I look around at my men, the inner circle of the Bratva that I command. We’ve risen in stature, together with Tomas, as two of the most powerful brotherhoods in all of America, and for good reason. We’ve upheld the code of Bratva life since day one, every decision and action we take with the one purpose in mind: to solidify our connections and rise as masters of the underworld. We have connections in every political sphere, law enforcement, the military, throughout the country with the most influential leaders of our time.
The Bratva itself was founded as a quasi-military operation after the fall of Stalin, when brothers-at-arms united forces. What began as a grassroots movement developed into one of the most powerful organized crime rings in the world, branches extending from mother Russia to America. As one of the most experienced members of the Bratva, I’ve seen my brothers both rise and fall. There are those committed to advancing their own purposes, bent on gaining power, prestige, and money, that eventually succumb to the temptations that press in on all sides when putting their own selfish needs and desires above others. Then there are others—like Tomas, and Demyan in Moscow, committed to strengthening the brotherhood. Fiercely loyal, they unite with others dedicated to that task. These are the brotherhoods that thrive.
Tomas and Nicolai are two such men. However, this is my son whose safety is at risk, the man whose very life can be destroyed by the woman in the other room. It’s essential I tell my side of the story while bearing this in mind, and also balancing the need for transparency with the authority I wield as pakhan. It’s a double-edge sword.
I’m grateful Tomas is here. He had come just to pay a visit, but his timing works in my favor. I’ve consulted him about what happened last night, and he will help inform my men today. But first, a minor order of business.
“There’s an older woman under my care in a nursing facility,” I tell Tomas. “She misses traditional Russian food. Do you think Caroline would mind helping us with that?”
“Certainly,” he says. “No one cooks the food from our homeland like my wife,” he says with pride.
“Thank you, I’ll give you the details to pass on to Caroline.”
“Of course,” Tomas says with a nod. Tomas is younger than I am by a good deal, and it was I who helped facilitate his marriage to Caroline. He is like a son to me and gives me the same loyalty and devotion Nicolai does. If I ask a favor, he will always try to honor it.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I’ve heard recently that she dislikes the food where she is. Though it’s only a trivial complaint, I promised I would ask Caroline to prepare some traditional Russian foods for her.”
Nicolai watches me curiously while Tomas calls Caroline. Nicolai knows the only former housekeeper we had on staff is Taara’s mother. I ignore his look. Just because Taara is now under our surveillance doesn’t negate my end of the bargain. And perhaps this small gesture will make Taara more compliant.
“We aren’t here long, but Caroline would be happy to,” Tomas says. “All set. Sounds like the girls are getting along fine, too.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
I turn to face the room. “Now I’d like to take a moment to address you all. Thank you for coming here despite this early hour. It was imperative for me to relay the events of last night without you hearing them from a secondary party, which is why I called you today.”
My men sit at attention, stern and formidable, their flinty gazes and rigid posture reminiscent of Russian military, and for good reason. The huge majority, with the few exceptions we’ve recruited in America, have served our home country.
“Last night, we were told that one of the men that betrayed Marissa Kosolov was still alive.” A low murmur of disbelief goes up, but none of them speak. They all know Marissa well, and they know her story, how she was sold into slavery by her father, a former friend of mine. How my own son was left for dead and fought his way back to claim Marissa as his own. How he and I systematically sought revenge for every single goddamn man who betrayed us by joining with Myron in Marissa’s abduction.
“As you’ll recall, Myron’s men were the ones that ordered my son killed. Some of them even put their hands on him.” I can’t keep the fury out of my voice even now, many years later.
Nicolai speaks up. “Not to mention, they orchestrated the abduction and abuse of my wife.”
The air crackles with electric energy. In Bratva life, there is no betrayal deeper, no treachery more worthy of swift and certain punishment.
“I thought they’d all been killed,” one of my men in the back asks. “No?”