Page 9 of His Son's Brid
"How long has this been going on?" My voice is quiet. The dangerous kind of quiet.
"About... six years," Viktor admits. "Started about a year after you went in. We tried to control it, boss, but he's your—he's Leo. He pulls rank, says you left him in charge of his own affairs."
"I left him with an allowance and explicit instructions to finish school and stay out of trouble."
"Yeah, well." Sergei shifts. "Kid's got your last name. Thinks that makes him untouchable."
I flip to the last page. It's a police report. Assault charges. Dropped, of course, because we own half the department. But the details make my blood boil.
Leo tried to force himself on some girl at a party. When she fought back, he hit her. Hard enough to split her lip, bruise her ribs. She had him arrested. He bribed his way out within four hours.
"The girl," I tap the report. "She pressed charges?"
"Tried to," Viktor says. "We made it go away. Figured it was better to handle it quietly."
"Paid her off?"
"Tried. She wouldn't take the money. Wanted him in jail." Viktor shrugs. "But without her testimony, the case fell apart."
Something about that sits wrong in my gut. A girl who wouldn't take money, who wanted justice instead.
Who is she?
"Where the fuck is Leo now?" I close the folder, fighting the urge to punch the table.
"His penthouse. Probably sleeping off whatever he took last night."
"Get him up. I want him in my office tomorrow morning, eight sharp. And if he's late, fucking drag him there in whatever state he's in."
"You got it, boss."
I stand. The meeting's over. Sergei and Alexei file out first, the kid throwing one last awed glance over his shoulder. Viktor lingers.
"It's good to have you back," he says quietly. "Really. Things were... they were stable while you were gone, but they weren't the same. We need you."
"You did good, Viktor. Better than good. The organization's stronger than when I left."
"Yeah, well. I had a good teacher." He grins, then sobers. "You okay, though? Really?"
Am I?
Seven years in a six-by-eight cell. Seven years of watching my back every second, sleeping light, eating food that tasted like cardboard. Seven years of running my empire through coded messages and weekly phone calls, never sure if the guards were listening, if someone had turned, if today was the day it all fell apart.
But it didn't. Viktor kept it together. My soldiers stayed loyal. My enemies stayed scared.
I should feel victorious.
Instead, I feel hollow.
"I'm fine," I lie. "Go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we remind Dmitri why crossing the Santego family is a death sentence."
He nods, leaves.
I'm alone.
The club's bass still throbs through the walls, muffled but relentless. Out there, people are dancing, drinking, fucking, living. And I'm in here, surrounded by reports and violence and the weight of a crown I never asked for but can't put down.
I pull out my phone. Scroll through contacts until I find the name I'm looking for.
