The Volkov's inheritance: 90 days to rule

Chapter 5: Four to Three

Adrian’s POV

The elevator ride to the top floor took less than a minute.

It felt longer.

Enzo stood in the corner with those dead gray eyes locked on me the entire time. Silas stayed half a step behind him, one hand resting inside his jacket like the gun was already half drawn. Victoria stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me, leather briefcase clutched tight against her chest. Raven remained silent near the doors, eyes scanning every reflection in the polished metal walls.

The soft chime sounded. The doors slid open.

We stepped out into a massive corner room that felt more like a glass cage than an office. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over Milan. Morning light poured in so bright it almost hurt. Polished concrete floors. A long mahogany table that could have seated twenty. Six people already sat around it in expensive suits. Every single one of them looked at me the way people look at something that has stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

Enzo walked past me without a word and took the seat at the head of the table. He gestured toward the empty chair at the opposite end.

“Please,” he said, voice smooth. “Sit.”

I didn’t sit. I stood behind the chair and rested both hands on the carved wooden back. Victoria opened her briefcase on the table beside me and began laying out documents with precise, controlled movements.

“Before we begin,” she said, her voice cutting clean through the room, “I want the legal situation stated for the record. This is Adrian Volkov. Biological son of Nicolai Volkov. The DNA comparison has been completed, notarized, and filed with the appropriate authorities.”

She looked around the table, making deliberate eye contact with each person.

“There are seven seats on this board. For clarity, I will name them.”

She pointed to the heavy man with the damp forehead. “Arthur Pendleton, Head of Logistics.”

Arthur swallowed and wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

She pointed to the thin man with silver hair and a pinched mouth. “Charles Whitmore, Head of Operations.”

Charles glared at me with open contempt.

She pointed to the young man with sharp cheekbones and nervous eyes. “Thomas Hale, Head of Technology.”

Thomas kept glancing at Enzo, hands trembling slightly on the table.

She pointed to the woman in her fifties with gray hair and tired eyes. “Margaret Vane, Head of Human Resources.”

Margaret looked at me with something that might have been reluctant curiosity.

She pointed to the woman with sharp features and cold eyes. “Helena Rostova, Head of Finance.”

Helena leaned back in her chair, studying me the way a hawk studies something that might still be useful.

“And of course,” Victoria finished, “Enzo Santi, Chairman.”

Enzo smiled that slow crocodile smile. “Thank you, Victoria. Now we can get to the only question that matters. Whether this mechanic should be granted a provisional seat on this board.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “We don’t know him. We know nothing of his background or whether he is capable of running an operation of this scale.”

“He’s a mechanic,” Enzo said, the contempt deliberate and open. “He fixes cars. He does not understand international logistics, complex shipping routes, or multi-continental supply chains. He is not fit to sit at this table.”

Anger flared hot in my chest. I ignored Victoria’s earlier instruction to stay silent.

“Actually,” I said. My voice carried farther than I expected in the quiet room. “I know exactly how a supply chain works.”

Helena Rostova’s eyebrow lifted. A flicker of interest crossed her face.

“Go on.”

I nodded toward the thick financial report sitting in front of her.

“Before I walked into this room, Victoria showed me the procurement report. You’re ordering four-stroke pistons for the Volkov fleet. But your main container ships run on slow-speed two-stroke diesel engines. Those parts won’t even fit inside the cylinder liners. You’re bleeding millions on useless inventory that’s just sitting in a warehouse in Genoa. I could fix that in a week.”

The room went still. Arthur stopped blotting his forehead. Helena leaned forward slowly, a small assessing smile touching the corner of her mouth.

Enzo’s expression darkened. “Fine words from a man who changes oil for a living. Words are inexpensive. This board requires a vote.”

Victoria stood. Her voice commanded the room without rising.

“The board consists of seven members. Myself, holding the proxy for Nicolai’s vacant seat, and the six of you. I will now call the vote on whether to grant Adrian Volkov the provisional seat.”

She looked at Arthur. “Arthur Pendleton?”

Arthur wiped his forehead again. “No.”

She looked at Charles. “Charles Whitmore?”

Charles crossed his arms. “No.”

She looked at Thomas. “Thomas Hale?”

Thomas swallowed hard. He looked at Enzo. Then he looked at me. He looked down at the procurement report on the table—the one I had just called out. His hand trembled, but he raised it.

“Yes,” Thomas said. His voice cracked, but it carried. “I vote yes.”

