Page 9 of Hidden Heir

“I have also managed to secure six more high-paying clients in the Middle East. The contact you put me in touch with is very eager for us to secure virgins by the time Summer rolls around, and given the state of this country…” I chuckle softly. “I told him we can guarantee it and I already have scouts in every university within a two-thousand-mile radius.”

“They want American?” my father asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “Apparently they have lost faith in the European market and believe Americans to be better quality. I will gift them some European meat to show them how we ensure quality regardless of the country.”

This is big. I know this is big. My father was trying to secure trust with Middle Eastern clients for years, but there was always something in the way, usually their desire to claim their own product from Europe. It had taken me a little less than a month to pollute their deliveries and make them think that the quality of people coming from Europe were no longer up to their standards.

The fact that they now trust us is huge but I don’t feel the victory. I won’t until my father confirms it. My entire life hangs on his every word. Every deal I secure doesn’t feel like a success until he confirms that it is, because that’s how he raised me. He’s given me his life, protected me, earning my loyalty and trust. He may not be Pakhan anymore but his word is still law.

My father finally moves, turning away from the liquor cabinet and approaches me with two glasses in hand. Each contains a sphere of ice and what I presume to be Vodka given that he drinks nothing else. Stopping just in front of me, he scans my posture, and I instantly straighten my shoulders.

“Impressive, Leontiy. This is a good deal.” He hands me one of the glasses, then knocks them against one another. “I am glad you took me seriously about the Middle East.”

Tension eases from my shoulders like warm dough resting in a bowl and I finally smile. “Your advice is key to our success,” I respond, taking a short, sharp swig of the Vodka. The lack of taste speaks to its quality but the burn is sharp all the way down my throat.

“Yoursuccess,” my father corrects, sounding as if he truly means it. “I am, after all, retired.”

If I were bolder, I would joke that he’s still too much in control to be retired, but our hierarchy doesn’t allow for such teasing. My father would likely see it as an insult, and I’m not brave enough to face his wrath right now. But he appears in a good mood, especially when he smiles after his drink, so I shift my weight from leg to leg as I contemplate the success of voicing my next idea.

“Speak.” My father seems to catch on that I have more to say, and his order comes as he moves back around his desk and sinks into the deep leather chair.

“The Japanese Yakuza,” I begin. “They have a growing presence in the states and I think we should do something about that. If we formed a strong alliance with them, that could give us a foothold in the East. It would open up access to Australia and beyond, which can only bolster us given the tourists ripe for the?—.”

“No.”

I stop talking and stare at him. My father’s word is law and it always has been. But the Yakuza is something I’ve been working on for a few weeks and being unable to present my full idea leaves me feeling incomplete and frustrated.

“No?”I ask cautiously, knowing I’m risking opening a dangerous can of worms by questioning my father.

“Now is not the right time,” he says, lifting his gaze from the book in front of him. “Therefore the answer is no.” He then looks away, signaling the conversation is over.

As the Pakhan, if I choose to act then I am able to. I have thousands of men at my command and hundreds of families ready to obey me at the drop of a hat. We have the most successful human trafficking business in the world and are richer than the Irish with their drugs. My family name, Koval, is a household name and the Yakuza would be right to fear it.

But my father said no, so that idea is dead.

I dip my head, finish my drink, then walk out of the room with my bodyguard, Rik, on my tail.

“So?” Rik presses as we stride through the mansion. “Did you tell him about the Yakuza?”

“Yep.”

“And?” There’s hope in Rik’s eyes. He’s protected me for years and he’s always been a good ear for any problem or idea I’ve needed a trusted source to bounce off of.

“He said no.”

“What?” Rik’s loud response catches the attention of some of the guards that line the halls, and a few curious glances are shot our way as we walk.

“He said no and that’s all there is to it.”

“Did he say why?”

“Of course not,” I scoff. “But he has his reasons and they’re always good ones. Now is not the time.”

Rik rolls his eyes and tugs slightly at his tie. “Did he even listen to your entire idea?”

“No.”

“Then how does he?—”

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