Brandon King stepped into the Moscow conference hall, the cold clinging to him even inside. The room was heavy with silence, the kind that made lesser men turn back. But he moved forward, keeping his shoulders straight even though every instinct warned him to tread carefully.

At the far end of the polished table sat Nikolai Sokolov.

Long black hair framed his sharp features, falling past his shoulders in dark waves. Tattoos covered his neck and disappeared beneath the open collar of his shirt, hints of ink curling across skin as if alive. He didn’t look like any executive Brandon had ever dealt with. He looked like danger sculpted into a man.

And he was watching Brandon with a slow, deliberate intensity.

“So this is the son,” Nikolai said, voice low with a thick Russian accent. “Your father spoke of you.”

Brandon managed a measured nod. “I’m here on behalf of King International to review the partnership terms.”

Nikolai didn’t blink. “Your father said you follow the rules. That you are polite. Controlled.” His eyes dragged over Brandon’s posture, his hands, his face. “I want to see if that is true.”

Brandon took a seat without waiting for permission. “You’ll see I’m capable of handling this meeting.”

Nikolai rested his elbows on the table, fingers laced together, tattoos shifting across his knuckles. “Handling it. Good word.” He leaned forward slightly, long hair sliding over one shoulder. “But I do not trust words. I trust reactions.”

Brandon opened his folder, keeping his movements calm despite the electricity in the room. “Then let’s go over the proposal and you can determine whatever you need to.”

Nikolai stood up instead of answering. He walked slowly around the table, the sound of his boots tapping against the marble. Brandon felt him approach, felt the air thicken, but didn’t look up until Nikolai stopped beside him.

The man’s presence was overwhelming. Heat radiated off him, the scent of smoke and cold leather sinking into Brandon’s lungs. A tattooed hand landed on the back of his chair, strong enough to make the metal frame shift under his touch.

“Your father also said you do not scare easily,” Nikolai murmured near his ear. “I want to know if that is truth or arrogance.”

Brandon forced himself to meet the dark, volatile eyes inches from his own. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it won’t work.”

Nikolai’s lips tilted into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like a spark of interest. “You are brave.” He moved back to his seat, never taking his eyes off Brandon. “Or reckless.”

Brandon exhaled slowly. “I’m here to work with you, not impress you.”

Nikolai leaned forward again, elbows on the table, hair falling forward like a curtain of black silk. “But you already are.”

Brandon’s heartbeat stuttered.

Nikolai’s voice softened into something sharper. “Now, let us begin. This meeting will tell me if you are the man your father claims…” His eyes lingered on Brandon in a way that felt anything but professional. “Or something else entirely.”