Page 233 of Reckless Obsession

I don’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second. The choice doesn’t require thought; it was decided the moment I realized an existence without Maksim is no life at all.

“Then pull it.”

The words fall like iron against the desk.

“If being with your son means I have to separate my firm from Petrov business, then I will cut those ties,” I add. “Even if I lose every Petrov contract. Even if my firm has to rebuild itself without the security your business has given it. As long as I still get to have Maksim in my life, I can live with that.”

Pavel doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just sits there in the dimming light, studying my face with the clinical focus of a predator evaluating an anomaly. He searches my eyes for hesitation, for fear, for the crack in my armor that would reveal a bluff.

He finds nothing.

Seconds stretch into suffocating minutes before he finally breaks the stillness. He leans back in his leather chair, the harsh shadows of the evening cutting across the deep lines on his face.

“Are you sure about this, Tristan?” Pavel asks, his voice dropping into a lower, heavier register. “This thing with my son… are you truly certain?”

He pauses, his piercing blue eyes boring straight into my soul.

“Maksim is not an easy man. He is reckless, volatile, and driven by impulses that get people killed. He has the blood of our ancestors running through him. Are you truly prepared to stand in the fire with someone as crazy as my son?”

For the first time since the conversation began, the corner of my mouth almost lifts.

“Yes,” I say. “I am sure.”

Then I add, because it is the most honest answer I have:

“I have spent enough time without him to know that his chaos is still better than any version of peace that does not include him.”

Pavel looks at me for a long, unreadable time.

The silence stretches between us, but the lethal edge in the room slowly begins to dull. The tension shifts from the threat of a bullet to the heavy exhaustion of an old man who has fought too many wars to start another one inside his own house.

Then he lets out a deep, gravelly sigh that seems to drag the weight of the entire empire with it.

Slowly, his hands reach forward. He closes the open file on his desk, the thick cardstock snapping shut with a dull thud, and pushes it aside.

“I am not a fan of this relationship, Tristan,” Pavel says bluntly. “I do not like personal attachments inside my organization. They make people careless and create weaknesses. And two men as stubborn as you and Maksim under the same roof sounds less like a relationship and more like an expensive security problem.”

He pauses, a faint, wry shake of his head betraying the stone mask he wears.

“Truthfully, Maksim came into this very office three days ago. He stood right in front of me, looked me straight in the eye, and told me how much he loves you. He said that if I objected to the two of you being together, he would pack a bag, take you, and elope.” His jaw tightens. “And if there is one thing I know about my son, it is that when Maksim says he will do something, he follows through. Without hesitation.”

Despite the tension still lodged beneath my ribs, I almost smile.

That sounds exactly like Maksim.

Pavel’s expression darkens again, though not with anger.

“I have already lost Maksim once,” he says, his voice dropping to a rare, vulnerable timbre. “When he was kidnapped at ten by rivals. And I lost him again for three months this year when he vanished to Italy, cutting off all lines of communication except for occasional calls to his mother.”

A quiet pause follows.

“I don’t want to lose my son again. I will not push him away or do anything foolish that would make him turn his back on this family.”

He leans back in his high leather chair, letting out another breath, then taps the closed file once.

“I will not be ending my relationship with Sinclair Law.”

The breath I take is measured, yet relief settles low in my chest.