Page 33 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

My father’s eyes meet mine momentarily. They flash with irritation. I know he isn’t pleased to be interrupted.

“Where’s Dr. Konstantin?” I ask, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of the massive mahogany desk.

“Off tonight,” my father replies. “Dr. Sergei here is stepping in.”

The doctor turns to me and gives me a respectful nod. I notice that he’s got an IV in his hand and he’s checking my father’s forearm. His brow is furrowed with concern.

“I apologize, don,” Sergei murmurs. “I’m having trouble finding a vein.”

Stanislav snatches the IV out of the thin man’s hands and flings it across the room.

“Then get out,” he says, in a low, dangerous tone. “I feel fine anyway.”

“Sir?”

“Now!” Stanislav barks.

The doctor stumbles out the door in terror without another word.

When it swings shut, I fix my eyes on the stubborn old man in front of me.

“That one’s not gonna last,” I drawl.

“What are you doing here, son?”

“The deal between the Albanians and the Polish is taken care of. They won’t be stepping into our territory anymore.”

“That news could have waited till morning.”

“Why?” I ask. “You never sleep anyway.”

He looks older than usual, I realize. And worse. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin sags like it’s losing the fight with time and gravity.

“What are the doctors saying?”

He hates talking about it. But some things can’t simply be ignored or bulldozed. Even if he wishes otherwise.

“The same old shit,” Stanislav replies gruffly. “Bah, the fuck do they know?”

“You’ve had three teams of doctors. And they’ve all said the same thing.”

“I’ll outlive them all,” he snorts.

Sometimes, I’m inclined to believe him. My father is as stubborn as they come.

But tonight, I can feel death and sickness looking in through the window at us. It’s the same feeling I’d had with Mama years ago. Just before she’d died.

“You need to listen to them. You need to rest more.”

“I’ll rest when I die,” he retorts, “and not a moment before.”

“I thought you weren’t planning on dying?”

His tired eyes narrow. “Did you come to discuss my health or my business, son? If it’s not the latter, then it’s time for you to leave.”

We stare daggers at each other for a second.

Two stubborn men. Proud men. Powerful men. Neither of us willing to back down.

---