Alexandra Annaovna Petrov

There was a moment of silence.

"What?" Yuri was dumbstruck, his face scrunching nastily. "The Petrovs? Why? Isn't he satisfied with what Caesar offered?"

Nikolai shrugged, totally clueless. "He was, but it seems the Petrovs offered much more. Now, the issue is that I don't know exactly what it is that they offered him, so where the heck am I even supposed to begin?"

Yuri stared at him with a stunned expression before flickering his eyes, stressed out. "Is Caesar aware of this?"

"No, of course not!" Nikolai snapped. "You really think I would tell him? Do you want me to die?"

Yuri scowled at him. "What the hell are you saying? Do you think not telling him is better? Do you actually think that will solve the issue?"

Nikolai glanced around, distressed. He was starting to breathe anxiously.

"No, I don't think it will solve this issue, but are you crazy?" he asked. "I can't tell Caesar, he will kill me. The auction is coming up in two weeks. How the fuck do you think he will react if I tell him that Rurik switched to the Petrovs?"

Yuri was silent for a few moments, seeming to be in deep thought. He took a deep breath, looked at Nikolai, and said, "I'm telling him myself!" His teeth were gritted in annoyance as he stood up from the stool to leave the liquor store.

But Nikolai grabbed his hand with begging eyes. "You can't tell him, please. I told him I'd be able to handle this, Yuri, but I messed up. Caesar will kill me!"

Yuri halted and glanced over at him. "Then, what do you want to do?"

"You and I, let's figure this out, yeah?" Nikolai suggested, his pupils filled with expectations.

"Yeah, no." Yuri shook his head, slapping his hand off. "That is the stupidest, useless idea you've ever come up with. First of all, I don't have any reason to get mixed up in your shit, but looking at you in this state, you're pitiful."

Nikolai wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. "I know, I know. But you don't have to put it like-"

"Do you think not telling Caesar will be much better than telling him?" Yuri questioned him, shutting him up.

Nikolai furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Caesar will definitely kill you if you hide this from him and he finds out by himself. You should know better than me that what he despises other than his father is betrayal, lies and deception." Yuri sat back on the plastic stool, his hand reaching for another cigarette.

"Listen, I get why you are paranoid and scared," he said. "But I assure you that Caesar will not hurt you if you tell him the truth. You've been with him since his teenage years, and there is no way he'll kill you over something like this. He's not unreasonable."

Nikolai anxiously bit into his bottom lips, less anxious. He looked at Yuri and took a deep breath. "So what do we do?"

"Leave it to me." Yuri secured his cigar with his lips and lit it. "I'll speak to him myself and see what he has to say about it."

He exhaled a whiff of gray smoke.

Nikolai skeptically nodded and gulped down a whole glass of vodka. "I'll wait then."

"Want a cigarette?" Yuri offered, his brow lifted.

"No!" Nikolai rejected, ticked off. "Quit offering me your cigarettes!"

Yuri burst into laughter. "But it will be good to help you pipe down sometimes."

Nikolai didn't respond even though he was slightly offended. He took a deep breath, turning his head to stare at the cars, zooming past by.

"Maybe, I do need that cigar."

______________

Mr. Petrov left three knocks on a white double door with golden-colored patterns. His face held an unpleasant expression.

"Come in." The voice belonged to a female.

He entered, closing the door as quietly as possible behind him and approached the desk, where a figure was seated in an office chair that was turned, facing a huge glass window of a skyscraper building. 

"Good evening, boss," he bowed, greeting.

"You've finally decided to come see me of your own accord, Fyodor?" the female voice asked, and the chair twirled, revealing the figure.

She was a middle-aged woman with soft gray eyes, blonde short hair that was in a bob style, and plush red lips arrowed into a side grin. Her attire consisted of a suit with a tailored skirt that stopped just at knee length, an inner gray shirt, and dark numpy heels.

Discreetly, Mr. Petrov gritted his teeth, irritated to even be there.

This woman before him was more than the eyes met. She was the only one who could step on him with muddy shoes, and he wouldn't even retaliate. Not because he wouldn't want to, but because he wouldn't dare to, otherwise, there'd be no worse consequences than his death.

Alexandra Annaovna Petrov, his half-sister and the bitch whom his late father had birthed with another woman. She was the current standing boss and the brain behind Petrov's mafia organization.

One thing Mr. Petrov never came to understand was why she was chosen over him.

What did he lack? Was he not enough? Was he not smart and strong enough? What exactly was it?

He was a legitimate child, the son born of his father's legal wife. So, why was a bitch chosen over him? One who was born out of wedlock and a nobody known by not a single one of the branch leaders of the Petrov companies.

Their father never gave him a straight answer when he asked. All he'd told him was that 'Alexandra was much more suited and capable than he could ever be' nothing more.

What a load of crap! He was better, and he didn't need his father's affirmation to know that.

But nothing had changed regardless. The entire organization was in her hands and at her command.

She'd refused to show her face to the entire Petrov family. Rather, she had put him in her spot, letting him be the boss, the Don that the people, including his son Dimitri, knew.

He'd once thought of seizing power—to claim what he believed was rightfully his, but it was brutally made clear to him that it was impossible even in his wildest dream.

Behind what he saw, there was an even larger power standing with Alexandra, one that he feared. It would take nothing to kill him—she made it very clear to him, and he knew more than anyone else that she was serious.

All those years, what exactly had his father raised?