria Petrova. I will take back my father’s throne.”
Another laugh follows,
“That name ended weeks ago,” he says. “And even if it didn’t, a woman cannot—”
“I didn’t call for your opinion,” I cut in calmly. “I called to inform you that Anton Petrov’s reign is ending.”
That shuts him up.
A long pause follows. Longer than the first. I can hear him thinking now instead of dismissing.
“You expect me to believe that?” he asks finally.
“I expect you to remember who you served before Anton started pretending he owned what my father built.”
Silence again.
Then something changes in his breathing. Subtle.
“…if you’re lying,” he says slowly, “this is a very dangerous game.”
“It’s not a game,” I reply. “It’s a return.”
Another pause. Then his voice hardens.
“If you can take him down,” he says carefully, “and reclaim the Petrov name…” He exhales once, like the decision is heavier than he wants to admit. “…I will swear loyalty.”
“Not just loyalty,” I say. “I need obedience when it matters.”
