“Such as?” He sneers. “A pretty face? A willing body? You can get those anywhere without putting a ring on her f*****g finger, moy syn.”
“I won’t justify my choices to you,” I say. “The terms of the inheritance require marriage. They don’t specify to whom.”
“Don’t play games with me, boy!” He slams his fist on the table, making the silverware jump. “I built this empire from nothing. I won’t see it handed to an impulsive brat who makes decisions with his d**k instead of his head.”
I remain calm, taking a spoonful of borscht. “Is the food getting cold?”
“This isn’t a joke, Vincent.” His voice descends into a dangerous growl. “For f**k’s sake, how many times must I repeat myself? The Bratva isn’t just business. It’s family. Tradition. Legacy. The woman you marry becomes part of that legac
