The Volkov's inheritance: 90 days to rule

Chapter 4: I’m Here to Take What’s Mine

Adrian’s POV - Day 1 of 90

“Wake up.”

Victoria’s voice cut through the dark at exactly 6:00 a.m.

I had slept four hours on a narrow cot in the corner of the bunker. My body ached. My mind was still spinning with shipping ledgers, arms dealing, and the cold knowledge that my father was a criminal. The silver necklace under my shirt felt heavier than usual.

I showered in the tiny bathroom, shaved with a cheap disposable razor that scraped too hard, and put on the navy blue suit Victoria had left hanging on the door. It was my father’s. It fit perfectly. Wearing it felt like climbing into a coffin that had already been measured for someone else.

I walked into the main room. Victoria stood by the door with her briefcase. Dominic waited near the stairs, pale and restless. Raven stood at the bank of security monitors. She wasn’t cleaning weapons. She was locked on the screen, completely still.

“We have a problem,” she said.

She turned one monitor toward us. The camera feed showed the alley outside the safe house. A black sedan sat at the far end. A man leaned against the driver’s door. Forties. Broad. A thick scar running along his jaw from ear to chin.

My blood went cold.

“I know him,” I said. “He was at the dealership yesterday morning. Right before Damien fired me. That man was talking to Damien’s personal assistant near the service bay.”

Victoria’s face lost color. “That’s Silas Thorne. Enzo Santi’s top enforcer.”

I turned fully toward her. “Enzo? Why was Enzo’s top enforcer talking to Damien Cross’s personal assistant?”

Victoria didn’t answer right away. She looked at Dominic. Something silent and tense passed between them.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. The words sounded carefully chosen. “But if Silas is here, it means Enzo already knows this location.”

I didn’t believe her. I saw the tiny flicker in her eyes. She knew more than she was saying.

Damien’s name burned behind my eyes. First he framed me. Now he was connected to the man who had murdered my father and sent killers after me.

Victoria reached into her briefcase and pulled out a small black smartphone. She held it out to me.

“This is for you. Untraceable. A burner. Your old phone is gone and we can’t risk any of your previous accounts. Enzo’s people are already monitoring everything connected to your name.”

I took the phone. It felt heavier than it should have.

“You’re giving me a phone?”

“I’m giving you a lifeline,” she said. “My number is programmed in. If you are in trouble, if you are alone, if you think someone is following you, you press one. Do not use it for anything else.”

I slipped the burner into the inside pocket of the suit jacket. The fabric still smelled faintly of expensive cologne that was not mine.

Victoria reached into her briefcase once more and pulled out a tablet. She handed it to me.

"Read this," she said. "It's the last quarter's procurement report for the fleet."

I frowned. "I'm a mechanic, not an accountant."

"You're a mechanic who knows engines," she said. "Look at the parts."

I scrolled through the document. It was boring lists of shipping manifests and engine components. But then my eyes caught something.

"This is wrong," I said.

Victoria looked at me. "What?"

"These parts. They're ordering pistons for a two-stroke engine, but the Volkov fleet uses four-stroke marine diesel engines. These parts won't even fit. They're bleeding millions on parts that are useless." I looked at her. "Whoever is in charge of procurement is either an idiot or they're intentionally sabotaging the fleet."

Victoria stared at me. A small, sharp smile touched her lips. "That procurement order was approved by Helena Rostova, the Head of Finance. She's the swing vote on the board. If you tell her this in the meeting, she will listen."

I looked back at the tablet. For the first time since this nightmare started, I felt like I had a weapon. And it wasn't money. It was what was in my head.

Victoria put the tablet away and looked at me. "One more thing. The board meeting is not just a vote. It is a performance…”

Raven racked the slide on her pistol and moved to a locked cabinet. She pulled out a small block of pale clay and a remote detonator.

“There’s a maintenance tunnel under the basement,” she said. “It connects to the old sewer lines. We come up three blocks east. But we need a diversion first.”

She pressed the button.

The explosion hit like a physical fist. The heavy steel door to the stairwell blew off its hinges and crashed into the concrete. Dust and smoke billowed upward.

I flichned, Victoria covers her ears, Dominic ducks

“Now!” Raven yelled. “Move!”

