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“Kill him,” Maxim says simply. “Before he becomes a problem.”
“Nyet!” I reply instantly. The word is stronger than I meant it to be. It makes Maxim grimace. “He’s just a child,” I explain carefully. “There are better options. Let’s think this through from every angle.”
Kostya and Nikolai share a look. “Why?” Nikolai asks. “He’s a boy now, but he won’t stay that way forever.”
“I said we aren’t killing him,” I snarl.
Curling his upper lip, Maxim rolls his shoulders like he’s loosening them up. He looks ready to spit at my feet. “You’ve gone soft.”
“He’s right,” Lev says in a harsh grumble. “I thought the man I served would do whatever it took to lead the Bratva.”
I didn’t realize I’d moved, but suddenly I’m face to face with Maxim. Glaring down my nose, I don’t try to curb the fury in my tone. “I will do anything.”
His scar crinkles from his scowl. “Then stop being ruled by your emotions and embrace the ruthlessness that being a pakhan requires. I didn’t choose you over Yevgeniy by a coin flip. You’re one of the most powerful men I’ve ever known. Or you were.”
The veins in my skull are throbbing. If I bite down any harder, my teeth will crack. His words are worse than if he’d taken out a knife and buried it in my ribs. What hurts more than that though is how my brigadiers are all watching me with the same shade of disdain.
They agree with him.
Searching for some proof that I’m not alone in my decision to spare Ruslan, I turn toward Mila. She’s holding her breath. Not even the dip in her throat flexes.
Mila meets my eyes, then turns away.
Clenching my fists at my sides, I back away from Maxim. He lifts his chin higher, clearly thinking he’s scored a point. I can’t allow that. Weakness here among my men is shedding blood among sharks.
They’ll devour me.
I have to stop this before it gets out of control. Marching to the front of the room, I survey the group with careful precision. They manage to look at me, but the energy is all wrong. They’re questioning themselves … questioning me. Lifting my arm, I point at Kostya; he flinches. Nikolai is next. One by one, I go down the line.
“Who among you would be willing to slit the throat of a child? Hm? Who here wouldn’t hesitate to spill his blood while looking into his innocent eyes? You call me soft, but what you’re demanding I do is the exact thing we’d condemn Yevgeniy for.”
Maxim holds my cold stare. Abruptly he ducks his eyes to the floor. I jump on that the way a jackal would rip out the neck of a gazelle. “No one should be able to murder an innocent boy without blinking,” I state firmly. “But fine, tell me there’s no other option. Force my hand. If all of you tell me that I have to kill Ruslan, that you’d do the same, then I’ll consider it.”
“You won’t!” It’s not any of them that cry out. The voice comes from behind me, simultaneous with the door bursting open. Galina’s eyes are dilated with fury. “You will not touch that boy!”
“Galina!” I snap, whirling on her. “Were you listening?”
“Of course I was! I could hear the arguing through the walls.” She waves her arm to indicate that doesn’t matter. “You promised me that you wouldn’t and yet the moment I turn around, you ask that of your men?”
“You can’t be here,” Kostya says, moving to block her from reaching me. Galina flares her nostrils—I swear she’s about to slap him out of her path.
“It’s okay,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder to move him out of the way. “Galina, you don’t understand the situation.”
“The situation?” she mocks me. Her hair flies from side to side like a lion’s mane, her eyes flashing with a similar feral hue. “You can save him the same way you promised to save my mother! It doesn’t have to be this way!”
Something black and slim shifts beside me—Mila, moving like a shadow. Her hands clasp Galina’s elbow, tugging her toward the door. “You need to leave.”
“No!” she shouts, wrenching her body sideways, using all the force she can summon to halt Mila in her tracks. “Someone has to stand up for Ruslan!”
“Galina,” I urge gently.
“He is a child!”
My brigadiers are muttering to themselves behind me. I pick up slips of their conversation, words like weak and pathetic. They already suspect I’ve gone soft from how I argued against murdering Yevgeniy’s son. Now they’re watching me be challenged by my wife.
I’ve never felt my position being tested so clearly. Galina, with her furious eyes, pink-lipped scowl, and rounded belly. My men judge me with their eyes on the back of my skull.
I can’t let them worry that my backbone is gone. They have to see that I’ll put the Grachev Bratva first. Galina has to understand. She has to. Mila catches my eye; she lets go of Galina, backing away, letting me fill the gap where she was. “He’s not just a child. He’s on the cusp of being initiated into the Bratva as the sole heir of Yevgeniy.”
