The war had officially begun.
By morning, every financial network in Europe was discussing the same thing — the sudden clash between Morozov Group and Sokolov Industries.
But what the world saw as business…
Was something far more personal.
Inside the Sokolov headquarters, tension filled the massive glass boardroom.
Sergei Sokolov stood at the head of the table, cold fury radiating from him.
"You allowed this to happen," he said sharply.
The executives avoided eye contact.
Leonid sat beside him, quiet but visibly exhausted.
Makar leaned forward. "Morozov planned this carefully. This wasn't a spontaneous move."
Sergei's eyes narrowed.
"I know that."
Pavel crossed his arms. "Then we respond the same way."
"How?" Leonid asked. "Escalation only helps him."
"He's already escalating," Pavel snapped.
Nikolai finally spoke, calm as ever.
"He didn't attack randomly. Every move he made targeted weak points."
Sergei turned to him slowly.
"Explain."
Nikolai tapped a file on the table.
"Krestov Logistics was already under regulatory scrutiny. Morozov only accelerated the collapse."
Silence.
Sergei understood immediately.
"He's baiting us."
Leonid's voice was low. "He wants you angry."
Sergei slammed his hand against the table.
"I am angry."
But anger wasn't the only thing building.
Across the city—
At Volkov Estate.
Viktor stood in the operations room with his siblings.
Dmitri's screens displayed dozens of financial charts.
"Morozov's stock is rising," Dmitri said.
Mikhail frowned. "Because investors think he's winning."
Nikola paced slowly. "But he hasn't attacked us."
Yelena spoke quietly.
"Yet."
Viktor remained silent.
Mikhail looked at him carefully. "You're thinking about Artyom."
"I'm thinking about what Morozov wants."
Nikola stopped pacing.
"He wants his son."
That truth settled heavily over the room.
Dmitri sighed. "Which means the Sokolovs will tighten their control over Artyom."
Yelena tilted her head.
"And if Artyom resists?"
Viktor's voice was quiet but firm.
"He won't be forced."
Mikhail raised an eyebrow. "You're confident about that?"
Viktor didn't answer.
Because even he wasn't sure.
Meanwhile—
At the university campus.
Artyom sat alone under a large oak tree.
His phone buzzed nonstop with news notifications.
Every headline mentioned the same name.
Morozov.
His father.
The man he had believed abandoned him.
Footsteps approached.
Artyom looked up.
Pavel.
"I thought I'd find you here," Pavel said casually.
Artyom's expression hardened slightly. "What do you want?"
Pavel sat beside him.
"You're at the center of something dangerous."
"I figured."
"You should stay away from Morozov."
Artyom studied him carefully.
"Why?"
Pavel smiled faintly.
"Because he'll destroy everything to get you back."
That answer didn't sound like concern.
It sounded like warning.
Or maybe manipulation.
Artyom stood.
"My life isn't a battlefield."
Pavel watched him walk away.
"You'd be surprised," he murmured.
Across the city—
Andrei Morozov looked out over the Moscow skyline.
His associate entered the room quietly.
"The first strike caused chaos."
Andrei nodded slowly.
"And Artyom?"
"He's confused. Angry."
Andrei's eyes softened.
"Good."
The associate hesitated.
"You're pushing very hard."
Andrei turned slightly.
"I waited eighteen years."
His voice carried something dangerous.
"I'm not waiting any longer."
Outside, snow began falling again.
And somewhere between three powerful families…
A war was beginning that none of them could stop.