Chapter 12
DARIUS
"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Gregor snapped.
His face flushed crimson, the vein above his eye pulsing.
I sat at the head of the table, directly across from my nephew in his war room. I had to admit it was surprisingly comfortable. We were in the Ivanov compound, this little sanctuary he had built not far outside of DC.
It was business-appropriate, with a large, polished mahogany table surrounded by leather chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows with automatic dimmers that limited the afternoon sunlight. It wasn't too dissimilar to my meeting room in London.
The table was covered with files, scattered and untouched coffee cups, and random intel on targets and acquisitions.
The room was also secure. No one was getting in here, planting anything, or listening in without our knowledge and permission.
If only he applied this intense attention to detail to all aspects of the family business.
Mikhail and Artem sat on either side of the table, closer to a very pissed off Gregor.
Gregor's fists slammed onto the table, the sound echoing through the room. His knuckles blanched white, tendons standing out like cords beneath the skin. His anger was palpable, and that was a personal failing that I was going to have to correct.
A man who showed his emotions so readily could have them turned against him.
"Calm yourself," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "I will not let your emotions ruin us."
Gregor launched himself across the table and almost got close enough to touch me before Artem and Mikhail grabbed him by his shoulders and slammed him back down into his seat before retaking theirs.
The chair scraped against the floor. Gregor's breath came in harsh pants, his chest heaving.
"My emotions? Your ego is wounded, and you are going to get us all killed, or worse, imprisoned. What the fuck did you do?" he demanded.
"I told you what I did," I said, keeping my tone even. "I put a two-point-three-million-dollar necklace around the neck of the senator's daughter. Then I video-called her to show her it was armed. If you're worried about the cost of the necklace, don't be. It's insured."
"I don't give a fuck about the necklace." He got to his feet and waved Artem off before stepping away from the table to pace off some of his emotions, his movements clipped and restless.
I took a long look at my nephew, really looking at him for the first time in years. Was this what happened as a result of Gregor’s having spent too much time with women and children? When had one of the most ruthless and logical men I had ever met turned…soft and malleable?
It was disgraceful, and worse, distracting.
The surreal thing was, he was only five years my junior and raised more like a little brother than anything else. But he was still my nephew, and I feared his current path was as much my fault as anyone else's.
His father and Artem's father were both gone now. Both of my brothers had been taken from us by weakness.
Sickness took one, his body unable to fight, and cowardice took the other when he died by his own hand. I was the last of my generation. Although I never wanted to lead, and heading this family was never a goal I ever bothered to consider, let alone aspire to, the role fell to me all the same.
If Gregor thought that this display of emotion showed strength, then I had failed him. Maybe I had allowed him to lead independently too soon. Maybe I should've made him come to London to report in more frequently.
"Why are you even here?" Gregor said between clenched teeth.
Artem followed his every move, ready to jump up in case Gregor took a swing at me. Artem had always been good at reading his cousin. A feat that was less impressive now since Gregor wore his emotions on his sleeve.
Even Mikhail, the family assassin who had dared to marry my niece, inched his chair back from the table, ready to get to his feet again at a moment's notice.
His hand drifted toward his side. Checking for the weapon I knew he always carried.
I bit my tongue when Mikhail came into the room, though I still wasn't sure why he was here. He was not a head of the family. If he was here, there was no reason for Pavel, Kostya, and the others not to be here as well.
Setting my annoyance aside, I had to admit that Mikhail had proven himself worthy and loyal. But there was a difference between proving you were good enough to be part of the family and marrying the only Ivanov daughter without offering something in return.
There was nothing I could do about that now, but I could correct the course the family was currently on.
My nephews had forgotten their place.
I had put far too much trust in them. That was my mistake, and I was here to correct it.
Maybe things would have been different if I had been allowed to follow my brother to America, or if I had been allowed to stay in Russia.
Then my control over the family wouldn't have been so easily forgotten by these boys playing at being king.
But I had been sent to London. My role was to manage the family's legitimate financial empire while my brothers handled the more visible arms of the syndicate.
Had their sons continued in their stead, I'd still be in London, instead of wallowing in the stench of greed, desperation, and piss that only the American capital could be saturated with so completely.
"I am here because you failed," I said, keeping my temper under control.
Gregor had clearly forgotten what control looked like. It was time someone reminded him.
