Chapter 73: Monster in a tailored suit
The heavy oak door closed behind Aaron with a low, solid thud, sealing the cold hallway off from the study.
Inside the room, the silence returned, thick and suffocating. The fire crackled in the hearth, popping softly against the stone, but it did nothing to warm the air.
Alexei Orlov remained seated in his leather chair, his jaw working silently, his face flushed with a dark, suppressed rage. His knuckles were white where his fingers gripped the armrests.
He had sat in this very room for decades, a head of a founding bloodline, only to be spoken to like an unruly child in front of a politician and the Minister himself.
He stood up slowly, smoothing the front of his suit coat with sharp, aggressive tugs. He looked toward the old man, who sat quietly by the fire, sipping his drink as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
"I have business to tend to," Alexei said, his voice clipped and tight. "I won’t waste any more of your time."
He turned toward the door, but the Minister’s dry voice caught him before his hand could reach the brass handle.
"Alexei."
Alexei stopped, his back stiff. "Yes?"
The Minister set his crystal glass down on the small table. He didn’t look up immediately, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace.
"You pushed too far today," the old man said calmly. "You poked a sleeping bear with a short stick, simply to see if it would growl."
Alexei turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I stated facts. He is dragging our alliance into a circus over a blind girl who has no assets left to her name."
"You did not state facts. You let your old bitterness do the talking," the Minister corrected, turning his grey, heavy eyes toward him. "You know as well as I do what Aaron Kazarov is. You were there seven years ago when the Antonov family decided to challenge his authority over the southern supply lines."
Alexei’s jaw tightened at the mention of the name.
"The Antonovs were not some small street gang, Alexei," the Minister continued, his voice dropping into a quiet, cold register. "They were five hundred men deep. They had political backing in three capitals. They had built their empire over fifty years. And when their leader thought he could step over Aaron, what was left of them by the end of the month?"
The room fell deadly quiet.
"Nothing," the Minister answered his own question. "Not a name on a ledger. Not an asset in a bank. Not a single cousin left breathing to carry the family name. Aaron wiped them off the face of the earth, stone by stone, until people stopped speaking their name altogether. We called it the Blood Winter for a reason."
Alexei let out a harsh, bitter breath through his nose. "He is a monster in a tailored suit."
"He is a force of nature," the Minister shot back, his tone sharp. "He does not act out of senseless bloodlust or petty greed. He acts when a line is crossed. When someone steps where they do not belong, he crushes them so thoroughly that no one else dares to stand up for a decade. He does his job. He keeps the peace, he keeps the money flowing, and he keeps the federal authorities out of our business. That is why the Council supports him. That is why the politicians answer his calls."
"And how long are we supposed to live under his thumb?" Alexei snapped quietly, stepping closer to the hearth. "How long do the founding families have to bow to a man who rewrote our laws to put himself at the top? We walk on eggshells around him, terrified that one wrong word will bring his boots down on our necks!"
The Minister looked at him with something resembling pity. "You walk on eggshells because you keep trying to take what isn’t yours, Alexei. Aaron does not strike unless he is provoked. Leave the man be. Let him take his bride, let him fight his battles in America, and do not make the mistake of thinking his distraction makes him weak."
Alexei stared at the old man, his eyes burning with anger. He realized then that the Minister was completely sold on Aaron’s strength. There was no sympathy here, no quiet agreement to help the Orlovs regain their rightful place at the head of the table.
"Thank you for the tea, Minister," Alexei said, forcing his voice into a stiff, formal tone.
He didn’t wait for a reply. He opened the heavy door and walked out, his footsteps echoing sharply off the marble floors of the hallway.
The driver held the rear door open as Alexei stepped out into the biting Moscow wind.
The moment the car door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the outside world, Alexei let out a volley of low, furious Russian curses.
"’Suka... Yebanyy urod!’" he spat, pulling off his leather gloves and tossing them violently onto the seat beside him. "Arrogant, bloodthirsty bastard!"
His personal bodyguard, sitting in the front passenger seat, kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, wisely choosing not to make a sound.
Alexei stared out the tinted window as the heavy sedan rolled through the iron gates and onto the highway. His chest heaved with tight, shallow breaths.
Seven years ago, Aaron had made an example of the Antonovs, and ever since, the other families had fallen into line like frightened dogs.
But Alexei remembered a time when the Orlov name meant everything in Russia. His grandfather had helped build the entire network. His father had directed the Council.
And now, he was forced to sit in a room and listen to a younger man dictate terms while old politicians sang his praises.
"Take me home," Alexei ordered sharply. "And call my wife. Tell her I want the study cleared."
An hour later, the car pulled through the private gates of the Orlov estate, a sprawling property hidden deep in the pine forests outside the city.
The house was a massive, classical structure built from dark stone and timber, standing tall against the snow-covered trees.
Hundreds of guards moved through the grounds in quiet, disciplined rotations, their dark coats blending into the shadows of the estate.
Alexei marched through the grand entryway, ignoring the household staff who bowed their heads as he passed. He made a straight line for his private study on the second floor, his mind racing with heat and frustration.
He pushed the door open, heading straight for the crystal decanter resting on his heavy mahogany desk. He poured three fingers of dark amber liquor into a glass and downed it in a single, burning gulp.
Before he could even set the glass back down, the door clicked open again.
"You went to see him without me," a sharp, feminine voice called out.
Alexei closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a heavy sigh before turning around.
Standing in the doorway was his daughter, Anya. She was twenty-five years old, striking and tall, with sharp blue eyes, ice-blonde hair pinned up neatly, and bold red lipstick that matched her tailored designer jacket.
She walked into the room with the unearned confidence of someone who had spent her entire life being told her family name made her royalty.
She was smart and capable, but she was used to getting whatever she wanted, and when she didn’t, her temper flared fast.
"I went to a private Council meeting, Anya," Alexei said, his tone dry as he poured himself a second drink. "It was not a social gathering."
"You knew Aaron was going to be there!" she said, stepping further into the room, her high heels clicking sharply against the polished wood floor.
"You could have taken me with you. You know I needed to speak to him!"
"Speak to him about what?" Alexei snapped, turning to face her with a stern glare. "Beg him to look at you again? He wouldn’t have even let you past the front gates, girl. It was a meeting between the Council and Kazarov. You have no place in that room."
Anya’s jaw tightened, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance. She crossed her arms over her chest, stepping right up to his desk. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"The rumors from the West," she said, her voice dropping into a tight, bitter pitch. "Is he really getting married to that American girl?"
Alexei took a slow sip of his drink, looking at his daughter with a mix of irritation and cold reality. "Yes. He announced it to the Minister himself. He intends to make her his wife as soon as her divorce clears."
Anya’s face went pale for a split second before a dark, ugly scowl took over her features. She pulled a thin gold cigarette case from her pocket, snapping it open with a loud click. "He’s insane. He has completely lost his mind."
"Anya—"