Chapter 004

OLEG POV

I woke up in the plush embrace of a five-star hotel bed, the scent of last night’s indulgence faintly lingering in the air. She was gone, of course—a thick, curvy stranger I’d met at the club. I never expected her to stick around, nor did I want her to. My guards must’ve done their job, ensuring she was gone before sunrise. That’s how it always went. I hated seeing my nightstands in the morning.

Stretching, I slid out of bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin. Naked, I padded to the bathroom, stepping into the rainfall shower. The hot water cascaded over my body, washing away the remnants of sweat and pleasure. By the time I emerged, wrapped in a luxurious bathrobe, my mind was already turning to more pressing matters.

I grabbed my phone and dialed one of my guards. “Get the car and the plane ready,” I said curtly. “I’m leaving for Russia.”

---

The flight was long, but it gave me time to prepare for what awaited. By the time we landed, I was back in my element. The convoy of black SUVs pulled up to my father’s sprawling villa, a fortress guarded by men who’d kill or die on his command. As the car rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, I stepped out, motioning for my men to handle my luggage.

“Stay here,” I told them, striding up the marble staircase alone.

The villa was as I remembered: grand, cold, and steeped in power. I climbed the winding staircase to my father’s office, my footsteps muffled by the Persian rugs. As I neared the door, I heard voices—one was unmistakably my father’s, calm and calculated. The other was unfamiliar, tense and pleading.

Curious, I stopped outside the door, pressing myself against the wall to listen.

“It’s been almost three years,” the unfamiliar voice said, shaky yet resolute. “Don, don’t you think it’s time? You’ve punished my father enough. Demoted him, humiliated him—but isn’t it enough now?”

I froze. That voice… could it be Anton? My jaw tightened, and my hands clenched into fists.

“And why,” my father replied, his tone nonchalant, “should I believe that a bastard like you is speaking out of anything but self-interest? His mother’s illness is no concern of yours.”

“It’s not just about her,” Anton continued, his voice breaking. “This is about Elvis. He deserves to know—”

The name struck me like a thunderbolt, igniting a rage I’d buried deep. I didn’t wait for him to finish. With a single, powerful motion, I threw open the door, the force nearly splintering it.

Anton was on his knees before my father, his pale face snapping up to meet mine. Fear washed over him instantly. He knew what I was capable of.

I didn’t hesitate. Crossing the room in three long strides, I punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air, but I didn’t let up. Grabbing him by the collar, I slammed him against the wall, one hand tightening around his throat.

“What did you just say?” I growled, my voice low and dangerous. “You dare mention Elvis in my presence? You want him back here? I’ll burn your entire lineage to ashes before that happens and nearly lifted him off the ground. He was a large man, but I was much larger.

For some reason, I had never liked Anton—neither now nor back when his brother and I were best friends. There was always something about him that made me uneasy.

Anton tried to stammer a response, but the pressure of my hand silenced him.

“Son,” my father said from behind me, his tone calm, almost amused. “Don’t kill him here. I don’t want a corpse in my office.”

I turned to glance at him. He was seated behind his massive oak desk, puffing leisurely on one of his custom Cuban cigars, the rich, smoky scent filling the room. His expression was indifferent, as though this scene was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Reluctantly, I loosened my grip, and Anton crumpled to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

“Get out,” I barked, and he didn’t wait a second longer, scrambling out of the room like a beaten dog.

My father exhaled a plume of smoke, leaning back in his chair. “You handled the New York business faster than I expected. I’m proud of you.”

I sank into the chair opposite him, my chest still rising with suppressed anger. “Don’t mention his name,” I snapped, already anticipating what he was about to say..

“Elvis?” my father drawled, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, the way you glare at me. Clearly, you didn’t inherit your temper from me. But tell me, do you really think you can avoid him forever?

I said nothing, my fists clenching in my lap.

My dad was like my best friend—a father who never took the chaos in me too seriously and still saw me as his young boy.

"You think I don’t know? You know where he is," he said. I wasn’t surprised; he had always been keeping an eye on my every move, even though I constantly warned him not to.

"You could’ve gone to meet him and killed him if you wanted to, but you didn’t. I don’t need to tell you anything because only you know what’s truly going on in your head and heart," he said gently.

"You don’t know anything about me," I retorted, glaring at him.

"I never said I did," he replied, his calm demeanor unwavering.

I sighed in frustration. He always managed to get under my skin.

"And just so you know," he added, "I’m making sure Elvis comes home soon. That’s the favor I’m doing for his mother—my sister."

His words hit me like a blow. My aunt—Elvis’s mother—was the only reason their family hadn’t been wiped off the map. Her kindness, her unwavering loyalty to my father, had saved them time and again.

Without another word, I stood and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind me. My father’s laughter echoed in the air.