Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Igor
"Igor Vorontsov, what the fuck are you saying?!"
Alexander shot up from the sofa, veins bulging in his neck, his whiskey glass nearly slipping from his grip.
In the estate's living room, March afternoon sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting patterns on the Persian rug.
This should have been a relaxed afternoon tea—two families discussing final wedding details, sampling the chef's Russian pastries.
But my words had frozen the warm atmosphere solid.
"I made myself clear." I leaned back on the sofa. "This engagement is off. As of now, my engagement to Natasha Ivanova is officially canceled."
"You've lost your mind!" Natasha shrieked. "We're getting married in a month! The venue's booked! And now you want to cancel?"
"The wedding's canceled. I'll cover all deposits in full." My tone was as calm as discussing the weather.
"You think I need your money?" Natasha's voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "I want to be the Bratva Don's wife! I want to stand beside you!"
Natasha's mother gracefully set down her teacup. Her voice remained calm, but her eyes were razor-sharp. "Igor, I think you need to consider what you're saying. Do you understand how long our families have prepared for this wedding?"
She stood, walking to her daughter's side, steadying Natasha's trembling shoulders.
"Natasha has known since she was sixteen that she would marry you. She turned down every suitor, studied at the finest Swiss schools—etiquette, arts, business management, everything needed to be a Don's wife." Her tone grew colder. "And now you're telling us this was all a joke?"
"Marriage alliances aren't necessary anymore." My voice stayed firm because I had a better choice now.
"Enough!" Father finally spoke. He sat in the armchair passed down through generations of Vorontsovs, his face dark as a storm, eyes burning with cold fury I'd never seen before. "Igor, do you know what you're saying? Do you understand what this marriage means?"
"It only serves your ambition." I turned to him, my tone unyielding. "You want this alliance to control the Ivanov drug network. But have you considered that the FBI already has them in their sights?"
"You ungrateful bastard!" Alexander pointed at me, roaring. "Our families have planned this marriage for years, and now you want to destroy it with a few words? What do you think we are?"
"Business partners," I said calmly. "Since we can't agree on business, we part ways."
"Good, very good!" He laughed coldly. "Since the Bratva doesn't want this marriage, we'll find more willing partners. Salvatore's eldest son has always been interested in Natasha. The Italians are far more sincere than you fake Russians!"
"Best of luck with that cooperation. Now get the hell out of here." I said, showing them to the door.
"You're a real piece of shit!" Natasha grabbed the crystal vase from the coffee table and hurled it at me.
I easily sidestepped. The vase shattered against the wall behind me, fragments and tulips scattering across the floor.
"You'll regret this, Igor Vorontsov!" Her lips trembled with rage. "I swear to God, you'll regret this!"
Natasha's mother took a deep breath, gently patting her daughter's hand to calm her. Then she turned to me, her eyes filled with ice.
"The Vorontsov family will pay for today's decision." She elegantly adjusted her shawl, then looked at her husband Alexander.
Alexander finally addressed my father. "Vorontsov, I regret our cooperation must end this way. But believe me, the Ivanov family won't forget today's humiliation."
After delivering their threats, they left. Only Father and I remained in the living room. Neither of us spoke. I watched Father's straight figure, still maintaining perfect posture, as if the confrontation had been nothing more than an insignificant farce.
But I knew better. From his clenched fists, I could feel the rage he was suppressing.
After a long silence, Father finally spoke.
"Everyone out."
The butler and servants quickly exited the living room at Father's words, gently closing the door. Only Father and I remained.
"Do you know what you just did?" Father looked at me, his reproach hammering down like a sledgehammer. "You destroyed years of my planning. You made the Vorontsov family lose its most important ally. You pushed the Ivanovs toward Salvatore—our greatest enemy."
He walked toward me.
"You broke the engagement for a woman?" He finally lost his composure, roaring at me. "For a damn hotel waitress!"
I wasn't surprised he knew.
"She's my everything," I said.
"Everything?" Father sneered. "What do you think love is? Your mother was once my everything, too. And what happened? She died at our enemies' hands, and I could only watch helplessly! We Bratva should never make love our everything!"
"Don't mention my mother." I cut him off, my voice carrying deadly intent. "You failed to protect her, so you have no right to mention her!"
