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Then, finally, Sergei himself.
When he raises his hand, Mikhail does, too, although reluctantly.
Konstantin’s face turns red, just like his mother’s earlier. All he can do is watch as Kirill topples his carefully constructed plans that he probably spent years devising.
“We won’t even need to wait for Damien,” Sergei says. “Welcome aboard, Kirill. Konstantin, I expect you to support your brother going forward. You can take your leave.”
“But—”
“Now.” There’s a nonnegotiable quality to Sergei’s voice that the younger Morozov has no choice but to follow.
As soon as the door closes behind him, Kirill takes his brother’s seat. “I apologize for his behavior. He still has a long way to go.”
“Indeed,” Vladimir says. “I trust you’ll keep him in check as you promised.”
Kirill nods. “You have my word.”
Oh, I see.
The pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place.
Kirill already had a plan A and a plan B. The first one was his mother’s kidnapping and making himself appeal to Sergei’s sense of loyalty and family.
But if that somehow went awry, he already had a plan B in place. Vladimir and most likely Adrian and Igor. He must’ve made some deals under the table, so they’d vote for him instead of his brother.
I stare at his back from my position behind him.
This man…is on another level.
And I’m genuinely glad to be on his side. I wouldn’t have survived if I were his enemy.
I’m starting to believe that he truly meant what he said. This isn’t simple ambition.
Kirill wants the world, not caring who he has to trample in his path.
I pay close attention to the meeting. Kirill tells them how he’ll improve his father’s legacy and even gives them his word about the percentage of profit they can expect from him this time next year.
One hundred percent. No shit.
By the end of the meeting, everyone looks at him through a new lens. He has a godly presence that demands both attention and weariness.
Some are apprehensive—Mikhail, Vladimir, and Rai. Others are appreciative—Sergei and Igor.
The only one who remains neutral throughout the whole meeting is Adrian.
There’s no sense of victory on Kirill’s face when we leave the dining room and head to the front door.
No sense of success or celebration.
He knew this would be the result all along. His level of strategizing is out of this world.
As we’re about to get in the waiting car, a tall, muscular man approaches us.
His shirt is barely buttoned, and his hair looks like he just got out of bed. But despite his overall disheveled appearance, he is anything but.
A sinister edge lurks in his gray-green gaze. It’s the look I’ve seen on the faces of soldiers who joined the army for bloodlust.
When he’s within touching distance, I slip in front of Kirill, hold up a hand against his chest, and say in my deepest, manliest tone, “Step back.”
