Chapter 20 Yuri
YURI
The Gravitch family gathers around a scarred metal table under a buzzing light and the haze of cigar smoke that clouds the air.
Dimitri called this meeting without consulting me first—a breach of protocol that already has my blood running hot.
The other men sit in their expensive suits, faces carved from stone, while increased tension creates a haze between us.
"The marriage was a mistake," Fyodor grumbles.
His bulk fills the chair at the far end of the table, thick fingers drumming against the metal surface.
My uncle was next in line to run the family if my father had died before my grandfather passed.
Of course, he sides with Dimitri.
The man is one step away from being too senile to lead anyone.
"The girl brings nothing but complications."
"The Mirova alliance secured textile routes through Eastern Europe and our trade was subsequently doubled," I counter, keeping my voice level despite the irritation clawing at my chest.
"Revenue increased thirty percent in the first quarter."
"Temporary gains," Dimitri interjects.
He leans forward, elbows on the table, salt-and-pepper hair catching the harsh light.
"The arms deal Dominic started is still unresolved. Kozlov's growing impatient. And your new wife's mother contests business ownership through legal channels, drawing attention we don't need."
Anton, one of our cousins, nods his agreement.
"Too many variables. Too many moving pieces that could collapse at any moment."
These men have no clue what they're talking about.
Kozlov is dead.
I killed him myself, but until I know who is behind the attacks for certain, I won't tell them.
I'm almost certain it's Viktoria, but I won't rule out inner-family conflict.
I wouldn't put it past Dimitri to push one of my enemies toward me.
Still, if he is the one pulling strings, he'd have heard of Kozlov's death by now.
"And then there's the matter of perception," Fyodor adds.
His scarred hands fold on the table as he speaks.
"The men whisper that Yuri Gravitch has grown soft. That he's compromised by a young wife who leads him around by the cock."
The words are a direct challenge to me, and a taunt too.
Every man at this table knows the rules—disrespect the Pakhan, face the consequences.
But Fyodor has backed his statement with the support of others, making rebuttal more complicated.
I lead this family, and if I called my men and gave them the order, they would back down.
But they're family, and I don't want loyalty fractured.
"Set her aside," Fyodor says.
"Find a more advantageous match. Someone from the Kozlov family, perhaps. Smooth over the arms deal while gaining a stronger alliance."
"The marriage contract is binding," I say through gritted teeth.
"Contracts can be dissolved." Dimitri's tone feels like he's giving orders, which he has no right to.
"Accidents happen. Wives disappear. The world moves on."
Ice runs through my veins at the casual way he discusses disposing of Inessa.
These men see her as expendable, a piece to be moved or removed when convenient.
They don't understand what she represents—not just the business alliance, but the fire that ignites when she challenges me, the way she refuses to break even when cornered.
"She stays."
My declaration makes them all uncomfortable.
Dimitri's eyebrows rise fractionally, the only sign of his surprise.
He actually thinks I'm going to submit to him when I'm the leader?
"This isn't a negotiation, Yuri."
Fyodor's voice drops to a growl.
"The family's concerns—"
"The family's concerns are noted." I stand, the chair scraping against the floor.
"But my marriage remains intact. Find other solutions to the situation's demands."
"And when this escalates?" Fyodor asks.
These men came here expecting compliance, expecting me to bend to their collective will because I'm outnumbered five to one.
But all they've done is reveal their hand.
They believe I've become weak, manipulable, ruled by emotion rather than logic.
"Then you'll discover why I became Pakhan in the first place."
Dimitri's expression darkens. "Yuri—"
"This meeting is over," I tell them.
I turn, strutting to the door as voices rise in heated discussion, but I don't look back.
They can scheme and plot among themselves.
When they move against me—and they will move—I'll be ready.
If they want to challenge me, they will learn what it means to cross me, because the lead in my bullets doesn't differentiate between family or enemy when I pull the trigger.
The drive back to St. Petersburg takes four hours through gray countryside, giving me time to consider my options.
Dimitri won't act immediately.
He's cautious by nature, preferring to build consensus before striking.
But the others might prove more impulsive, especially if they believe my attachment to Inessa makes me vulnerable.
They're not entirely wrong.
The woman has gotten under my skin in ways I didn't anticipate.
What began as a pragmatic arrangement has evolved into something more dangerous.
The family senses this weakness and wants to exploit it.
But they underestimate what I'm willing to do to keep what's mine.
When the car finally arrives back at my home, Oleg meets me at the gate, and his usual stoic expression has been replaced by barely concealed anxiety.
Something is wrong.
"Boss, we have a situation."
He coughs to disguise the way his voice cracks.
"Explain."
"Mrs. Gravitch returned from her hospital visit with a… guest. She insisted… and since she's your wife, Kirill let them through before checking with security."
Kirill, who looked guilty as hell when questioned about how his phone went missing yesterday.
My jaw clenches as the pieces fall into place.
I'm not happy with Inessa, and we'll have words, but for now, I have to find out what the hell is going on.
"Where are they now?"
"The living room, sir."
I stride through the front entrance with rage building in each step.
The sound of feminine voices drifts from the main room—Inessa's tone and another voice that's sickly sweet and manipulative.
