05

POV: Aleksander

I grab that son of a bitch by the neck, riddling him with a glare. I won't let go. One of the things I detest most is being defied—having people break my rules and refuse to comply.

"Can't you follow a single damn order?! Better vanish from my sight, or you're a dead man," I release him abruptly. The good-for-nothing idiot hits the floor, gasping to recover oxygen. "You know what? Stop right there."

I change my mind, drawing my weapon.

"I won't fail again, sir," he speaks quickly like a frightened rodent.

"Of course you won't. So long, Steven," I spit, firing straight into his chest.

His death is swift; he deserved it. I hate the pool of blood that formed around him, so I call Arkady to clean up the mess and get rid of the body.

I stay furious, throwing punches left and right. Damn it! With this screw-up, I need to fix it before returning to the United States. I'll leave Volkov in charge—he's the only one available capable of doing things right.

Soon after, the soldato arrives. He knows what to do; there's no need to explain it to him.

"How was the confrontation?"

"All under control, sir."

"Perfect. I'm heading out; I need to catch a flight to New York."

"Sir..." he calls out. I turn back before leaving.

"What?"

"Your father, Dimitri, wants to speak with you. He's in the lounge now."

"Alright." I step out of the office.

My progenitor is waiting comfortably on the sofa. Our eyes meet. Making an effort, he stands up and flashes a smile.

"Dad, shouldn't you be at home?"

"According to the doctor, I should be six feet under by now. Look at me—this damn illness can't beat me," he lets out an exaggerated laugh.

My father, Dimitri, has fucking cancer. The doctor said he doesn't have long left, but he's still breathing. Before his final breath, he left me in charge of everything, which is why I am now the leader of the Russian mafia.

I sit down across from him.

"I have everything in order. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried, son. I know you know how things are done. I don't know what I'd do without you, because Dominic is so young and inexperienced; he needs someone to teach him."

"Dominic wants nothing to do with the mafia. He told you himself—he's a mama's boy," I reply seriously.

"I don't care. If I die, I want you to take charge of him. He has to join the family business, no exceptions. It's not a matter of whether he wants to or not; Dominic must do it, period."

"Understood."

"How did yesterday go?" he inquires.

"Did you hear the gunshot?" I ask, taking a deep breath.

"He didn't know how to do the job, and you finished him," he concludes.

"Yes. You know me; I detest mistakes."

He nods.

"Is the girl here?" he wants to know, his gray eyes lighting up.

"That's right. Want to see her?"

"No. If I do, I assure you I'll kill her. I'd rather have you do it. Aleksander, promise me you'll murder her."

"Father," I look at him with a smile. "I'm going to have a lot of fun with Luna, but her days are numbered."

"That damned Elena will suffer. I just hope she's still around to witness her pain."

...

The trip is exhausting. I arrive at the company. With my imposing presence, the chatter ceases—the giggles over some joke die down, and the relaxed environment turns into a fearful silence. The employees rush back to their respective workstations.

Yes, I, the tycoon, have annulled every trace of joy from their faces.

"Good morning," I greet as usual—cold and overly formal.

Everyone responds in a panicked chorus, waiting for my next move: the slam of my office door. Which, for once, I don't do. My attention—almost feral—turns toward Henrie, the rookie substituting in the marketing area. I fix him with that dangerous, intimidating stare that makes anyone tremble.

As a good observer, I know the onlookers are already praying to heaven for the young man who barely blinks beneath my deep gaze. In a split second, I confront him. I still haven't said a single word; silence meant even more danger for that idiot.

"Who the hell gave you permission to sub for Marcus, huh?" I demand mordantly.

"S-Sir..."

"Whatever your name is, I want you in my office in thirty minutes," I command.

Nearby, I can hear the chatter of that pair of gossips. They have no shame; I should fire them from my company right now.

"He's a beast. Nobody's going to want that vacancy."

"What are you saying?" the other whispers.

"You heard me," she replies obviously. "They all end up resigning in less than a week. Whoever manages to last over seven days should be in the Guinness Book of World Records."

"Has anyone even applied for the position?"

"That's what the receptionist told me. Who's going to be the next victim, huh?"

"The poor thing has no idea what's waiting for her. I already pity her."

Enough. I walk over to both of them, watching them tremble at my proximity. Inside, I enjoy generating terror in women. They both stare at me with saucer-wide eyes.

"Is this what you do all day?" I snap fiercely. "Cut the gossip and get back to work, or resign right now."

"Sir..."

"I... I'll go back to my station. Excuse me."

"I didn't say you could leave, Mackandal," I fix my eyes on the cowardly female. "Make one mistake and you're fired. Understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Konstantinov," she utters, eyes cast down. "Can I go to my desk?"

"Yeah. Get out of here too, Brickmann," I gesture toward the other with my chin.

"Fine. Excuse me, boss."

I glance around. As I imagined, everyone is paying attention to what's happening. I demand in a loud voice that they start working, then head into my office, slamming the door behind me. Once in my swivel chair, I make a phone call.

It doesn't comfort me to know I'll spend at least a week without seeing Luna. I need to start executing everything my father asked of me; I urgently need to make that whore of a mother pay for her abandonment and her infidelity with that bastard Miller.

"Luna," I savor her name. I think I've kept my distance so far, but I won't be lenient with her anymore.

As soon as I return to Russia, I'll give her the welcome she deserves.

"Mr. Konstantinov," someone calls, knocking on the door at the same time.

Can't I be left alone for even a single second?

"Come in, Greenwald," I grant permission to my secretary, Grizela.