"I have no right?" His laughter was full of mockery. "Igor, you think you can protect that girl Elena? You don't even fucking know where she is!"
The words hit like a knife, stabbing straight into my heart.
Three months. Since that damned Christmas night, Elena had vanished. I'd mobilized everyone, searched New York like a madman, but found nothing. She'd disappeared as if she'd never existed.
"You think destroying this alliance will help you find her?
" Father continued. "No, you'll only make yourself and her more dangerous.
Salvatore now has Ivanov's support—he'll be more reckless.
And once they discover your woman, she'll become the perfect weapon against you. Are you planning to start a war?"
"Perfect. I'm tired of waiting." I said. "As the future Bratva Don, I shouldn't marry a woman I don't love. And the Bratva shouldn't fear war."
I pulled a document from my jacket, throwing it on the coffee table. The heavy parchment slid across the surface, stopping in front of him.
"This is an abdication agreement. Sign it, and you can retire with dignity. Your estate, security, income—everything stays the same. If you don't sign—"
I didn't finish.
Father stared at the document for a long time, so long it felt like time had stopped.
"You planned this all along." He finally spoke.
"Yes. I've been preparing for three months."
These three months, I'd secretly rallied men willing to follow me. My power was strong enough to force Father's voluntary abdication. This was the most dignified way. He wouldn't want to see Bratva civil war and bloodshed.
"For a woman?" He seemed unable to believe it.
"For my everything." I corrected him.
Father slowly picked up the document and pen, his hand trembling slightly. Finally, he signed his name.
"You think you've won?" He threw the pen on the table. "Igor, you don't understand what sitting in this position means."
"Then let me learn," I said.
He sighed and turned to leave, the door closing again.
I stood alone in the living room, looking at the document on the table. Now, no one could stop me from finding Elena.
Another month passed, and I realized that even becoming Don couldn't immediately help me find Elena.
"Italy."
I was in my office, hearing from Artyom the news I least wanted to hear.
"What do you mean, Italy?" A bad feeling flashed through my mind as I demanded.
"Our last lead points to Kennedy Airport. She didn't board under her own name. But after tracking, we discovered she ultimately went to Italy." Artyom answered.
"Fuck!" I slammed my fist on the desk. "She's in fucking Sicily?"
"We believe so." Artyom cautiously stepped back. "Don, we can't just go there."
I understood Artyom's meaning. That was Italy, Salvatore's territory. If we sent armed personnel into his domain, we'd be deliberately starting a war.
I stared at him, my chest heaving violently. My foundation wasn't stable yet—some family members didn't fully submit to me. If I started a war now, I might not escape Salvatore unscathed, and the guys following me could die because of it.
I closed my eyes, feeling familiar, helpless dizziness. I'd become Don, I had everything, yet I was more powerless than ever.
"Fine." I opened my eyes, all fury cooled to icy determination.
"Then we continue consolidating our power.
Spread our network into every corner of Europe, strong enough that Salvatore won't dare fight us.
Logistics, tech—I don't care what it is, anything that expands our influence, do it.
I want our territory doubled within a year. "
"Don, that's too fast..."
"Then make it faster." I cut off Artyom. "I don't have time. Now get out!"
Artyom bowed and left the office. I was alone again. I walked to the liquor cabinet, poured vodka. The cold liquid burned down my throat but didn't ease the fire inside. Elena was in Italy, on Salvatore's untouchable territory.
I hurled the glass against the wall, glass exploding everywhere. I had to bring her back. Until then, I had to become an invincible Bratva Don.
After becoming Don, I was fucking exhausted. I slept four hours a night, handling family business during the day, frantically planning on maps at night, searching for the weakest points to break into Europe.
Only one desk lamp lit the office. On the table lay the wallet I'd taken from Elena's apartment. I traced the "I.V." with my finger. This was the only warmth of hers I could feel.
At 3 AM, someone knocked.
"Come in," I said without looking up.
The butler entered. "Don, Miss Natasha Ivanova requests to see you."
I stopped what I was doing. Natasha? At this hour?
"Let her in," I said. "But search her first."
Minutes later, the office door opened again. Natasha Ivanova stood in the doorway like a ghost, wearing a brown coat, carrying a black purse.
The butler nodded behind her. "Searched. No weapons."
I waved the butler away.