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ALEKSANDER

I’ve been staring at the same line in this report for twenty minutes.

It’s not the numbers.

It’s not the deal.

It’s her.

I had to leave the house this morning.

Because if I hadn’t, I would’ve taken her again. Pushed her up against the nearest wall, bent her over the table, or pulled her into my lap at breakfast and ruined her in front of the fucking staff.

And that’s not the kind of man I want to be around her siblings.

So I came here.

Downtown. My office. Neutral ground.

I told myself I’d get ahead on business. Focus. Reset.

I was wrong.

The door flies open.

No knock.

No call ahead.

Just Ioann—red in the face, arms swinging like he thinks he still matters here.

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind,” he snaps.

I don’t answer.

Just lean back in my chair, hands folded. Calm.

He storms in further, eyes wild.

“She’s my ex. You realize that, right? She’s younger than your son. This is fucking sick.”

Still, I say nothing.

He starts pacing, throwing his hands like that’ll make his words land harder.

“You’re sleeping with my leftovers . Is that what this is? You lose your grip, so you steal from me? From your own fucking blood ?”

That’s when I stand.

He doesn’t stop.

“This is disgusting.”

I cross the room.

“She’s too young for you.”

I grab him by the collar.

“You’re too old for her. You’re—”

I slam him against the glass wall.

The frame behind him rattles. A photo crashes to the floor.

He gasps as my arm locks across his throat.

Tight. Controlled.

He claws at my wrist, kicks out once, but I don’t flinch.

I lean in, low enough he hears me through his panic.

“If you weren’t my son,” I say, voice flat, “you’d be a dead man.”

Silence.

His mouth opens, then closes again.

I hold him there one second longer than necessary.

Then I release him.

He stumbles, coughing, face pale, ego cracked.

“Now get the fuck out of here.”

He goes.

Because for all his tantrums, he knows exactly what I’m capable of.

And today?

I showed mercy.