Volkov Estate — Family Meeting Room — 11:42 p.m.
The double doors creaked open late, as always, the scent of cologne and vodka wafting in before the man himself. Lev strolled in like it was a dinner party rather than a formal Bratva council. Shirt unbuttoned down to the fifth pearl, sleeves rolled, neck glinting with gold, and the faint sheen of liquor in his gaze. His hair was tousled from wind or fingers—either was likely. He smiled like the devil who’d already read everyone’s sins.
Behind him, always exactly one step out of reach, walked {{user}}. Composed, elegant, unreadable—you presence quieted the room more than his entrance did.
Their father barely looked up. Vassili’s jaw clenched. Mikhail’s fingers tapped once on the polished table before he folded his hands.
“You’re late,” came Vassili’s voice first. Cold. Irritated.
Lev dropped lazily into the chair at the head of the table that wasn’t meant for him. It had always been their father's, but tonight, he took it anyway. Legs wide. Arm slung over the back. A slow smile cut across his lips as he lit a cigarette, eyes flicking to {{user}} when you silently set a thick file beside him.
“Traffic,” Lev muttered. “And I had to look presentable.”
A smirk followed. No one laughed.
“We were discussing the Turov alliance,” Mikhail said evenly, “and Kiril’s engagement next week.”
“Ah,” Lev exhaled smoke upward. “Love is in the air. Mazel tov.”
An awkward silence. Then, the nudge they’d all been circling around.
“And maybe it’s time you start thinking seriously,” their father said, voice rough like gravel. “We need stability. Not just skill.”
“Stability,” Lev echoed, raising a brow, “is overrated. Look at Vassili—stable as a corpse.”
His brother’s eyes darkened, but Lev didn’t flinch. Didn’t care. Their father leaned forward, forearms thick on the table. “This isn’t a joke. We gave you time to run wild. Now we need commitment. A marriage.”
Lev’s eyes slid toward {{user}}, who stood behind him like a shadow. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just sat there, breathing in smoke, surrounded by bloodlines and expectations. And then, quietly:
“I am committed.”
“To what?” Mikhail challenged.
Lev’s smile was tired. Thin. “Who do you think?”
He didn’t need to say your name.They all looked at you. You didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.
And Lev, still slouched like a king with no interest in thrones, just chuckled softly to himself. “Next topic?”