Chapter 2 #3
But as Laura’s voice still rings in my ears, I find myself emboldened by her little tirade.
“Eight o’clock. I’ll be there.”
Julian nods. The corners of his lips curl again, this time in what appears to be satisfaction.
“Come.”
He returns to my side, placing his hand on the small of my back, in that way I’m quickly becoming addicted to, and he guides me inside.
My adrenaline is still subsiding when a man materializes from the crowd and positions himself directly in our path.
He’s of medium height, lean, mid-sixties.
He wears silver-rimmed glasses and an expensive dark suit.
There’s a glass of bourbon in his hand, and the look on his face suggests he’s got bad news he’s more than happy to deliver.
“Julian Volkov,” he says, his tone smooth and conversational, his voice laced with a faint Eastern European accent. “Welcome home, though, I wonder if home is the right word, considering how little time you spend gracing us with your presence these days.”
“Dobrov.” Julian says the name curtly and nothing else.
The man isn’t fazed. “You know better than to call me that. Kostin, please. We’re all friends here.”
Dobrov or Kostin or whatever his name is looks at me while he sips his drink, then flicks his eyes back to Julian. “Anyway, that was quite the performance earlier—claiming the throne in front of God and everyone. Very dramatic. Some might say theatrical.”
“If you have a point, make it.”
I note that Julian’s not bothering to introduce me to this man.
“You pushed your brother aside—fine. But I should point out that Alexander has built relationships while you were gone—real relationships with real families, people who matter, people who vote.” He places special emphasis on the word vote, letting it hang in the air.
“I think that was a mistake, Julian. An understandable one, perhaps, but a mistake all the same.
“My point is simple, my friend,” Dobrov continues.
“I know you like to think of your brother as an incompetent screwup, but that’s not entirely the case.
He’s a media-savvy young man, and he’s brought the name Volkov onto the lips of people who may have otherwise written off this company as a dinosaur. ”
“I’m well aware of my brother’s TikTok skills.”
Dobrov snorts. “You can dismiss his savvy all you like, but it’s there. And he’s used it to build alliances—both with the company and with the syndicate—that weren’t there before. So are you going to throw all of that away because you can’t stand to see someone else in the big chair?”
“Your concern is noted.”
“It should be more than noted.” He steps closer.
“There’s a council coming. You know this.
And I intend to raise the question of leadership formally.
You’ve been gone for three years, Julian, and now you’re back, wanting to take control of things as if you’d been gone for three days. Where have you been?”
Julian narrows his eyes. “You’re welcome to raise whatever questions you’d like at the council, Kostin. I’ll be there to address them.”
“I should hope so,” Kostin says. “Because the Julian I know doesn’t run from fights, nor does he start them over…” His eyes drift to me, then flick back to Julian. “Distractions.”
Julian’s jaw clenches. I can sense he’s got a few choice words to say to Kostin but is keeping them in check.
“I look forward to the council,” he says.
Dobrov holds his smile for another beat, then tips his glass in a mock toast before melting back into the crowd. Julian’s hand returns to the small of my back.
“Who was that?” I ask, not sure I want the answer.
“A man who’s been waiting for me to come back, so he’d have someone worth challenging.”
“He seems confident.”
“He should be. He’s been preparing for this moment, building his case.”
“And you’re not worried about whatever it is he’s got in mind?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he guides me to the elevator.
“Go home,” he says. “Get a good night’s rest. I want you ready in the morning.”
When the doors open, part of me wants to stay, to feel his hand on the small of my back, but I step into the elevator anyway, then turn around.
“Good night, Julian.”
“Eight o’clock.”
The doors close, and the car descends. My heart’s racing, and in the mirrored walls of the elevator I catch sight of my cheeks, which are flushed red.
What the hell did that man just do to me?
I step into the lobby of the Volkov building, where tough-looking men in suits with tattoos on their hands and necks are walking around.
I recognize them as Bratva soldiers. And they’re all looking at me.
No doubt they know what happened upstairs and know that I’m now a person of interest, someone they need to keep an eye on.
I pull my coat tighter and make my way to the doors, ignoring their eyes on me.
I’d come here tonight to prove that I hadn’t been erased. But between the champagne and Julian’s hand on my back, I feel like I’ve stepped into something way more than I’d bargained for.
I call a cab and quickly climb into it when it arrives.
I don’t stop shaking until I’m home.