Chapter 6
JULIAN
Ethan is waiting for me in my office. In his hand and on my desk are glasses with two fingers of what appears to be bourbon.
But the look on his face makes it clear that this isn’t about celebration.
“The board meeting go as you anticipated?”
“Naturally.”
“Good, because we have other issues to worry about.”
I take the glass off my desk and regard it, but don’t sip. I’d rather hear the news with a clear head.
“What is it?” I ask, taking a seat.
“The Morozov situation,” he says, dropping into the chair across from my desk. “It’s worse than we thought.”
I say nothing, indicating for him to go on.
“Turns out that Morozov isn’t just backing Dobrov’s motion at the upcoming council. He’s actively brokering an alliance.”
“What kind of alliance? Who’s involved?”
“Dobrov, Morozov, and at least one other family whom we haven’t yet identified. That makes three votes against you out of the nine syndicate seats.”
“That’s still a minority.”
“It’s a growing minority. A month ago, Dobrov had one vote—his own. Now he has three. That means if he manages to flip one more council seat, you’ll be looking at a contested leadership challenge. And it’ll have real teeth.”
I set the glass down and move to the window. Manhattan sprawls brightly below—glass, steel, and money.
The Volkov Bratva controls shipping corridors along the Eastern Seaboard, manages distribution networks for product moving through three continents, and launders it all through a web of real estate holdings, shell companies, and charitable foundations.
It’s intricate, complex. And it was nearly brought down by my incompetent half-brother.
For the past three years, I’ve been in Moscow, Beijing, and Manila, personally ensuring that our partnerships with the Triads and the Filipino syndicates didn’t collapse, while Alexander was off playing CEO.
Ethan was there with me the entire time, at every late-night meeting where death was on the line.
And we prevailed. We kept the machine running. But now that I’m home, the machine is already trying to chew me up and spit me out.
“The Chinese,” I say. “Where are we with Yang?”
“Mr. Yang has confirmed attendance at the council through his U.S. representative. The Triads are still willing to open their shipping routes to us.”
“I should hope so. That’s the deal we brokered.”
“Right. But Yang’s support is conditional on stability. If the Bratva’s own council can’t agree on who is in charge, they’ll walk.”
I grit my teeth, knowing what that means. “And if they walk, the Filipinos walk.”
“And that means the last three years were a goddamn waste.”
I sip my drink while I think it over.
“Dobrov doesn’t just need to unseat me,” I say, “he needs the council to fracture publicly. If he manages that, he can build on it, unseating me down the line when it’s demonstrated that I can’t bring in the deals I’d promised.”
“It’s bullshit,” Ethan says. “You’d think they’d be happy to make money.”
“After a certain point, money doesn’t matter,” I reply. “It’s just a number. Being the man on top; that becomes the new prize.”
Ethan leans forward. “There’s something else.”
“What is a?”
“If the vote flips, or even if Dobrov gets just enough to force a leadership challenge, he won’t be thinking politically—he’ll be thinking tactically. Meaning, he’ll be thinking of ways to dissuade you from mounting a defense.”
I realize exactly what that entails.
“Lyra.”
He nods. “Think about it. You publicly declared her yours at the gala. That might protect her from Alexander’s bullshit, but it paints a big target on her back. Now everyone knows that you have a weak spot. Imagine if he kidnapped her before the council.”
I hate to agree with him, but Ethan is right. Dobrov wouldn’t be above such tactics, especially if he believes it could bring him closer to the big chair.
I made the decision I did with Lyra to protect her from Alexander and Sophia, not to mention to bring her back into the Volkov fold, and it worked—with all that implies.
“Increase her security detail. Two men, round the clock. Keep it discreet.”
“Already arranged. But Julian,” Ethan says as he sets his glass down, “getting involved with her—if that’s indeed your plan—is dangerous. For both of you. She’s your brother’s ex. People will see it as two brothers having some kind of spat. They’re going to think you’re weak and distracted.”
“Let them think it.”
He sighs. “Julian.”
“I said let them.”
I turn from the window. “Alexander never deserved her. He used her, then tossed her aside when it was convenient for him. And I’m not going to make decisions about who I have at my side based on the opinions of others.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. Ethan has known me long enough to know when a decision isn’t up for debate.
He shifts in his seat.
“What else?”
“The council vote. Family seats count.”
“I know.”
“Right now, it’s you and Alexander as the two Volkov seats. Your stepmother holds a proxy through Alexander. And Anya has a vote, too. If she were to vote for Alexander—”
“She won’t.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure about that? She is Alexander’s blood, after all.”
He leans forward and holds his hands out.
“Listen, I know you and Anya are close. But all the same, if she were to vote for Alexander, the optics would be devastating. She votes for you, great, she wants continuity. But if she were to side with Alexander, Yang would be back on a plane to Shanghai before the second round of voting.”
He’s right, and I hate that.
“Find Anya and send her in.”
He stands and nods, then steps out. A minute later, Anya appears in the doorway. Her careful, neutral expression suggests she already knows what this is about.
“Close the door. Sit down.”
She does both without a word. She’s only twenty years old but manages to carry herself with a poise beyond her age.
“The council meets in three weeks,” I say, “and you have a vote.”
“I know.”
“I need to know where you stand.”
She’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “Julian, you know I love Alex. He’s my brother.”
“And so am I.”
“Yes, you’re both my brothers, and that’s the problem.” She meets my eyes. “Alex called me last night after the gala. He was… upset, to say the least. He thinks you’re trying to destroy him.”
“The only thing being destroyed is this company—by him. That’s what I’m trying to prevent. If he wants to be a careless, immature playboy, that’s his business. But he’s not going to take this company along for the ride.”
She runs her hand through her hair. “I know, I know. I’ve seen the numbers, and I’m aware of what he did with the foundation money.” She pauses. “But you’re technically asking me to vote against him and our mom. Everyone’s going to see that. It’s not nothing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Okay. So, here’s what I’ll say.” She straightens, looking older than her twenty years. “As long as your motivations are honoring what Dad built—the company, the foundation, the alliances—I’ll support you. And assuming Alexander is edged out, you let him walk away.”
“Once he’s edged out, I’ll no longer have any business with him.”
“Good. I don’t want grudges. I don’t want this family hating one another.”
“You’ll get no hate from me. But I can’t say the same for Alexander—or your mother.”
“You’re probably right about that. Anyway, I’m with you. Dad wanted you to be in that chair, but Dad also wanted us to be a family. Just don’t forget about that part.”
With that, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.
The plan is clear: Secure the council, lock down support, and neutralize Dobrov’s alliances.
But in that moment, there’s only one person on my mind: Lyra.
I think about the way she looked in my office this morning, sitting with the binder open on her lap, her gorgeous legs crossed. She asked sharp questions, her pen moving with the focus of someone who actually gives a damn about the work.
And I think about the curve of her neck when she turned to look at the donor list, and how badly I wanted to put my lips there.
Lyra stays.
She’ll be close. Protected.
Mine.