Page 4 of Dark King Daddy

Arkady looked at me. I looked at Lev.

Lev’s hands had not moved from the desk. He studied each of us in turn. When he spoke, his voice was level, unhurried.

“A calculated response,” he said. “Feed them false information. Wait. Watch. Map the network over weeks, perhaps months. And while we wait, the Voronins continue recruiting inside our organization. Continue probing our connection to the Orlovs. Continue believing we are too careful to act.”

He paused.

“A calculated response looks weak. It looks like a man who is afraid to be seen acting. The Voronins will read patience as hesitation, and hesitation as fear, and fear as permission.”

He looked at Arkady.

“Karpov Auto Export. Forty-two Foundry Street, Newark. You know it.”

Arkady nodded.

“They know that we know. But they don’t feel it yet. So tonight, we make them feel it. Hit them back. Take what you need. Make it clear.”

I spoke before Arkady could. “Father. Yuri may have been caught deliberately. The burner phone was poorly hidden. Arkady found it on the first pass. If the Voronins wanted us to find Yuri, this raid is exactly what they’re inviting.”

Lev looked at me.

I kept going. “A garage in Newark is Voronin territory. We would be operating on their ground, at night, with limited knowledge of the interior. If Karpov is expecting us — “

“You are telling me what could go wrong.”

“I’m telling you what I see.”

Father leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked. He placed one hand on the armrest, fingers resting in the groove his grip had worn over the years.

He pointed at the chair behind the desk. His chair.

“When you sit here,” he said, “you decide what risks this family takes. Until then, you carry what I give you. And try to fucking learn.”

The room went quiet. Nikita did not move. Arkady did not move. I did not move.

Lev watched me. His expression carried nothing I could read. He was not angry. He was not disappointed. He was telling me the shape of the world as he understood it, and he was waiting to see if I would accept the shape.

I accepted it.

“Arkady,” I said. “Twelve men. Two vehicles. Approach from the west on Foundry, park the second vehicle at the intersection to block the escape route. I want the building entered at two points — front bay and the rear loading door. Nikita, I need the building’s security feeds before we move. If they have cameras, I want them looped or killed. Arkady, your team goes in first. I follow with the second group.”

Arkady nodded once. He had wanted Karpov dead. He was getting a raid. He would make it count.

Lev watched me assign the operation. His hand remained on the armrest.

“Good,” he said.

One word. He did not say it warmly. He said it the way a man signs a document — with finality, with the understanding that the matter was settled.

We left the office. The door closed behind us. In the hallway, the carpet absorbed our footsteps. Nikita walked ahead. Arkady fell in beside me.

Neither of them spoke.

I felt it. The word. Good. It landed somewhere beneath my ribs and sat there with a weight I had been carrying since I was old enough to understand what my father’s approval meant. It meant I had done what he wanted. It meant I had set aside my own judgment and accepted his.

I kept walking.

At two that afternoon I made Arkady and Nikita sit down and eat.