37. Erik
ERIK
T he café is situated in the heart of downtown, with glass windows offering full visibility to the street. Perfect. No hidden corners, no shadows where violence can breed. Just fluorescent lights and the mundane hum of civilians going about their lives.
I arrive first, positioning myself at a table with a clear sight of all exits.
Viktor stands near the entrance, his bulk reassuring in tailored black.
The Ducati and McLaren sit gleaming in the parking lot—both returned to pristine condition.
The car’s paint job cost me fifteen grand, but some gestures require perfection.
Igor Lebedev enters five minutes late, flanked by a single guard who looks like he bench-presses small cars for fun. The old man’s eyes sweep the café before settling on me. His face reveals nothing, but I catch a slight pause when he spots his vehicle through the window.
“Ivanov.” Igor slides into the chair across from me, his guard taking a position by the wall.
“Lebedev.” I gesture toward the parking lot. “Your property. The paint job was necessary after the... excitement.”
Igor’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “You could have kept them. Spoils of war.”
“I’m not here to steal from you.” I lean back, keeping my hands visible on the table. “I’m here to propose an alliance.”
The words hang between us like a loaded weapon. Igor’s guard shifts slightly.
“An alliance.” Igor’s voice carries no emotion. “After you stole my daughter.”
“I rescued your daughter from a marriage that would have destroyed her.” The words come out harder than I intended. “Petrov would have caged her, broken her spirit, turned her into a pretty ornament for his empire.”
“And what would you do with her?”
“Cherish her. Protect her. Give her the freedom to be exactly who she is.” I meet his eyes. “Marry her. With your blessing.”
Igor leans back in his chair, studying me like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve. The café around us continues its normal rhythm—coffee grinding, conversations flowing, completely oblivious to the fact that two crime bosses are negotiating over lattes.
“You want my blessing to marry Katarina.” His tone suggests I’ve just asked for his kidney. “In exchange for what?”
“An alliance between our families. Your connections in Eastern Europe, combined with our local infrastructure here. Shared territories, shared profits.” I pause. “And shared protection against the Petrovs when they realize their golden boy got cut out of the deal.”
“The Petrovs won’t forgive this insult easily.”
“Then we handle them together.”
Igor’s fingers drum once against the table. A tell I remember from old negotiations—he’s considering the angles, weighing profit against pride.
“Why?” The single word cuts through the café’s ambient noise. “Why risk everything for one woman? You could have any woman you want. Why my daughter?”
The question I’ve been dreading. In this world, admitting love is like exposing your throat to wolves. But alliances require honesty, even when it bleeds.
“Because I love her.” The words taste foreign in my mouth. “And she loves me.”
Igor’s eyebrows lift slightly. He wasn’t expecting that level of honesty.
“Love.” He tests the word as if it were a new weapon. “A dangerous foundation for business decisions.”
“Maybe. But it’s the truth.” I lean forward, abandoning the careful distance I usually maintain. “Your daughter deserves better than Anton would have given her. He saw her as an acquisition, a trophy to display. I see her brilliance, her fire, her strength.”
“And you think you can give her a better life?”
“I know I can. Katarina will never be caged with me. Her life remains hers. Her choices remain hers. I want to protect her, not control her.”
Igor considers this, his weathered hands still on the table. “And the business benefits?”
Now we’re on familiar ground. “An alliance between the Lebedev and Ivanov families gives you access to more territory, more connections, and more power than the Petrovs could ever offer you. Do you have Eastern European networks that integrate with our infrastructure? We’d control everything from the docks to the digital highways. ”
“The Petrovs own significant shipping routes.”
“We own the ports they ship to.” I tap the table once. “Your daughter’s cybersecurity expertise alone is worth more than Anton’s entire operation. With Katarina’s technology protecting our networks, we’d be untouchable.”
Igor’s guard shifts position slightly, drawing closer to hear better. This conversation has moved beyond simple negotiation.
“You’re asking me to trust you with my daughter’s happiness.” Igor’s voice carries decades of hard-learned caution. “And you’re asking me to trust you with my family’s future.”
“I am. Because both will be safer with me than without me.”
The silence stretches between us, filled with the weight of choices that will reshape both our worlds.
Igor’s silence stretches for another thirty seconds. I watch his face, reading the calculations behind those cold eyes. Finally, he speaks.
“I have terms.”
“I’m listening.”
“First—Katarina keeps her company. Full ownership, full control. No interference from you or your family.”
“Agreed.”
“Second—any children you have together will know both sides of their heritage. They’ll understand they’re Lebedevs as much as Ivanovs.”
A fair demand. “Agreed.”
Igor’s fingers drum the table again. “Third—I want a seat at your family’s table. Not as a subordinate but as an equal partner in this alliance. Major decisions get discussed with me.”
This one requires more consideration. Nikolai won’t love sharing power, but the strategic advantages outweigh the complications. “I will have to discuss that with my brother.”
His jaw clenches, but he nods. “Fourth—” Igor leans forward slightly. “If you ever betray my trust, I will end you. Slowly. Alliance or no alliance.”
The threat carries genuine weight. “I’d expect nothing less.”
“And finally—” Igor’s mouth almost curves into something resembling approval. “The wedding happens on neutral ground. Somewhere both families can attend without bloodshed.”
“Sofia’s been planning something at the Ritz-Carlton. High security, controlled guest list.”
“Sofia has good taste.” Igor extends his hand across the table. “Then we have an agreement.”
I take his hand, feeling the calluses of a man who’s built an empire with his own two hands. The handshake is firm, lasting exactly the right amount of time—long enough to seal the deal, short enough to maintain dignity.
“Welcome to the family,” I say, meaning it.
Igor’s grip tightens slightly before he releases my hand. “Take care of her, Erik. She’s stronger than she knows, but even steel can shatter if struck the wrong way.”
“She’ll never have reason to doubt my devotion.”
Igor stands, his guard moving automatically to flank him. “The Petrovs will retaliate for this humiliation.”
“Let them come. They’ll find a united front.”
Igor nods once, a gesture of respect between equals. Then he turns and walks out of the café, leaving me alone with the weight of promises made and a future that suddenly seems possible.