I pause, caught off guard by the honorific.
Everyone else is surprised, too, shifting their weight from foot to foot and glancing at each other, waiting to see how I’ll respond.
There isn’t a choice, however. As long as Max is alive, I’m not Pakhan, the “big boss.” He is.
I’ll be sending a clear message that I’m disloyal to our leader and intend to take the throne for myself if I accept Aleksander’s mistake.
Unless it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe it was a test.
And maybe the test originated from someone much smarter than Aleksander.
My stare freezing and my tone deadly soft, I say, “On your knees.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
In a five-thousand-dollar silk suit, handmade shoes, and an overcoat spun from the wool of baby Tibetan antelopes, he silently sinks to his knees on the cold cement floo