When I reach the doorway, the scene before me confirms my worst fears.
Viktoria Mirova sits in my leather chair as though she belongs there, holding a crystal tumbler of vodka in her manicured hand.
Inessa perches on the edge of the sofa, spine rigid with tension.
She looks caught between loyalty and longing, torn between the mother who abandoned her and the man who married her by force.
I read her expression like a book and know the turmoil she's probably caught up in within her thoughts.
Every little girl's dream is to have a mother who cares for her, and Inessa has never had that.
Both women look up when I enter, but their reactions couldn't be more different.
Viktoria's smile is predatory. Inessa's face drains of color.
"Yuri!" Viktoria rises with theatrics like normal.
"How wonderful to finally meet my daughter's husband. I was just telling Inessa how concerned I've been about her wellbeing."
"Get out."
My words slice through Viktoria's act, and her smile falters for a split second before reasserting itself.
"I beg pardon?"
"You heard me perfectly. Get out of my house."
I stop short of pointing, but I make my authority known by stepping out of her path to the door.
"I'm here to see my daughter—"
"You're here because you gained access through deception and manipulation."
I step into the room and Inessa's head droops further.
"You compromised my security, corrupted my staff, and violated the sanctity of my home. Those are not the actions of a concerned mother."
"Yuri—"
Inessa starts to speak, but I cut her off with a look.
This conversation is between Viktoria and me.
"I don't know what you think you're accomplishing," Viktoria says, setting down her glass.
"But keeping Inessa prisoner won't—"
"Prisoner?"
The word explodes from my throat like a rocket exploding.
"She's my wife. This is her home. You're the intruder here."
"She called me."
Viktoria's voice turns smug, almost triumphant.
"Begged me to come. Said she was desperate, trapped, needed her mother's help to escape this gilded cage you've built around her."
I turn to Inessa, whose face confirms at least the partial truth.
She made contact with her mother first.
She reached out to this poisonous woman and invited her into our lives, into my sanctuary.
Maybe she didn't beg for help, but I see the guilt stained on her drooping face.
"You have thirty seconds to leave my property," I tell Viktoria, voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"If you're still here when that time expires, my guards will remove you in whatever manner they see fit."
"You can't threaten me—"
"Twenty-five seconds."
Viktoria looks to Inessa for support, but my wife has gone silent, gray-green eyes wide with something between fear and fascination.
She's seeing me as I truly am—not the controlled businessman who negotiates contracts, but the predator who built an empire by shedding blood and raining terror.
"This isn't over," Viktoria says, gathering her purse with wounded dignity.
"Inessa knows where to find me when she's ready to come home."
"Twenty seconds."
She moves toward the door quickly, trying to maintain her composure.
But I see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands shake slightly as she grips her purse.
She feels the danger radiating from me and understands that her time is running out.
The front door closes behind her and through the window, I watch her climb into a black sedan and drive away from the compound.
Only then do I turn my attention to Inessa.
She hasn't moved from the sofa, but her breathing has quickened.
She knows what's coming.
"Upstairs. Bedroom. Now."
"Yuri, let me explain—"
"Move."
The single word carries enough warning to propel her into action.
She rises on unsteady legs and walks toward the staircase.
I follow close behind, and I'm trying hard to keep my temper in check.
Whatever just happened, I know Inessa only wanted to reach out to heal a fractured relationship.
She has no idea the danger Viktoria poses.
At the bedroom door, I push it open and wait for her to enter.
When she's inside, I close the door and turn the lock before facing her shaking form.
"How long have you been in contact with her?"
Inessa wraps her arms around herself, a defensive gesture that does nothing to quell my fury.
"This morning. I called her this morning."
"Using whose phone?"
"Kirill's."
She's trembling.
I hate that I'm scaring her so badly, but I have to know how badly I'm hemorrhaging right now.
"And you arranged this meeting during your hospital visit?"
She nods, unable to meet my eyes.
"Look at me."
When she doesn't comply, I step closer.
"Look. At. Me."
Her gray-green eyes rise to mine, swimming with unshed tears.
But I'm beyond sympathy now, beyond the careful balance we've maintained this past week.
"You violated my trust. You compromised my security. You brought my enemy into my home."
Each accusation lands between us, building a wall of betrayal brick by brick.
"And for what? So she could poison your mind with lies about escape and rescue?"
"She's my mother."
"She's a manipulative whore who abandoned you when it served her interests and returned when she smelled opportunity."
Inessa flinches at the crude language, but I'm not done.
"You want to know what your mother really wants? She wants control of your company. She wants to use your marriage to me as leverage against both our families. She doesn't give a damn about your happiness or your safety. You're just another pawn in her game."
"You don't know her!" she whimpers, and the first tear breaches the dam.
"Neither do you. But you're about to learn what betrayal costs in my world."
The lock clicks into place as I turn to leave.
Inessa will remain in this room until I decide otherwise, with guards outside her door and no means of contact with the outside world.
As I walk away, her voice follows me through the wood.
"Yuri, please!"
But her plea’s aren't enough anymore.
Trust, once broken, requires more than words to repair.
And Inessa has just discovered that crossing Yuri Gravitch comes with a price she may not be willing to pay.