The room fell dead silent. Only the faint sound of blood drops hitting the table.
"Ivan," my voice turned to ice, "what did you just call my woman?"
Ivan's face went white for a moment, but he quickly forced that fake smile back.
"Pakhan, I'm simply being objective—"
"Objective?" I stood, planting both hands on the table, looming over them with suffocating pressure. "Then let me be objective with you—Vivienne Cole is the woman I've chosen. She represents the Volkov family's face. Carmine went after her not because she offended him, but because he wanted to test my limits."
I straightened, coldly adjusting my cuffs, not bothering to look at these worthless fools again.
"Sasha."
"Yes, Pakhan."
"Mobilize the Cleaner squad. Heavy weapons. Before midnight tonight, I want Marchetti's three smuggling warehouses at the docks burned to the ground. Hang those Italian bastards' heads on their shipping containers." I scanned the circle of stunned elders. "Use their blood to shut your mouths. Now, does anyone else have objections tomy decision?"
Dead silence.
By the time I got back to the estate, it was completely dark.
I leaned back in the car seat, exhausted, eyes closed, temples throbbing.
These past three days, I'd barely slept.
Days were spent dealing with Marchetti, placating restless old fools, reorganizing Washington's entire power structure. Nights at the estate, I forced myself not to knock on her door, not to watch the monitors showing her curled up in bed.
After that fight, it was like a transparent wall stood between us.
I knew she was in that room. Knew she barely ate. Knew she'd locked herself in that small space like a wounded cat licking her wounds.
But I couldn't back down.
If I compromised on the surveillance, I'd be admitting my methods were wrong. And once I admitted that, I couldn't protect her anymore.
The car stopped at the estate entrance. Sasha opened the door.
"Sir, shall I have dinner prepared?"
"No." I rubbed my temples. "Has she... eaten anything today?"
Sasha paused before answering. "Some. But... very little, Pakhan. Natasha says Ms. Cole has no appetite. The lunch and dinner we sent in were barely touched. And she threw up this morning."
My head snapped up. "Threw up? Is she sick?"
"Natasha believes it's gastrointestinal distress from emotional stress." Sasha's tone remained even. "But if you're concerned, I can arrange for a private doctor—"
"No." I cut him off, my voice sharp. "I got it."
I strode into the estate and went straight to the kitchen.
Sophia was directing staff to clean up after dinner. She clearly startled when I walked in.
"Sir? Do you need something?"
"Everyone out."
Sophia and the servants exchanged glances but obediently filed out of the kitchen.
