Chapter Ten
Arkady
The moment the door to my office swings open without a knock, I know exactly who it is.
Sergei Tulikov strides in like he owns the fucking place, flanked by two men built like industrial refrigerators. His hair is slicked back, face flushed with that particular shade of anger that only a combination of money and wounded pride can create.
Blyad.
Exactly the shit I don’t need today.
The space smells of leather and gun oil—I’d cleaned my Makarov earlier, a ritual that always leaves my hands steadier. The weapon sits locked in my desk drawer now, close enough to grab if needed. I deliberately don’t reach for it.
My mind is still tangled in thoughts of the woman…
Mirabel. Of that stubborn lift of her chin when she refused to be intimidated, the slight tremble in her fingers as she signed the contract, the scent of her perfume lingering in my office hours after she left.
I’ve spent the entire morning replaying our meeting, searching for signs she knows more than she’s letting on.
And now this mudak interrupts me.
I don’t stand. Don’t acknowledge him beyond a cold stare as he plants himself in front of my desk, hands braced on the polished surface, leaning forward like proximity might intimidate me.
“Did you think you could get away with humiliating my daughter?” Spit flies from his lips. “She is pregnant with your child!”
I lean back in my chair, drawing out the silence until I see the muscle in his jaw start to twitch.
“I doubt it’s my child, Sergei.”
His eyes widen, bulging with fury. “What the fuck do you mean?”
“Well,” I say, dragging the word out, “I’m not going into detail about my non-existent sex life with your daughter, but let’s just say there’s a good chance the baby isn’t mine.”
The color drains from his face before rushing back twice as intense. “Yobani urod! How dare you! My daughter was engaged to you! How dare you assume that she slept with someone else. My little girl is an innocent!”
Yeah, right.
Dolboyob.
I pick up a pen, turning it between my fingers, watching the light catch the silver barrel instead of looking at him. A deliberate dismissal.
“I will need a DNA test,” I say. “If the baby is mine, I will take full responsibility. But I have no plans to raise someone else’s child.”
“You can’t talk about my daughter like that!” Sergei shouts, slamming his fist down hard enough to rattle my laptop. “She is not a whore.”
I finally meet his gaze, letting the cold fury I’ve been containing seep into my voice. “I didn’t say she was. I want a DNA test. Can I help you with anything else, Tulikov?”
His eyes narrow, calculating. The shift is immediate—from outraged father to the businessman who’s built an empire through extortion and strategic alliances.
This is the real Sergei Tulikov, the one who only pretends to care about his daughter when it’s convenient.
The same man who has paraded Rosanna before potential suitors since she was sixteen, using her beauty as a bargaining chip in his deals.
“Da,” he grumbles, straightening his tie with fingers thick as sausages. “We need to find a solution for the financial loss you caused, Arkady.”
Now the fucker’s talking. I knew he was here for money, not because of his daughter.
“What do you want?” I ask after some silence.
“Compensation,” he says, a smile spreading across his face that reminds me of oil slicking over water. “I want Empire Royale. I want you to transfer it to my name. Then I’ll forget about your fuck-up at the wedding and the financial loss it caused.”
My body goes still. The kind of stillness that comes the moment before violence erupts.
Empire Royale is my crown jewel. The casino I built from nothing, the one that caters to Russian oligarchs with enough disposable income to buy small countries. The one legitimate business I own that generates enough clean money to fund everything else. And the fucker wants to take that away.
“Forget it,” I say without hesitation.
Sergei’s laugh is ugly. “You think you have a choice? Your father—”
“Leave my father out of this.”
“Why? He’s the reason I didn’t put a bullet in your head the moment you walked out on my daughter.
” He circles my desk, invading my space in a way that makes my trigger finger itch.
His hand reaches out, picks up the silver frame on my desk—the only photo I keep of my family intact.
Before Mishka. Before I destroyed everything.
I tense, fighting the urge to snatch it back.
“Gavriil and I had an arrangement. Our families would merge. The territories would stabilize. The distribution problem would be solved.” He taps the glass over my father’s face. “Such a shame your brother died. Mishka was always the obedient one, wasn’t he?”
