29. Tribunal of Wolves
Tribunal of Wolves
Roman
The old house smells like leather and history.
Not the curated kind.
The kind that stains.
Dark wood panels. Long table carved decades ago by men who understood power as inheritance, not negotiation. Portraits line the walls—dead men with cold eyes and heavier legacies.
They are watching.
Judging.
The capos are already seated when I enter.
Twelve of them.
Different ages.
Same instincts.
Predators who survived long enough to become law.
Vera walks beside me.
Head high.
Unflinching.
Good.
They will test her.
They will test me more.
Yelena stands near the head of the table, pearls catching the low light. Her gaze sweeps over us—measuring, approving, calculating.
“Roman,” she says smoothly.
“Aunt.”
Her eyes flick to Vera.
“Wife.”
The word lands deliberately.
Not affectionate.
Not hostile.
A variable acknowledged.
We take our seats.
Silence stretches.
Then—
Sergei speaks first.
Of course he does.
“You moved quickly,” he says.
“Yes.”
“You married Bellini blood without counsel.”
“I didn’t require it.”
Murmurs ripple.
Disapproval.
Interest.
Testing.
“You brought an enemy into this house,” another capo adds.
“I brought leverage,” I correct.
“She is a liability,” Sergei presses.
“She is under my protection.”
“Protection can be withdrawn.”
The implication hangs heavy.
Test her.
Control her.
Prove dominance.
I lean back slightly.
“Not in this case.”
Silence tightens.
One of the older capos—Mikhail—leans forward, fingers steepled.
“Then demonstrate control,” he says.
The room sharpens.
“How,” I ask.
“Keep her in line,” Sergei says bluntly. “Publicly. So there is no confusion about who leads.”
Vera goes very still beside me.
I feel it.
The tension.
The expectation.
They don’t want strategy.
They want submission.
They want to see if I will bend her.
Break her.
Display her.
Prove I am still the dominant force in the room.
I stand.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The chair scrapes softly against the floor.
Every eye follows.
“This house,” I say evenly, “does not lead through spectacle.”
A few scoff quietly.
“It leads through certainty.”
I turn slightly toward Vera.
Not as a command.
As a statement.
“She is not here under obligation.”
The room stills.
“She is here by my choice.”
The words land heavier than any threat.
“You confuse softness with weakness,” I continue.
“I see strength.”
Sergei leans forward, eyes narrowing.
“You defend her.”
“I define the line,” I reply.
Silence.
Tense.
Charged.
“If anyone in this room,” I say quietly, “tests her to test me—”
I don’t raise my voice.
I don’t need to.
“They will not like the outcome.”
The threat doesn’t need elaboration.
They understand.
They always do.
The room settles.
Not submission.
But acknowledgment.
I’ve drawn the line.
In front of wolves.
And they know exactly where it is.
The meeting ends without resolution.
But without challenge.
For now.
Vera walks ahead of me as we leave the room.
Unbroken.
Untouched.
That matters.
More than it should.
“Wait,” Yelena’s voice cuts through the hallway.
I turn.
She approaches slowly, heels clicking softly against stone.
Elegant.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
“You handled that well,” she says.
“I handled it.”
Her eyes flick briefly toward Vera, then back to me.
“She will change this house,” Yelena says quietly.
“Or it will break her.”
“Perhaps both.”
Silence stretches.
Yelena reaches out—not touching me—but adjusting something near my lapel.
A familiar gesture.
Almost maternal.
If you ignore the calculation behind it.
“You should read more carefully,” she murmurs.
Her fingers slip something into my jacket pocket.
Light.
Folded.
“Be cautious who you trust,” she adds.
Then she steps back.
Composed again.
Untouchable.
I watch her walk away.
Then I reach into my pocket.
The paper is small.
Tightly folded.
I open it.
Four words.
No signature.
No flourish.
Your father ordered Luka’s ambush.
The hallway seems to tilt.
For a moment, I don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Because this—
This changes everything.
Not Bellini.
Not Orlov.
Not external enemies.
Blood.
My father.
The betrayal isn’t across the table.
It’s in the chair that built it.
And if this is true—
Then I haven’t been hunting an enemy.
I’ve been inheriting one.