Page 22 of Crimson Curse
“I will not,” I state firmly, the words charged with absolute certainty. “Not for pride. For Naomi, absolutely. For the child, without question. For the Bratva, when circumstances demand it. But I will not feed wolves for sport.”
The distinction is crucial. Every decision I make must serve a larger purpose than satisfying wounded ego or maintaining appearances. Naomi and our unborn child represent the future of everything I have built. They are worth any sacrifice, any risk, and any price that needs to be paid. The Bratva itself is worth defending when its survival is genuinely threatened. But theatrical displays of power for their own sake are risks I won’t take when facing opponents of this caliber.
Lex's mouth barely curves upward, the subtle expression representing the closest thing to a smile he ever displays. For him, it indicates complete agreement and satisfaction with my tactical assessment.
“How do you want to proceed with this situation?” he asks.
The question has been building throughout our entire conversation, every piece of intelligence and every strategic consideration leading to this moment of decision. The choices I make in the next few minutes will determine whether we maintain the initiative or surrender it to enemies who have already demonstrated their willingness to escalate beyond conventional boundaries.
“Pull half the surveillance assets currently focused on Viktor,” I command, my mind already three moves ahead in the game we are playing. “Reroute them to mapping Lucien's entire network. I want the French logistics fund investigated down to their janitorial service contracts. Every board position. Every proxy vote. Every silent partner whose name appears on golf clubdonation lists. I want private jet tail numbers and the flight miles they claim they did not log. I want maintenance records for that Milwaukee hangar and detailed background checks on whoever sells coffee to the mechanics.”
The scope of the investigation I am ordering will require significant resources and time we may not have, but comprehensive intelligence is the only way to counter an opponent who has been planning this campaign for months or possibly years. We need to understand the full extent of their capabilities, financial resources, personnel, and ultimate objectives before we can formulate an effective response.
Lex nods once. “Da, pakhan.”
His fingers move across the tablet, converting my instructions into specific assignments that will be distributed to intelligence operatives across three states within the hour. Notes become orders before I finish articulating complete sentences. This is why he serves as my second-in-command. He transforms intention into action faster than most men finish processing a single thought.
“Find me Lucien's ultimate endgame,” I tell him. “Is Viktor still functioning as his partner, or has he already been marked for disposal? I want to know if my cousin is sitting at the negotiating table or already listed on the ledger of the dead.”
Viktor, as an active participant, means we are fighting both of them simultaneously. Viktor, as a marked target, means we can exploit the inevitable betrayal, turning their alliance into a weakness we can leverage. Either way, we need to know before we commit to any course of action that cannot be easily reversed.
“We'll get those answers,” he replies with quiet confidence.
“And when we do,” I promise, feeling the cold certainty settle into my bones like winter frost, “I will decide which parts of their operation to burn and which parts to bury.”
He inclines his head in acknowledgment. In a few moments, he will leave this office and set into motion a network of intelligence that spans multiple countries and costs more per day than most legitimate businesses earn in a year. Men will risk their lives to obtain the information I have requested. Some of them may not return. But by tomorrow, I will know enough about our enemies to begin planning their destruction in detail.
This is a matter of survival, with stakes that include everything I have built and everyone I love. Lucien and Viktor have made their opening moves. Now it’s time for me to respond in the only language they truly understand.
Lex leaves my office to set the orders in motion, and the door clicks shut behind him. I let the silence settle. Then I pick up the phone and tell Nikolai to send Irina in.
She arrives three minutes later, punctual as always, in a slate-gray suit with her hair twisted into that perfect chignon. The red lipstick is fresh, not a smudge out of place. She closes the door behind her and offers a small smile that would disarm any man who didn’t know her as well as I do.
“You wanted to see me?”
I lean back in my chair and study her without speaking. People reveal themselves when forced to sit in silence. But Irina simply stands, hands folded loosely at her waist, her breathing steady.
“Naomi is pregnant,” I say at last.
If the news shocks her, she hides it well. Only the faintest pause in her inhale gives her away. “Congratulations,” she replies smoothly. “An heir will strengthen your position.”
My eyes narrow. “Two weeks ago, you told me the Bratva needed an heir. That I’d thank you later.”
She tilts her head, as if the memory is of no consequence. “A simple truth, Daniil. Legacy matters.”
I let the air grow colder between us. “Naomi noticed one of her pills was altered. Days before she was taken. The only person who entered her room during that time was you.”
Irina’s gaze doesn’t flinch, but there’s the smallest tightening at the corner of her mouth. “You think I would meddle in something so personal?”
“I think,” I say slowly, “you’ve been with this family long enough to know that personal and business are the same thing. And I think you know that an heir changes a man. It makes him cautious. Slows his hand in a war.” My voice hardens. “If someone wanted leverage against me, this would be the perfect way to get it.”
Her lips curve faintly, but it isn’t a smile. “I’ve done nothing but protect your interests.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. My voice drops to the tone I use before pulling a trigger. “Then be certain those interests align with mine. Always.”
A beat of silence passes before she inclines her head in acknowledgment. “Of course.”
I watch her leave, her heels tapping a measured rhythm across the marble. She doesn’t look back.
