Chapter 3 #2
"You're still so aggressive." He picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, forcing a crude topic change.
"Let's talk about more important matters.
Nikolai, you've been in this position for a while now.
The old guard is starting to grumble. 'A Pakhan without a wife shows weakness'—you haven't forgotten that old saying. "
My hand holding the wine glass paused slightly, a familiar wave of nausea rising in my gut.
Here we go again.
The disgust deep inside me spread like vines. In this cold-blooded man's world, anything could be weighed on a scale—including marriage, including flesh and blood.
Years ago, he'd used this same sanctimonious profit logic to lure my mother—who should have had a brilliant life—into this grim manor.
He'd treated her like a trophy to decorate the facade, a tool to produce heirs.
After draining every ounce of her usefulness, he'd used endless cold violence, betrayal, and brutal mob warfare to suck her soul dry bit by bit.
"So you staged this whole production today to shove a puppet wife down my throat who serves your interests?" I laughed coldly.
"I'm doing this for the family's interests!
" Peter's voice rose an octave. He slammed the table.
"Look at your brother Derek. He's getting married next week!
To international supermodel Chloe. This marriage will bring the family massive positive exposure and international influence.
This is what Volkov men should do—use marriage to consolidate power! "
Derek?
My mind flashed to that half-brother—same father, different mother—that parasite who only knew how to suck off the family.
"If I remember correctly," I set down my glass, my gaze turning razor-sharp, "a few days ago, Derek's engagement list still had some ordinary civilian girl on it. They'd even booked the wedding venue."
"That worthless woman?" The old man let out a contemptuous snort, his tone dripping with nauseating disdain.
"Derek should have dumped her ages ago. A nobody with zero background who can't even handle a camera—how could she deserve the Volkov name?
That woman did nothing but waste three years of Derek's time.
I just reminded Derek that a supermodel's status would be better for his career, and he made the right choice a week before the wedding. "
The old man spoke proudly, as if dismantling a relationship and destroying a woman's dignity was just a trivial business optimization.
Wedding. Affair.
I narrowed my eyes slightly, my heartbeat skipping a strange beat.
This was the most absurd coincidence in the world. But Washington had millions of people. Thousands of couples broke up in America every day.
Maybe today was just that theme day.
But the extreme overlap of this soap opera plot still filled me with deep irony.
Apparently, this country was suffering a spineless-men epidemic. Two pathetic men in the same week dumping their women for stick-figure models.
"Derek's taste is certainly...'admirable.'" I forcibly suppressed the mockery roiling in my eyes and delivered a flat platitude. "But my marriage doesn't need anyone's interference, and I sure as hell won't trade it for cheap chips. I'm done eating. Thanks for the hospitality, Father."
I shot to my feet, didn't spare another glance at his dark face, and strode out of that suffocating dining room.
By the time I returned to my own stronghold—the estate on the Potomac River—night had fallen deep.
I irritably loosened my tie, tossed my suit jacket onto the leather couch, and walked straight to the bar to pour myself a full glass of neat whiskey. The liquor slid down my throat but couldn't completely douse the stench of decaying power I'd picked up at the estate.
The study door opened. Sasha walked in carrying a thick manila envelope.
"Pakhan. The file you asked me to pull on that woman from the plane. It's all here." Sasha gently set the envelope on the black walnut desk in front of me.
My gaze landed on the file, but my hand didn't reach for it.
The old man's venomous words at the dinner table echoed in my head like ghosts. Marriage is a transaction... Women are worthless...
I suddenly felt disgusted with this whole "investigation.
" Learning about a woman, controlling her background—that was the beginning of establishing some kind of connection.
And I didn't need connections. Love was lethal poison.
It only made you weak, made you lose judgment on this blood-soaked mob path.
I would never repeat my mother's tragedy. And I would never become the cold-blooded monster my father was.
The best solution was to forget that woman from the plane completely. That fuck was good. That's all.
"Leave it. I'm not looking." I turned away coldly, my back to the desk, and took a sip of whiskey, trying to strangle that faint but fatal interest I'd developed in her right in the cradle. "Focus on what matters. Any leads on the mole?"
Sasha keenly sensed my emotional shift, but he knew his place and didn't pry. Instead, he quickly pivoted. "We've narrowed it down to a few targets. We can close the net tonight. Also, regarding Mr. Volkov..."
"The old man was testing my limits today." I turned around, my gray eyes crystallizing into frigid ice. "Derek's wings are spreading now. The old man can't hold back. He wants to reshuffle the deck using Derek's marriage alliance. We can't show an ounce of weakness."
"Your orders?"