Page 101 of Feral King

Dobrov arrives last, just as I thought he would. He wants to make a grand entrance. All eyes are on him as he steps across the room and settles into his chair with the unhurried ease of a man who’s confident he already knows how the evening will end.

With Dobrov’s arrival, the meeting can begin. Mrs. Lee isalso here—waiting for me to call her in to declare her support.

“Gentlemen,” I begin, remaining seated. Standing is for men who need to project authority. I already have it. “Thank you all for coming. I’ll keep this brief.”

No one speaks; all eyes are now on me.

“When I left this city, I did so to secure our most important international partnerships—the Triad alliance. The Filipino corridor. These aren’t just nice-to-haves—they’re trade routes that would open the Pacific to Bratva operations for the first time in a generation.”

I let the words settle for several long moments before continuing. “That work, I’m pleased to say, is done. The deals are signed and the routes will soon be operational. I’m here tonight to confirm, formally and permanently, that I’ve resumed the role as Volkov pakhan. I’m not stepping aside. I’m not sharing the seat. I’m back for good.”

Murmurs travel the length of the table. Petrov nods, Zhukovsky remains still, and Morozov stares at his hands on the table.

“To confirm the status of our Triad partnership,” I continue, “I’ve invited Mr. Yang’s U.S. representative, Mrs. Margaret Lee, to address the council directly. Mrs. Lee has been instrumental in coordinating the Pacific trade agreement, and she’s here tonight to confirm the Triad’s support for our leadership, as well as the terms of our alliance.”

I nod to Ethan. He opens the side door, and Mrs. Lee enters.

She’s dressed in a dark suit, her hair pulled back in a tight, no-nonsense bun. Two men arrive with her, taking positions against the wall. She walks with quick, purposeful steps to the end of the table opposite me. She remains standing.

“Mrs. Lee, thank you for joining us,” I say, greeting her. “Please confirm for the council the terms of the Triad’s partnership with the Volkov Bratva and your organization’s support for its current leadership.”

Her eyes sweep the table. She takes her time, her gaze gliding slowly from one syndicate head to the next. She then looks at Alexander. Then Dobrov.

Then me.

“Thank you, Julian. I’m pleased to address the council on behalf of the Triad organization.”

She pauses, and the room holds its breath. My heart rate ticks up a notch.

“The Triads have been honored to work with the Volkov family over the past eighteen months. The Pacific trade agreement represents a significant opportunity for both organizations, and we remain committed to its success.”

A tinge of relief begins to form in my chest.

“However.”

However.

My jaw clenches at the word. It lands like a bomb. Men shift in their seats, while I remain still.

“The Triad leadership has expressed concerns regarding the stability of the Volkov organization’s internal governance.There have been troubling events over recent weeks—public confrontations, security incidents, contested leadership. And these events have raised questions about whether or not the current management structure can guarantee the operational consistency that a partnership of this magnitude requires.”

The tinge of relief evaporates, something cold and hard replacing it. I remain still.

“After careful consideration,” she continues, “The Triad organization has concluded that the Pacific trade routes should only be opened to the Russian Bratva under leadership that demonstrates broad internal consensus. To that end, the Triads will only proceed with the partnership if, andonlyif, Alexander Volkov assumes the position of CEO, syndicate head, and primary liaison.”

A silent shockwave pulses through the room. When it dissipates, there’s a very particular tension in the air—the kind that precedes gunfire.

I glance over at Alexander, who sits very, very still. His expression is carefully blank—no reaction at all.

He knew. He sat in my office yesterday, spouting bullshit about how he was tired of fighting and how ready he was to fall in line, and the whole time heknew.

In that instant, I think about the story of the fishing trip, the chess set.

Every last word was nothing more than a performance, just as I suspected.

What I say next is beyond important—both what I say, andhowI say it. I take a deep, slow breath, then speak.

“Mrs. Lee,” I begin, keeping my voice calm and level. “The terms I negotiated were with Mr. Yang—directly and in person. And these negotiations took place over the course of many, many months. These terms specified my leadership and my oversight. This sudden change of plans is a unilateral revision of an agreement.”