I will burn the world down before I let anyone threaten it.
***
The war room at the family compound smells of aged wood, strong coffee, and the faint trace of cigar smoke that always lingers when the capos gather. I sit at the head of the long mahogany table, sleeves rolled up, reviewing the latest intelligence reports while the others settle in.
Tikhon occupies the chair to my right, his massive frame making the heavy seat look almost delicate. Andrei, my younger brother, sharp-eyed and quick-tempered, leans against the wall near the window.
Three other trusted capos fill the remaining seats: Viktor, who handles the eastern routes; Lev, our financial enforcer; and Sergei, the quiet one who manages security for the entire family.
We've been meeting for nearly an hour, mapping the next phase against Fadir. His suppliers are folding faster now. Two more legitimate fronts have been quietly frozen. The leaked photos from the gala are doing their work, and society circles are buzzing with speculation about the woman on my arm and the rumors of pregnancy already swirling.
“Financial pressure is working,” Lev reports, sliding a folder across the table. “Three more accounts are locked. His cash flow is drying up. Another two weeks and he’ll be forced to liquidate assets just to keep the lights on.”
Tikhon grunts in approval. “Good. Let the bastard feel the noose tightening slowly. No clean bullet for him. He deserves to watch everything burn.”
“We keep it surgical. No unnecessary noise. The goal is still erosion, and that’s to make him look weak in the eyes of his own people. Once he’s isolated, we finish it,” I nod, making a note on the margin of the report.
The conversation shifts to other pending business: a minor territorial dispute on the south side, a shipment schedule that needs tighter security, and a request from one of our legitimate construction companies for additional capital.
I listen carefully, giving instructions with the same methodical calm I always maintain in these rooms.
Then Andrei speaks up, his tone darker than usual.
“There’s something else. More rumors are swirling about Anja’s pregnancy.”
The room goes still. I set my pen down slowly, every muscle in my body tightening.
“Fadir’s been talking. He’s telling anyone who will listen. People like associates, a few loose ends in the underworld, even some of the old messengers, that the child is his. Claims you abducted Anja when you knew she was already pregnant with his baby. Says you stole his woman and his heir to humiliate him. He’s painting you as the villain who broke the code by taking a pregnant woman from her rightful partner,” Andrei continues, eyes flicking to me.
Rage ignites in my chest, hot and immediate.
I feel it like a physical blow, and it’s not just the lie itself, but the deliberate attempt to drag Anja’s name through the mud, to question her safety, to make her pregnancy a weapon against both of us. The thought of Fadir spreading that poison, claiming my child as his own, makes my hands curl into fists beneath the table.
“He’s desperate,” Sergei mutters. “Trying to turn public opinion, make us look like we’re the ones breaking rules.”
“Desperate or not,” I say, voice low and edged with ice, “he has crossed the final line.”
“We hit him harder. Financially first, then we start picking off the few loyal men he has left. Make sure everyone knows the child is yours. Publicly, if necessary.” Tikhon leans forward, his massive hands flattening on the table.
I shake my head once, sharply. “No. Not yet. We keep the pregnancy quiet on our end for now. Anja is already carryingenough. I won’t subject her to public scrutiny until she’s ready. But Fadir’s lies end today. Leak the truth through the right channels...discreetly. The child is mine. Anja is under Sokolov's protection. Anyone who repeats Fadir’s filth will answer to us.”
“You’re furious.” Andrei’s eyes narrow.
I don’t deny it. The fury burns clean and bright, sharpening every instinct I possess. This isn’t just business anymore. Fadir has tried to claim what is mine, my woman and my child, and twist it into something ugly. The methodical patience that has defined my approach to this war now carries a lethal edge.
“She is carrying my son or daughter,” I say, voice quiet but steel-hard. “Not his. Never his. He knows that. He’s lashing out because he’s losing everything, and the only weapon left is trying to tarnish her name and question her safety. I will not allow it.”
The capos exchange glances. They have seen me angry before, but rarely like this. Nothing this personal, possessive, and protective in a way that goes beyond territory or profit.
“Then we make sure he pays for every word. Slowly. Painfully. The way you like it.” Tikhon claps a heavy hand on my shoulder.
I nod once, already recalibrating the next moves in my mind. Additional security around the compound. More eyes on Fadir’s remaining contacts. A carefully placed counter-rumor that would make anyone repeating his lies think twice.
The meeting continues for another twenty minutes, but my focus has narrowed to one overriding imperative: protect Anja and our child at all costs. The slow dismantling of Fadir will continue, not until revenge is no longer the primary fire driving me.
Protecting what is mine is.
When the capos finally file out, Tikhon lingers behind. He studies me for a long moment, then speaks in that deep, rumbling voice.