She pointed to the woman in her fifties with gray hair and tired eyes. “Margaret De Luca, Head of Human Resources.”

And later in the vote:

Victoria turned to Margaret. “Margaret De Luca?”

Margaret raised her hand with visible reluctance. “Yes. Nicolai was a bastard, but he was my friend for twenty years. If his son wants the chance, I’ll give it to him.”

Victoria turned to Helena. “Helena Rostova?”

Helena looked at me, then at Enzo. She smiled that thin, sharp smile. “Yes. He spotted the procurement error that my own team missed. I want to see what else he can find in ninety days.”

Victoria raised her own hand. “I vote yes, as proxy for Nicolai’s seat. That makes four yes votes. Three no.”

The room went dead silent.

Enzo’s face went white with rage. He stared at Thomas, his eyes burning with fury. Thomas shrank back in his chair, but he didn't lower his hand.

I had won. I had actually won.

Enzo slammed his hand on the table. “This is a mistake. You are making a mistake.”

Victoria didn't flinch. She slid a document across the table to me.

“Just in case Mr. Santi tries to contest the vote,” Victoria said coolly, “Article 7 of the bylaws states the heir's provisional seat is automatic on Day One anyway. But the vote is official. Four to three. Sign it, Adrian.”

I picked up the pen. My hand was steady. I wrote my name in clean, dark ink.

Adrian Volkov.

The moment the tip of the pen left the paper, Enzo stood. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t slam anything. He simply looked at me with those dead gray eyes.

“You think you’ve won something today,” he said, voice quiet enough that everyone leaned in to hear it. “You haven’t. You’ve only made yourself a larger target.”

He walked toward the double doors. Silas fell into step behind him like a second shadow.

At the threshold Enzo stopped and turned back one last time.

“I’ll be watching every move you make, Adrian. Every mistake. Every weakness. And when you finally fall, I’ll be the one standing over the pieces.”

The doors closed behind them with a soft, final click.

The room exhaled as one.

Victoria turned to me. For the first time since I had met her, a real smile touched her mouth—small, sharp, and almost genuine.

“Congratulations, Mr. Volkov. You are now officially a board member.”

Helena Rostova rose, smoothed her jacket, and walked the length of the table. She stopped in front of me and extended her hand.

“I don’t like you,” she said without heat. “But I respect a man who walks into a room like this and doesn’t fold. Don’t make me regret that vote.”

I shook her hand. Her grip was firm and dry.

“I won’t.”

She left. The remaining board members followed in a quiet line. Thomas, the young man who had found the courage to vote yes, lingered near the door for a second. He gave me a small, terrified nod, then hurried out before Enzo could catch him.

I was alone with Victoria in the empty boardroom. Morning light poured through the glass walls. The city stretched out below us, completely unaware of what had just happened on the top floor.

I pulled out the chair at the head of the table—the one that had belonged to my father—and sat. I reached under the suit jacket and touched the silver necklace.

“I need a drink,” I said.

Victoria closed her briefcase with a soft snap. “It’s nine-fifteen in the morning.”

“I don’t care.”

We left the boardroom together. Raven was waiting by the elevators, posture alert, eyes already scanning my face and clothes for blood or damage.

“Any injuries?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

The elevator ride down was silent. When the doors opened onto the lobby, Dominic came at us at a near run. His face was the color of old paper. He held his phone out like it was something dangerous.

“Adrian. I just received a call. We have a problem. A serious one.”

Victoria’s expression sharpened. “What kind of problem?”

Dominic turned the phone so we could all see the screen.

It was a photograph of my old apartment building. The same one that had burned the night before. But this picture was different. A coroner’s van was parked out front. Two men in dark jackets were loading a body bag onto a gurney. Crime-scene tape fluttered in the wind.

“Who is that?” My voice came out hollow.

Dominic looked at me with something that might have been pity.

“Your landlord. They found him this morning. Execution-style. Single bullet to the back of the head.”

The floor seemed to tilt under my feet. The expensive suit suddenly felt too tight around my chest.

“The police are already looking for you,” Dominic continued. “They found your name in his records. They think you had motive after the eviction and the fire. They’re treating it as a homicide investigation with you as the primary person of interest.”

I stared at the photo until the image blurred.

I had just signed my name to a twelve-billion-euro empire.

And somewhere in the city, someone had put a bullet in the back of an old man’s head and left my name on the evidence.

The war hadn’t waited for the vote to finish.

It had already started the next move.