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A wave of dizziness washes over me and I sway unsteadily. When did I last have water? Yesterday? No, it was the day before, when Ivan secretly brought me a few sips. My tongue feels like sandpaper in my dry mouth.
How much longer will Father leave me here? This is the worst it’s ever been. What if he never comes back? The thought terrifies me and I push it away quickly. He has to come eventually.
I struggle to stay upright as my vision blurs, my head pounding. Maybe… maybe if I just rest... for a minute...
My elbows buckle and I sprawl onto the floor, too weak to hold myself up any longer. The cool wood feels soothing against my hot cheek. My breathing slows as I surrender to the blackness creeping in.
Just before I lose consciousness, I hear the faint creak of the study door opening, followed by Ivan's panicked voice shouting my name. His footsteps pound across the floor toward me.
I try to respond but my lips won't form words. Ivan grips my shoulders, rolling me onto my back. I pry my eyes open to look at him one last time before the darkness swallows me completely.
I stand before the heavy oak door, tracing the familiar grains in the wood with my eyes. My palms tingle with the ghostly sting of old lashings as I reach for the brass handle.
Stepping into the dim study, the scent of aged leather and musk envelops me. Nothing has changed. The shelves still groan under endless rows of antique books. The imposing mahogany desk sits precisely centered, its surface polished to a gleam.
I trail my fingers along the desk's edge, memories flashing through my mind. The snap of the belt cracking across my shoulders. The icy burn of alcohol on open wounds. The sheer terror that seized my heart whenever Father summoned me in here.
I don't hate him for it. The beatings, the isolation, my first kill at fifteen - it all served a purpose. Father was forging me into a weapon, tempering me through pain until I was hardened enough to lead the Bratva one day. But maybe it is one reason why I do not find it impossible to leave my family and my legacy behind.
The lessons were brutal, but they worked. I'm no longer that scrawny boy cowering in the corner. Now I'm a man in control of his own destiny. Father's methods shaped me, but he does not own me.
The study door opens and I turn to face him calmly. Gone is the anxiety that used to claw at my insides when Father entered a room. Now my pulse remains steady, my muscles loose but ready. We're on equal footing at last.
Father's cold grey eyes assess me. A ghost of a smile twitches his lips.
Father's scowl deepens, carving harsh lines into his weathered face. "What are you doing in here, boy? Have you come to measure the drapes before you've earned the right to this office?" His tone drips with contempt.
I fold my hands behind my back, meeting his icy glare steadily. "No, Sir. I came to speak with you, not covet your position."
He snorts derisively but gestures for me to continue.
Taking a breath, I lay out the situation plainly. "I'm here to inform you that I intend to marry Sara Amato. She is pregnant with my child and I will be taking her family's name instead of her taking ours."
Father's face purples with rage and he slams a fist on the desk. "You what? How dare you make such a decision without my consent! You insolent brat, you know nothing of securing alliances through marriage. I won't allow you to sully our family's reputation like this!"
Though my heart hammers in my chest, I keep my posture relaxed and my voice level. "With all due respect, the matter is settled. I negotiated the terms of the arrangement directly with Don Amato. Sara will have my protection and I will have her."
"The hell you will!" Father roars, spittle flying from his mouth. "I am still the head of this family. You obey my orders, not the other way around!”
Father’s accusations strike like the lash of a whip, his rage palpable in the cramped study. Yet I remain composed, letting his venom spill over me harmlessly.
“I am no longer a child for you to control,” I state evenly. “The decisions I make as a man are my own.”
Father scoffs. “A man? You are barely more than a boy. What do you know of running an empire, of strategy and sacrifice? I built our family’s power through decades of blood and toil. I will not let you squander it over some foolish infatuation.”
My jaw tightens but I keep my tone level. “This arrangement with the Amatos is a prudent move for the family’s interests.”
“Prudent?” Father spits. “Ceding your name, bowing to their demands – where is the pride in that? You shame your heritage.”
“I do what I must to secure my future.”
“Your future?” He slams a fist on the desk. “You selfish, arrogant child. This is about our future, not yours.”
I meet his livid glare unflinchingly. “My future is intertwined with the Amato’s already. I’ll do what is necessary, not what you wish."
Boris’ face reddens, apoplectic. "Necessary? I made you what you are, built you up from nothing. You owe me everything!"
"I owe nothing to someone who has treated me like a puppet on strings." My voice rises fractionally. "You don't own me anymore."
