CHAPTER 4 CLASH OF VIBES

The wheels of the private jet touched down on Russian soil, and as Azzrael descended the stairs, he was met by the formidable presence of the Agriatta family bodyguards. The scent of the Taiga's pine-infused air welcomed him, a stark contrast to the familiarity of the Philippines.

The family's chauffeur awaited them with a sleek, black luxury car—a testament to the Agriatta legacy. As Azzrael settled into the plush leather seats, the burly figure of the butler, Ivanov, took his place beside the driver.

Ivanov, a man of unwavering loyalty, leaned forward, his deep voice resonating within the confines of the luxurious vehicle. "Welcome back to Russia, Master Azzrael. Your family eagerly awaits your return."

Azzrael, gazing at the passing landscapes, acknowledged the butler with a nod. "Thank you, Ivanov. It feels both familiar and foreign, returning after all these years."

The car smoothly navigated through the intricate roads of Russia, the butler's keen eyes surveying the surroundings. "Much has changed, Master Azzrael, but the heart of Russia remains steadfast. Your family estate awaits, nestled within the embrace of the Taiga."

Azzrael, the window revealing glimpses of the Russian countryside, spoke thoughtfully. "Ivanov, tell me about the changes, the pulse of the Agriatta name in this part of the world."

The butler, a repository of family history and traditions, began recounting tales of the Agriatta legacy in Russia—the expansion of the estate, the intertwining of tradition with modernity, and the influence the family wielded within the region.

"As the Agriatta legacy continues to thrive, Master Azzrael, so does the mystique surrounding our family. The Taiga holds secrets, and your return marks a new chapter in the Agriatta tale."

"Hmmm...that tale is kind of b*llsh*t".

Azzrael, slouched in the luxurious backseat, couldn't shake off the irritation building within him. The ride, once a symbol of the Agriatta opulence, now felt like a cage amplifying the disconnect he felt with his family. He turned to Ivanov, the butler, with an edge in his voice.

"Ivanov, seriously, 'Master Azzrael'? Can they not drop the formalities for a sec? It's been years, and I'm not feeling this distant vibe."

Ivanov, unfazed by Azzrael's frustration, maintained his composed demeanor. "I understand, Master Azzrael. The family's formality is deeply ingrained. They see your return as a momentous event, and the titles are a sign of respect."

Azzrael, running a hand through his hair, scoffed. "Respect, huh? Feels more like they're sticking to some outdated script. I'm here to reconnect, not play the part of some distant heir."

Ivanov, choosing his words carefully, replied, "Change comes slow, Master Azzrael. The family's ways are rooted in tradition, and while they are eager for your return, adapting might take time."

Azzrael, frustration evident in his tone, shot back, "Time? I've given them years, Ivanov. If they're so eager, why can't they meet me halfway?"

Ivanov, a mediator in this clash of vibes, said, "Master Azzrael, your return is a shift in their world. It might take time for them to find a new rhythm—one that resonates with the person you've become."

Azzrael, still simmering with annoyance, leaned back in his seat. "I just expected more, you know? This isn't the homecoming I pictured."

Ivanov, offering a sympathetic nod, said, "Change is inevitable, but it takes effort from both sides. Perhaps, in time, the family will see the Azzrael you've become, and the titles will fade into the background."

As the car continued through the scenic route, Azzrael, amidst the clash of vibes, felt a tension within him. The journey home, meant to be a reunion, now carried the weight of unmet expectations and a lingering sense of disconnect.