My mind flashed back to the blood and bone, the guts and organs Konstantin had left lying on the ground like discarded shoes. The brutality of it was shocking, but Roksana’s words had opened my eyes. Perhaps I understood my Pakhan’s plight better than I had originally thought and now knew, if our positions were swapped, I would be no better.
“No,” I murmured. “I believe you’re right. It is not up to us.”
She smiled faintly. “Will that reason be enough to calm down the men?”
No, it wouldn’t. Konstantin had a kingdom to reign over, had a Bratva to command. His men were awaiting orders and the longer they went without their king, the more restless they grew. Faint powerplays had begun to pop up, which to his credit, Feodor, had dealt with well.
I would never admit that out loud.
But despite Feodor’s best efforts, the uneasiness remained, and if the Tarkhanov Bratva saw Konstantin’s weakness, it wouldn’t be long before our enemies did as well.
Once our enemies knew…then everything Kostya and I had worked for since we were boys would all be for nothing.
Yet I couldn’t find it in myself to feel contempt.
I understood.
I turned my attention back to my wife, taking in her near-white blonde hair and graceful porcelain doll-like features. Taking in those hands which had only ever touched me in love and those legs which had so warmly welcomed me into their embrace. Her eyes, where she told me all she was feeling, and her mouth, which told me all she was thinking.
I understand, brother, I thought. I understand.
“Let me handle the men,” I said, answering Roksana’s earlier question. “Kostya is their Pakhan. They will respect that.”
“I don’t think they will.”
That arrogant statement hadn’t come from my wife. Roman Malakhov, byki to Kostya and a good friend in his own right, stepped into view. A dog-like anger had settled over him since Elena had left, making each smile a snarl and each shout a bark.
He jerked his chin toward the end of the hallway. “Feodor is meeting with some Brigadiers now. Olezka said to come quickly.”
I stepped away from my wife and assessed the byki. I didn’t like the look in Roman’s eyes or the fact that gentle but vicious Olezka had told me to come quickly.
Roksana picked up on my weariness. “We should go, Artyom.”
“Let’s see what all the fuss is about,” I relented, and followed Roman to the formal dining room.
Once, we had taken all the meetings in Konstantin’s office, but these days, no one dared step into the private quarters. Konstantin wasn’t often there but it was more the representation of what it would mean to have a formal meeting without him.
The formal dining room was filled with Vory, from Brigadiers to torpedos. Feodor took the place at the front of the room, all smiles and charm, but the hard glint in his eyes told me all I needed to know about the reason for this meeting.
As soon as I stepped into the room, heads turned toward me.
Roksana didn’t buckle under the attention; instead she beelined for Danika, who was curled up in the corner. The bond between the two women had deepened after Tatiana’s betrayal…and Elena’s. They shared an understanding only they could decipher, one shared between women who had been wronged.
To my surprise, Dmitri had shown his face. He leaned against the back wall, trying to separate himself as much as possible, but still be a part of the meeting.
I nodded to him. He nodded sharply back.
“Where is the Pakhan?” someone asked.
Voices churned around in agreement, blending together into a harmony of questions of where the actual hell was Konstantin? The answer didn’t need to be said–they only asked because they wanted confirmation that he, once again, had failed to lead his organization. And, in turn, failed his men.
“He is otherwise occupied,” I said, but no one believed me. At their disbelieving looks, I added, “You’re free to go and ask him yourself.”
Instantly the room fell silent and eyes dropped to the floor. No one wanted to go and see Konstantin. They weren’t stupid. A few men, who had witnessed Konstantin’s brutality, even went green at the mention of confronting their Pakhan.
Everyone was happy to judge him until it was time to confront him. Then they disappeared back into their little dark holes, hiding away from their Pakhan’s wrath and obeying their instincts that told them to shut up.
Roman laughed gruffly in his throat. He felt the sudden mood shift just as I had.
“Why has this meeting been called?” I asked.
Feodor thinned his lips, his jovial exterior dimming slightly. “I wasn’t the one who called it.”
“I was.”
The confirmation came from Anatoly Eristov, an American-born Brigadier who had served Konstantin for a few years now. His citizenship had been very handy when dealing with politics, but he wasn’t high enough in rank to summon a meeting.
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “And why was that, Eristov?”
Anatoly rose to his feet. I saw a few men look at him with support while others turned away, unwilling to show any alliance with the man.
So it seems Eristov fancies himself the usurper, I mused to myself, taking in his slight stature and beta-qualities. A man who asked for things, who summoned meetings, would never be king. He was not strong enough.
“I love Konstantin as much as any man here,” Anatoly said. “But the facts cannot be denied. He is our leader who is not leading. We need a leader, Artyom. And if you are unwilling to pick up the mantle…”
“Are you planning a coup?” I asked. “If not, sit down.”
When Anatoly went to sit down, it only proved my theory that he would never be strong enough to lead. But his mind caught the order at the last second and he straightened his bent knees immediately.
“We need a leader,” he insisted. “If no one else volunteers, I would be happy to–”
Roman stepped forward, baring his teeth. “What are you gonna do, huh? Kill Kostya? You will never be king, Anatoly. You’re too much of a little bitch.”
Dmitri nodded and only said, “I agree.”
I held up a hand to them both, a silent command to calm down. Roman didn’t settle but he did fall silent, his eyes landing on Danika, who was signalling for him to relax from the other side of the room.
Anatoly stepped forward before I could say anything. A few breaths caught around the room, but no word was uttered. "The DEA are breathing down our necks, Tatiana is still out there, and the Feds are foaming at the mouth at the idea of catching something on us. We need someone to defend us, someone to lead us."
He made some decent points. The points of an idiot, but decent points, nonetheless. The DEA was eyeing our organization–thanks to Konstantin's recklessness in getting rid of rival drug lords. He was also right about Tatiana; she remained elusive and resourceful. The Feds weren't so much an issue anymore. We had just returned from dealing with a rat: a weak man who had sold out mafia secrets for a clean slate and some cash.
Konstantin had made sure he regretted that decision.
"And you will make these problems disappear, Anatoly?" I inquired.
He thinned his lips. "Someone needs to. We can't go on like this. It took us too long to get to where we are to have it all ripped away–"