Page 122 of Vendetta Crown

But if I give in...

I'd be turning my back on Aurora and my nieces when they need me most, forsaking family duty for bratva politics.

The realization chills me. These men view my devotion to family as weakness. They expect me to be my father's son: ruthless and cold, putting power above all else.

"Your father would have understood the necessity," Balakirev murmurs, as if reading my thoughts. "The girls will recover, but this opportunity?—"

I cut him off with a glare. "I am not my father."

The pakhans exchange glances, their expressions hardening.

"Perhaps we misjudged your readiness to lead," Voronin says, his voice dangerously low.

The threat remains unsaid, but his meaning is clear.

I meet his gaze squarely, refusing to be cowed. "I lack nothing except your poor timing, Alexei."

Then Potyomkin steps forward, his perpetual scowl shifting into something almost philosophical.

"Perhaps we're thinking of this wrong," he says. "To declare oneself pakhan of pakhans on a day of mourning would be..." he pauses, searching for the word. "Inappropriate. It would suggest that Ruslan Vitalyevich's ambition trumps his own respect for decorum."

I study Potyomkin's face, seeing the game behind his words. This isn't about respect. This is Potyomkin positioning himself as the voice of reason and tradition.

The power behind the throne.

They're all playing angles.

Balakirev and Voronin want immediate action to force my hand in the hopes that something might shift and open an opportunity for them. Svarikov wants me to be the borrowed knife that ends Gregor. Potyomkin advocates restraint to make himself indispensable.

None of them care about the three sobbing girls across the graveyard.

All they see is self-interest dressed in funeral black.

I glance over and see Vera making her way to Aurora and offering her comforts to my nieces. I see the other wives squatting down one by one to hug the grieving girls.

Why can't their husbands be like them?

Why can't they show just a shred of humanity?

Then, Aurora catches my eye, and that's when clarity hits me.

These men imbued me with power, and they expect to control me with it.

But by giving me power, I have the right to lord over them.

Which means…

"Vyacheslav Petrovich is right," I say. "Today isn't the day for coronations."

A panoply of emotions flash across the various men's faces. Disappointment. Anger. Annoyance.

"But it is a day for decisions." I straighten my shoulders, looking each pakhan in the eye. "A tsar does not become a tsar because his boyars demand it. But because he can act toprotectthose who serve him. Instead of naming myself pakhan of pakhans, I intend on calling for a vote among theVorito go to war with Semyon and the Triads."

The circle of men goes completely still.

"War?" Balakirev whispers, his face paling. "Open war? We haven't done that since Gregor first brought all of us together."

"Are you afraid, Dmitri Rodionovich?" I ask him.

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