The mention of Mishka’s name in his mouth makes something dark and ugly rise within me. I can almost feel the Makarov’s weight in my palm, hear the echo of that fatal shot from fifteen years ago.
“Sounds like your problem, not mine,” I say, voice flat despite the storm raging beneath the surface.
His face twists. “Your problem is that you think you can operate outside the Bratva while using its protection. Empire Royale sits on Laurov territory, but it’s your personal property.” He leans in, close enough that I smell the garlic on his breath. “That ends now.”
I rise slowly from my chair, standing to my full height. I have three inches on him, but he doesn’t back down.
“My father doesn’t control my businesses,” I say evenly. “And neither do you.”
“Your father is losing his grip,” Sergei hisses, voice dropping to ensure his men can’t hear.
“The other families are questioning his judgment. First, he lets his son sabotage a major trafficking operation. Then he fails to bring you in line for this marriage. The Georgians smell weakness from a hundred miles.”
The mention of the trafficking operation sets my blood boiling. He knows. Of course he fucking knows about Operation Blackout.
“I’m not giving you my casino,” I say. “Not now. Not ever.”
“Then I’ll take it.” His smile is all teeth. “Either through your father, or through other means.”
“Threats, Sergei? Really?”
“Not threats. Facts.” He adjusts his cufflinks—gold, gaudy, engraved with the Tulikov family crest. “I’ve already spoken with the gaming commission.
Interesting how paperwork can go missing when the right people are paid.
” He sets the photo down, deliberately crooked.
“And let’s not forget how profitable it could be if Rosanna’s child is proven to be a Laurov.
Child support from a man of your means would be… substantial.”
My jaw tightens. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Tulikov.”
“It’s only dangerous for those who don’t understand the rules.” He glances around my office, eyes landing on the family photo he just disturbed. “You never did understand the rules, Arkady. Always thinking you’re above them. Above us.”
“There are some lines I won’t cross,” I say. “Trafficking children is one of them.”
His laugh is dismissive. “Such moral high ground from a man with blood on his hands. Tell me, how many men have you killed? How many families have you destroyed while telling yourself you’re better than your father?”
The question isn’t one I can answer. Because he’s right. I am a killer. A monster wearing an expensive suit. The only difference is I’ve drawn my own lines in the sand—lines I won’t cross, no matter what.
“Get out,” I say, my voice deadly quiet.
“Not until we have an agreement.”
“There is no agreement. Empire Royale is mine.”
“Nothing is yours, Arkady,” he sneers. “Everything you have exists because the Bratva allows it. Your businesses. Your properties.” His gaze turns venomous. “Everything you’ve worked for.”
Ice floods my veins. My vision narrows to a pinpoint, the edges going black. For a split second, I see Sergei’s body broken on the floor, see myself standing over him, hands slick with his blood.
My control splinters.
In one fluid motion, I grab him by the throat, shoving him back against the wall hard enough to rattle the bookshelves. His security move toward us, but I’ve already pressed my thumb against his carotid, cutting off the blood flow to his brain.
“Listen carefully, you old piece of shit,” I growl, squeezing just enough to make his eyes bulge.
“You don’t touch what’s mine without consequences.
You don’t threaten what’s mine without consequences.
You don’t even look at what’s mine without consequences.
” I release him just before he passes out, watching him slump against the wall, gasping. “Empire Royale is off-limits.”
Sergei’s men have their hands inside their jackets, but they haven’t drawn. Smart. They know none of them wouldn’t make it out of this room alive if they did.
“Pizda! You’ll regret this,” Sergei wheezes, clutching his throat where my fingers left red marks. “This isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.” I straighten my cuffs, voice dropping to something colder.
More final. “You came here to threaten me. That was your final mistake.” I step back, giving him space to straighten, to gather what’s left of his dignity.
“Now get the fuck out of my office before I forget our families ever did business together.”
He stares at me for several seconds, hatred burning in his eyes. Then he nods to his men and stalks toward the door.
But he can’t resist a parting shot.
“You’ll regret crossing the Tulikov family, Arkady,” he spits. “Mark my words.”
The door slams behind him.
I stand there, adrenaline still surging through my veins, aware that I’ve just accelerated a war that was already brewing.