Chapter 37

The scent of Darcy’s heat still lingered on my skin as I left the safe house and I could still feel her appreciative gaze as I walked out of the house without hiding her scent. But as I stepped back into the world of the Bratva, the sweetness of that connection had to be cloaked behind the iron mask of leadership. The streets of New York whispered of chaos, of Nikolai Ivanov’s audacity to strike at the heart of my organization while I was… indisposed.

I convened a skhodka, a council of my most trusted Vor v Zakone, in the dimly lit back room of a Brooklyn restaurant that reeked of vodka and desperation. These men had earned their stars through blood and sacrifice, and their loyalty to me was unyielding.

“Brothers,” I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me, “Nikolai has grown bolder while I was away. Our operations have been compromised, our men questioned our strength.”

Boris ‘The Wolf’ Petrov, a man whose name alone could silence a room, leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “What happened, bratan? The streets are hungry for an explanation.”

I clenched my jaw, the weight of my secrets pressing down on me. “That is not your concern. What matters is our response.”

“Da,” agreed Alexei ‘The Butcher’ Kuznetsov, his massive frame hunched over the table. “We must show them the steel in our spine.”

Sergei ‘The Serpent’ Dragunov, the youngest among us but cunning as his namesake, chimed in. “We strike back, hard and fast. Make them bleed for every insult they’ve hurled at us.”

“Nyet,” I countered, my mind racing with strategies. “We do not act recklessly. We are not animals in a fight pit. We are precise, we are calculated.”

The room fell silent, the men hanging on my every word. “We will use Nikolai’s boldness against him. He expects us to retaliate with force. Instead, we will cut the head off the snake.”

“And how do you propose we do that, Pakhan?” The question came from Vasili, my right hand, his skepticism barely veiled.

I met his gaze, a plan forming in the back of my mind. “We will draw him out. Make him think he has the upper hand. Then, when he is exposed, we strike.”

“A risky move, Pietro,” Vasili warned, his eyes narrowed. “Nikolai is not a fool.”

“Perhaps not,” I conceded. “But he is arrogant. And arrogance can be a man’s downfall.”

I could see the wheels turning in their heads, the acceptance of the plan taking root. “We will need to be united. No infighting, no second-guessing. We move as one.”

The Vor v Zakone exchanged glances, a silent agreement passing between them. “For the Bratva,” Ivan declared, his voice echoing in the room.

“For the Bratva,” the others echoed, their fists pounding on the table in unison.

I nodded, a sense of resolve settling over me. “Prepare your men. We will show Nikolai Ivanov that he has made a grave mistake in challenging us.”

The council dispersed, each man leaving with a solemn nod and a promise of retribution. The restaurant’s door creaked shut, leaving Vasili and me in the heavy silence of the back room. I poured myself a generous measure of vodka, the burn a welcome distraction from the tightness in my chest.

Vasili approached, his steps measured, his face a mask of stoicism. “Pakhan,” he addressed me formally, though we had shared more than a decade of battles and bloodshed. “We need to discuss a delicate matter.”

I raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. “What is it, brat?” I asked, the term of brotherhood a thin veneer over the undercurrent of tension.

He hesitated, a rare crack in his usually unflappable demeanor. “There is a serpent in our garden, Pietro. A traitor among us.”

The word ‘predatel’ hung in the air between us, heavy with the threat of betrayal. I felt the old fury stir within me, a volatile mix of anger and hurt. “Who?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.

Vasili’s gaze didn’t waver. “I do not have a name. Not yet. But there have been whispers, and certain… irregularities in our operations that cannot be coincidental.”

I downed my vodka, the fire in my throat mirroring the one building inside me. “I want this serpent found, Vasili. I want him to look into the eyes of the wolf before he meets his end.”

“Understood,” Vasili replied, his tone as icy as the Siberian winter. “I will use every resource at our disposal. We will squeeze the streets until the traitor bleeds himself dry.”

I nodded, a grim satisfaction settling over me. “Good. We cannot afford weakness, not now, when the Bratva must present a united front.”

Vasili shifted uncomfortably, an unusual display of unease. “There is something else, Pietro.”

I frowned, bracing myself for another blow. “Speak, Vasili. We have no secrets between us.”

He took a deep breath, his next words tumbling out in a rush. “There are rumors that the traitor is close to you. Closer than any of us would like.”

A chill ran down my spine, a stark contrast to the warmth of the vodka. “You mean one of the council?”

Vasili’s silence was all the confirmation I needed. I stood up, my chair scraping against the wooden floor. “We will find this Judas, Vasili. And when we do, the Bratva will deliver justice.”

“Da, Pakhan,” Vasili agreed, his loyalty unwavering. “We will not rest until the traitor is caught.”

I clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie and shared purpose. “Keep me informed of your progress. And Vasili?”

“Yes, Pietro?”

“Be discreet. We do not want to alert the rat before we have him cornered.”

With that, Vasili left me alone with my thoughts, the weight of leadership pressing down on me like a leaden shroud. I poured another drink, the clear liquid swirling in the glass a reflection of the turmoil within me.

I had faced many challenges in my life, but nothing could have prepared me for the treachery festering within the very heart of my organization.

And in this world, that was a mistake few survived.