He stalked back, curled his hands into fists, and braced them on the table as he leaned forward. "I have not failed," he spat. "We are—"
"Distracted," I cut him off. "You have become distracted and weak. Did you think I didn't know you let a senator, a woman, lie to your face? You are sending a message to the world that the Ivanov name means nothing, and I will not stand for it."
"I am the head of—"
"Nothing," I said.
My control was absolute. I did not raise my voice; there was no need. A man who had to yell and flail his arms about was not a man in control of anything.
"You forget your place. I am the head of this family. I have allowed you to take your father's position here, but you still answer to me."
I looked at his cousin Artem. "As do you.
Since you have forgotten our arrangement, allow me to remind you.
Gregor is supposed to run the business here.
He is supposed to deal with arms trafficking and less-than-legal arrangements with the United States government.
Artem, you are supposed to run the same operations in Russia.
And both of you answer to me because I am the head of this family. "
Both men stared at me with fury in their eyes, jaws clenched, but they didn't say a word because they knew I was right.
"I have allowed you leeway, I have given you grace and trusted your decisions. But you have taken advantage of my kindness. No more."
"You know why I left Russia," Artem said.
To go after Kostya, his brother, who’d also disobeyed orders and gone after a woman. Yet another example of how far things had gotten out of control within our syndicate.
"I do." I nodded. "I also know that you did that without permission, without even considering the ramifications of what you were leaving behind while you came over here to try and steal your cousin's territory."
"I didn't come here to steal—"
"Save your lies and your excuses for someone with the patience to listen to them.
You came here to steal your cousin's territory because he was weak.
He was distracted. He lost himself between the legs of a woman and never got himself back out.
That's why I allowed it. Because if Gregor wasn't man enough to keep his territory, then he didn't deserve it. But then what did you do?"
Gregor surged forward. His chair clattered backward, hitting the floor with a crack. "You'll speak about my wife with respect," he snarled.
Mikhail was on his feet instantly, positioning himself between Gregor and me. His hand was on Gregor’s chest, holding him back.
Cold. Calculating. Loyal to his wife's family but clearly displeased.
“Hands off. I’m fine.” Gregor's command was sharp, but his eyes were on me. Furious.
Gregor shook Mikhail off but didn't advance. His chest heaved, hands flexing at his sides like he was imagining them around my throat.
"You fell into the same fucking trap," I continued, casting my gaze over at my next target, Artem, as if the interruption hadn't occurred. My voice remained level, dispassionate. Bored, even. "You met a pretty girl and became totally whipped."
I scoffed. "You both forgot that your marriages were supposed to be strategic moves and not love matches. Then you went off and let that family-less, penniless mongrel marry my niece."
This time all three men moved.
Gregor grabbed the edge of the table like he might flip it. Artem took another step forward, only Mikhail's hand on his shoulder stopping him. And Mikhail—calm, controlled Mikhail—clenched his jaw so tight I could hear his teeth grind from across the room.
"Say another word about Nadia," Mikhail said, his voice deadly quiet, "and her uncle or not, I will put a bullet in your fucking skull."
The threat hung in the air. Heavy. Real.
I met his gaze without flinching. Held it. Let the silence stretch until the tension was nearly unbearable.
Then I smiled. Slow. Cold.
I held up my hand, demanding silence.
"I don't give a shit about any of your marriages. Keep your families, keep your wives, bury yourselves in them every single fucking night, and have a hundred screaming brats. It is completely irrelevant to me. As long as the business doesn't suffer."
"It's not that simple," Gregor said. His voice was strained, forced calm over barely restrained violence. "Our priorities—"
"Are fucked," I finished for him. "You are so lost in the now that you've completely negated the future. You say that your wives and children are now more important than the family enterprise, but you forget they are part of this family too. What are you going to leave your children?"
My question was met with silence.
Gregor's hands slowly uncurled from the table's edge.
Artem's breathing evened out.
Mikhail remained standing, watchful, his hand never straying far from his weapon.
"How are you going to protect those pretty wives of yours when the other families realize that you're distracted?
Dealing with the Colombians bought you some time.
..but not forever. And while our enemies gather their intel, their forces, and they make a plan against us, we are weaker because you are letting a fucking US senator walk all over us. "
Gregor's fist slammed into the table again. A coffee cup jumped, tipped, black liquid spreading across the scattered papers.
No one moved to clean it.
"So you put a bomb around her daughter's neck?" Gregor snapped.