Vladimir is sitting in his leather wingback chair, a glass of amber liquid trembling in his hand.
"You’re making a mistake," Vladimir rasps, his voice thin. "The Petrovs will see this as a weakness. Boris will think I’ve lost control of my own fucking blood!"
"You already lost control, Father," Artyom says without turning around. His voice is a glacier. "The moment you started moving bodies, you stepped off the board. We don't trade in flesh. We told you that when I took the seat."
"It was a side venture," Vladimir sneers, trying to find his teeth. "A way to ensure the North Dock expansion stayed funded while you were playing 'legitimate fucking businessman' with your nurse."
I feel the anger twitching under my skin and push off the desk, stepping into Vladimir's personal space, looming over him until he’s forced to look up.
"It was a betrayal," I growl. "You used our routes. You used our men. If you weren’t my own fucking father, I wouldn’t even be having this conversation."
Vladimir blinks, the first sign of real fear flickering in his eyes.
"From this moment," Artyom says, finally turning, "you are retired. You will stay at the country estate. You will have no access to the ledgers, no contact with the Council, and no voice in the business. If you so much as whisper a command to a foot soldier, Mikhail won't be the one you have to worry about."
"You’re exiling your own father?" Vladimir asks, a pathetic note of betrayal in his voice.
"I’m keeping you alive," Artyom counters. "Be grateful for that."
We walk out without another word. The heavy doors thud shut behind us, like a coffin lid. Artyom looks at me as we reach the foyer, his expression unreadable.
"Go to your wing, Mikhail," he says. "Take a breather, I’ll handle the Council briefing."
"You think Boris knew?" I ask.
"I think Boris knows everything," Artyom says. "But we deal with one snake at a time. Go. You’re vibrating so hard I can hear your teeth rattling."
He’s right. I’m a wreck. The adrenaline from the interrogation, the fury at my father, and the unrelenting, localized ache in my trousers have combined into a cocktail that’s ready to explode.
I go back to my part of the estate like a man possessed. I don't go through the front. I don't know why—call it a hunter’s instinct—but I circle around the west wing.
And that’s when I see it.
The trellis is shaking. A figure in black is scrambling up the lattice, moving with a desperate, frantic energy. My heart stops, then starts again with a violent thud.
No. Not again.
I’m out of the car before I can even think. I reach the base of the trellis just as she is reaching the ledge of the guest room window. She’s fast, I’ll give her that. But I’m faster.
I grab the ivy, my boots finding purchase on the brick, and I’m up the wall in three lunges. She’s through the window when my hand clamps around her ankle.
She let out a sharp, strangled yelp. She tries to kick me off, her sneaker catching me in the shoulder, but I don't let go. I follow her through the window and onto the floor of the room.
I scramble in after her, slamming the window shut and locking it. I’m on top of her before she can even get to her feet, my weight pinning her to the rug.
"Where the fuck were you?" I roar.
Irina is gasping for air, her face pale under the hood of a black sweatshirt. Her eyes are wide, darting toward the door. She looks like a cornered animal, all teeth and claws.
"Get off me, Mikhail!" she hisses, pushing at my chest.
"I told you to stay in the house," I growl, my fingers digging into her shoulders. "I told you what would happen if you did something stupid. Who were you meeting? Was it a lover? A contact for your father? Tell me who he is before I go back to that cellar and find a reason to use the pliers on you."
"There is no 'he'!" she snaps, her voice cracking. "I wasn't meeting a man!"
"Liar!" I shout, all the anger and frustration in me finally breaking free. I grab the front of her hoodie and haul her up until we’re nose-to-nose. "Who is the man you're running to?"
"I'm not running to anyone!"
