Kiril's POV
The smooth, luxurious ride back to the Zhukova estate did little to soothe the coiled tension in Kiril's gut. He had successfully completed the first phase—securing the betrothal and neutralizing Pavel's immediate threat—but the satisfaction was fleeting, replaced by the profound, ingrained weight of his father's code.
He looked over at Sergio, who was now absorbed in reviewing a financial report, his face a picture of cold competence. Kiril could hear his father's words echoing in his mind, lessons learned not in a classroom, but on the cold, unforgiving streets of their empire.
The lesson wasn't about friendship or honor; it was about power and survival.
"Kiril," Sergio had told him years ago, staring into his young son's eyes with an unnerving intensity, "never forget who you are. The Mafia is built on trust, yes, but trust is only a tool. A means to an end. It is never an end in itself."
He remembered a particularly brutal conversation after they had been betrayed by a trusted lieutenant.
"Your family," Sergio had emphasized, clenching his fist until the knuckles were white, "that is the only sacred bond. Your mother, your brother, me—that is the core. You will never, under any circumstances, betray that core. But outside of that? Do whatever you want to get power. Lie, steal, manipulate, ruin, crush... do it without hesitation, without emotion. If you must kill your own most trusted friend to secure our standing, you do it. Sentiment is a weakness that will get us all buried."
Kiril had lived by that decree. It was why he felt no personal regret for the look of pure terror he had elicited from Vera, nor any compassion for the impending doom of Vladimir Petrov. Vladimir was an obstacle. He was Sergio's most trusted friend, and therefore, in the brutal calculus of the Zhukova ambition, he was the ultimate sacrifice required to ascend to the Glava title.
He knew that marrying Vera was the ultimate test of this cold philosophy. It wasn't just a political chess move; it was a deeply personal violation of trust that would shatter two families. But Sergio had ensured Kiril understood the stakes: the Glava title would consolidate their power, protect their entire network, and elevate the Zhukova name forever. In their world, the survival and elevation of the family justified any means, including the calculated ruin of a fifty-year friendship.
Kiril quietly adjusted his expensive cufflinks, an outward symbol of the polished ruthlessness he embodied. He was Sergio's son, and he would carry out this mission to the bitter, necessary end. He was not a betrayer; he was an executioner acting in the supreme interest of the Zhukova line.
"The boy is trapped," Sergio finally said, disconnecting the call and turning to his son, his eyes sharp and burning. "Pavel will be furious, but he can't move. Any action he takes against us now is an attack on his sister's marriage and the family's stability. He is paralyzed."
"Vera's role is secure," Kiril confirmed, looking out at the passing lights. "She's an obedient daughter. She'll accept her fate, becoming our insurance policy."
"Exactly," Sergio confirmed, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "She ties their hands and focuses their attention on silk and champagne. Meanwhile, we focus on steel."
Sergio leaned forward, his expression chillingly decisive. "The slow choke is too risky now that Pavel has shown his intelligence. We accelerate the plan. The betrothal ensures Vladimir will let his guard down entirely."
Kiril's heart beat faster, recognizing the shift in strategy. The need for the political cover was gone; Sergio was reverting to the direct, brutal method of seizure.
"The final move, Father?" Kiril asked, his voice steady despite the anticipation.
Sergio's eyes gleamed with cold fury.
"The deal we discussed with the Ivanovich clan? Vladimir is planning to finalize the logistics in three days at his private country estate. No bodyguards, just the principals and their closest advisors."
He smiled, a dry, humorless contraction of his lips. "Vladimir thinks he's meeting his oldest friend for a business discussion. We will be meeting him to execute the transition of power. The alliance is sealed with the daughter; the leadership is sealed with the father's blood."
Kiril nodded. This was their family's true way: swift, absolute, and unforgiving. He was not marrying the Glava's daughter; he was acquiring the keys to the kingdom the moment his father forcibly took the crown.
"We will secure the Glava title with overwhelming force," Kiril affirmed, feeling the familiar, cold surge of absolute commitment. "And the wedding will take place under the rule of the new Glava, Sergio Zhukova."