Then came the wail. It tore from Lily’s throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and pain that finally snapped the invisible strings holding me in place. I moved before conscious thought caught up with my body.

“Nothing about Grigori is subtle,” I noted, adjusting the cuffs of my jacket. “Leave the lieutenants in the room. I want witnesses.”

Viktor nodded and pushed the heavy oak doors open.

The boardroom was a masterpiece of intimidation. A massive, live-edge walnut table dominated the center of the room, illuminated by low, focused lighting that cast the corners into deep shadow. Seated around the table were the eight capos of the Volkov syndicate—men who controlled the ports, the unions, the protection rackets, and the staggering flow of illicit capital throughout the Northeast. They were hardened, violent men, scarred by decades of gang warfare.

The low murmur of Russian conversation ceased instantly as I walked into the room.

I did not look at them immediately. I walked with measured, unhurried steps to the head of the table. The heavy leather chair, my father’s chair, sat empty. I didn’t sit. I stood behind it, placing my hands flat on the polished wood, and let the silence stretch.

I let it stretch until it became uncomfortable. Until the air in the room grew thick and suffocating.

Finally, I raised my eyes and met the gaze of each man at the table.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I said in flawless, unaccented Russian. My voice was quiet, forcing them to lean in, forcing them to listen. “As you are all aware, my father, Nikolai Volkov, has entered his retirement. Effective immediately, I assume total control of this syndicate. You answer to me.”

A heavy silence followed my declaration. Eyes darted around the table. Finally, a chair scraped loudly against the stone floor.

Grigori Romanov, a massive, bearded man who controlled the Brooklyn docks, leaned back, crossing his thick arms over his chest. He looked at me with open amusement, a condescending sneer on his face. Behind him stood his two lieutenants, trying to look intimidating.

“With all due respect, Mila Nikolaevna,” Grigori began, his tone dripping with patronizing faux-politeness. “We respect your father. We respect your brother. But this is not a PTA meeting. This is a multi-billion dollar operation. We fight wars. We bleed for this family. You have been gone for five years, living under a fake name, playing house with an American boy. Now you walk in here in a nice suit and expect us to hand you the keys to the kingdom?”

He looked around the table, seeking allies. A few of the older capos nodded subtly in agreement.

“I am a businessman,” Grigori continued, emboldened. “My men need strong leadership. Not a runaway bride. Perhaps Alexei should be sitting in that chair, and you should go back upstairs to the nursery.”

Alexei, standing by the door, stiffened, his hand drifting toward his jacket. I raised a single finger, and he froze instantly.

I looked at Grigori. I didn’t scowl. I didn’t yell. I smiled. It was a terrible, lifeless smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Grigori,” I said, my voice practically a whisper now. “How is your offshore account in the Cayman Islands doing? The one registered under your wife’s maiden name? Blackwood Holdings, I believe it’s called.”

The amusement vanished from Grigori’s face, replaced by a sudden, chalky pallor. The other capos suddenly sat very still, their eyes fixed on the table.

I pulled a sleek black tablet from my jacket pocket and slid it across the long walnut table. It stopped precisely in front of him.

“For the past eighteen months, you have been skimming three percent off the top of the shipping manifest revenues before passing the ledger to my father,” I stated, reciting the facts with bored precision. “You thought my father was growing old, growing complacent. You thought the accountants wouldn’t notice if you padded the union payrolls with ghost employees and routed the difference to Blackwood Holdings. To date, you have stolen exactly four point two million dollars from this family.”

“That is a lie!” Grigori roared, slamming his fist on the table and standing up, his face purple with sudden, panicked rage. “I have bled for your father! I am loyal!”

“Loyalty is absolute, Grigori. It does not operate on a sliding scale of three percent,” I replied smoothly.

Grigori realized he was cornered. Panic overrode his logic. He nodded to his two lieutenants. They reached for the weapons inside their jackets.

They didn’t even clear leather.

The room erupted in a blur of violence so fast it felt like a camera flash. Viktor and Alexei moved with terrifying synchronization. Two suppressed shots coughed quietly from Alexei’s weapon. Grigori’s lieutenants dropped to the floor instantly, their bodies hitting the stone with wet thuds, a neat crimson hole between each of their eyes.

Grigori froze, a scream dying in his throat. He looked at the bodies of his men, then up at me, pure terror radiating from his eyes.

I hadn’t flinched. I hadn’t even blinked. I was still standing behind my father’s chair, my hands resting lightly on the wood.

“Alexei,” I said softly.

My brother stepped forward, holstering his weapon and drawing a heavy, serrated hunting knife from his belt. He grabbed Grigori by the back of the neck, forcing his face down against the polished walnut table.

“Please! Mila! I will give it back! I will give it all back!” Grigori sobbed, his former bravado completely shattered. He was hyperventilating, struggling weakly against Alexei’s iron grip.

“I know you will, Grigori. The transfer from Blackwood Holdings was initiated ten minutes ago by our cyber division,” I informed him, walking slowly around the table until I was standing directly over him. I leaned down, the scent of his fear and sweat filling my nose. “You are right about one thing. I spent five years playing house. And in those five years, I learned something very important. I learned that men who think they are untouchable are the easiest ones to break.”

I looked up at the other seven capos. They were rigid, their faces pale, staring at the scene before them.