Page 141 of Feral King

Two years. Two years since the warehouse, since the wedding, since my baby was born.

I’m the chair of the Irina Volkov Foundation now. Elena formally retired last spring—though retired in her worldmeans that she still calls me twice a week with advice or a line on a new potential donor.

Julian still runs Volkov Industries. The Bratva has long since been restructured, the Pacific corridor deal still in place and bringing in more money than any of us know what to do with. Everything is simple now—practically running on its own.

The office door opens and Anya walks in with cookies. She’s six months pregnant and absolutelyglowing. She and Ethan eloped to city hall last November, which I still haven’t fully processed.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was freaking apocalyptic?—”

Laura Volkov appears at the doorway, cutting Anya off. She has lost weight in the way illness takes it. Her cheeks are hollow and her hair is shorter, streaked with silver that she once would’ve spent thousands to cover up. She’s wearing an expensive wool coat and a cashmere scarf.

Anya freezes. Her hand finds Marius and she instinctively pulls him behind her.

“Mom.”

“Anya, I’m sorry. I need to speak with?—”

“What are you doing here?” Anya’s voice carries an edge of anger that I’ve rarely heard.

“Please. Ten minutes. Please.”

I press the intercom. “Marie. Get Julian and Ethan. Now.”

Julian arrives first in the way he always does whenI call for him—fast and silent, his hand in his jacket in case there’s an imminent threat. He sees Laura and his hand drops.

“Laura.”

“Julian.”

“How did you get in this building?”

“The front door. I told them my name.”

Ethan appears a few seconds later, armed and assessing. When he sees we are all unharmed, he relaxes a bit. Anya hands Marius to him. Marius—who adores his Uncle Ethan—immediately starts patting Ethan’s face.

“Sit down, Laura,” I say.

She does. Julian moves behind my chair and places his hand on my shoulder.

“Speak.”

Laura takes a deep breath.

“I… I have Stage 3 ovarian cancer.”

The room goes still and quiet.

"I was diagnosed in Lisbon eight months ago. I've been paying for treatment in cash, but the cash is running out, and the treatment isn't working because the clinics can't access the treatments I need."

She sounds like she has rehearsed this speech multiple times before. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm asking for the medical insurance my marriage to your father entitled me to so I can get treatment. So I can, if it works, live a few more years. That’s all.”

She pauses, her gaze flicking to Anya for just a moment.

“And if these are indeed my final years, I would like to spend them around my daughter. At least in the same city.”

Julian says nothing. This is my call.

“Did you have any part in Alexander’s plot?”