We sprinted down the stairs past the twisted metal, through the reeking boiler room, and into a pitch-black service tunnel. The air was cold and wet and smelled of earth and old sewage. My expensive shoes slipped once on the slick concrete. I caught myself and kept moving.

Dominic lagged. I grabbed his arm and hauled him forward.

“Come on, old man. Move your feet.”

We ran hard for what felt like forever. My lungs burned. The suit jacket pulled tight across my shoulders with every stride. Finally Raven stopped, climbed a short metal ladder, and shoved a heavy manhole cover aside. Gray morning light spilled down.

We climbed out into an abandoned alley. The rain had stopped. Thin sunlight pushed through low clouds. A black SUV waited at the far end.

Victoria jumped into the front seat. “Volkov Tower. Do not stop for anything.”

The city rolled past the tinted windows. Coffee shops were opening. People walked with paper cups and phones, completely unaware that a quiet war was moving through their streets. I sat in the back, staring out the window. The suit felt tight across my shoulders. The silver necklace under my shirt pressed against my skin. The burner phone sat heavy in my pocket.

“You need to understand something,” Victoria said from the front seat. She didn’t turn around. “The board meeting is not just a vote. It is a performance. Enzo will try to make you look weak. He will try to provoke you. Do not give him that.”

“What do I give him?” I asked.

“Nothing. You sit at that table and you let me do the talking. You don’t speak unless I tell you to speak. You don’t react unless I tell you to react.”

“That’s it? I just sit there like a puppet?”

“You sit there like a man who owns the room,” Victoria said. “Because you do. You are the heir. As long as you are alive and in that room, Enzo cannot touch you without consequences. The only way he wins is if you lose the board. So don’t lose the board.”

The tower came into view.

It rose above everything else—black glass and sharp lines, a monument to money and power. Looking at it made my throat close. This was the empire built on blood and bodies. This was the thing my father had left me.

The SUV pulled up to the curb. Victoria turned in her seat and fixed me with a hard stare.

“One more thing. Enzo will be there. He will be expecting a weak, grieving mechanic. Do not give him that man.”

I nodded once.

Raven opened the door. “I’ll sweep the perimeter. I’ll be right behind you.”

I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up. The building seemed to lean over me.

We pushed through the revolving glass doors into a lobby of white marble and chrome. The air smelled of polished stone and money. A security guard in a dark suit moved toward us fast, one hand raised.

“Excuse me. This is private property. You can’t just—”

Victoria stepped in front of me and held up a gold badge.

“Adrian Volkov. Heir to the Volkov estate. Step aside.”

The guard’s eyes went wide. He looked at the badge, then at my face, then back at the badge. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He moved back.

We walked past him toward the bank of executive elevators.

The nearest set of doors slid open.

A man stepped out.

He was in his sixties. Short gray hair. Eyes that looked like they had never held warmth. The charcoal suit he wore probably cost more than every car I had ever worked on combined. Behind him stood Silas Vane—scar along the jaw, same cold expression he had worn at the dealership yesterday. One hand rested casually inside his jacket.

The older man walked straight toward me. His smile was slow and smooth, the kind of smile a crocodile might wear before it strikes.

“Adrian Volkov,” Enzo Santi said. His voice was soft, almost pleasant. “You look exactly like your father.”

He extended his hand.

“Welcome to the family.”

I looked at that hand. I looked at the dead eyes above it. I thought about my mother. I thought about the people my father had sold. I thought about the yacht that had burned three days ago and the apartment that had burned last night. I thought about the silver necklace under my shirt and the burner phone in my pocket.

I did not take his hand.

“I’m not here to join the family, Enzo,” I said. My voice came out colder than I expected. “I’m here to take what’s mine.”

For a fraction of a second the smile stayed in place, but the eyes behind it went completely black.

“Of course you are,” he said, letting his hand fall. “Let’s go upstairs. The board is waiting.”

He turned and walked toward the open elevator. Silas followed, eyes locked on me the entire time.

I looked at Victoria. Her face was pale, but she gave a single tight nod.

I stepped into the elevator. The doors began to close.

Enzo stood beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. Silas took the opposite corner. Victoria and Raven entered last.

The doors sealed shut with a soft metallic sound.

The elevator started to rise.