Page 9 of Feral King

The wind picks up, carrying the faint sweetness of the rooftop gardens above. I pull my wrap tighter as I try to get a handle on the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my head.

“I can’t come back to the company. I appreciate what you did in there—I really do—more than I know how to say, honestly. But working for the Volkovs almost destroyed me. Sophia and your brother made sure of that.”

“But you came tonight.”

“I did. But that was only because I was specifically invited. And this event—” I gesture toward the interior, “—was my last project. I wanted to see it through.”

“Sophia is blacklisted from every Volkov subsidiary—effective tonight. She will not set foot in any building connected to this company,mycompany, ever again. And Alexander won’t be a problem for you either. I’ll make sure of that personally.”

“But you can’t guarantee it.”

“I can. And that’s what I’m doing right now.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “He’s not going to just disappear,” I say. “You know that.”

“Do I?”

“You say you know the strengths and weaknesses of your employees, right? And I imagine that’s especially true of your own family. Alexander’s gift is controlling the narrative. He’s good at that. Damn good. Especially in the media. He’ll make himself the victim and you the villain.”

Julian’s mouth twitches.

“Let him.”

I tilt my head to the side; not sure I heard him correctly.

“You’re not concerned?”

He shrugs. “Alexander’s talent for public manipulation is the only talent he has. It’s impressive in the way a magician is impressive—distracting, a bit entertaining, but ultimately irrelevant once you see how the trick is done.” He turns to face me fully. “I don’t fight in the press. I never have. And I don’t intend to start.”

He regards me with a stare that’s almost skeptical, as if he’s trying to see straight through to my soul.

“Why are you here, Lyra?”

“Because you invited me.”

“No, not here as in tonight. Here, as in the Volkov world. Why did you apply to this company? Something tells me it wasn’t for the money.”

I find myself wondering if he’s asking because he already knows the reason and wants to confirm it, or because grilling people on the spot is just something he does.

Either way, I tell him the truth. It’s a simple truth, not one worth hiding.

“It was the Irina Volkov Foundation. I wanted to work with children’s programs. That’s what I’mgood at—building events that actually move the needle, connecting donors to causes that matter, and making people care about kids that don’t have anyone fighting for them.”

“That’s exactly why I want you back.”

His tone suggests he’s not going to take no for an answer. And I’m not even sure that’s what I want my answer to be.

I open my mouth to speak just as the door swings open, and Laura Volkov emerges.

Laura is in her late fifties, gorgeous and beautifully put together. Her ash-blonde hair is in a perfect chignon. Her baby-blue gown flows around her, making her look almost ethereal.

But it’s her posture that I notice more than anything, the way she carries herself. She’s poised and confident, like she’s had decades of training on how to maintain perfect composure, even in roomfuls of killers.

She is, by any measure, a formidable woman. And right now, her gaze is pointed at me like a blade.

“Julian,” she says, her voice measured, every syllable precise. “I need a word with you about what happened in there.” Her eyes flick to Julian, then back to me. “But first, I need her gone. I didn’t like her when she was engaged to Alexander, and I certainly don’t like her now.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Julian says without a moment’s hesitation. “Whatever you have on your mind, you can say it in front of her. She’s part of the organization again.”