Behind me stood several of my father’s men as well as a few of my own, my brothers off to the side. This moment and my reaction less than an hour after the funeral would shape the future. That’s why their silence was out of respect and reverence. As the new Pakhan, it was my birthright and my responsibility to keep the regime moving forward no matter the circumstances.
That didn’t mean the fury hadn’t festered into the utter dark requirement to console my beast. There were only two ways that was possible.
Bloodshed or sex.
And at this point, succumbing to either one would be dangerous, a weakness and nothing more. My needs would wait. I had an empire to run. The idea wasn’t new to me or anyone else. As firstborn, my entire life had revolved around the training required to take over as Pakhan. Only not so soon.
“Pust’ vash otets pokoitsya s mirom.”
Hearing Kirill’s sentiment brought the first sensation of amusement since learning the news of my father’s demise. Iallowed a low, husky chuckle while turning to face them. “You know as does everyone else in this room my father won’t be resting in peace. He is currently sharing cognac with my uncle and the devil himself while being seasoned and roasted on a spit over a roaring fire.”
Kirill Aristov was my commander, a man who shared the same temperament as I did. He’d been the person responsible for sharing the news of my father’s untimely death.
Nervous laughter ensued. The words weren’t born of disrespect and nothing my father wouldn’t have said. Vladimir Chertov valued his multitude of sins, coveting every act of violence as if placing notches on a leather belt. He’d once told me the best men committed the worst offenses. If his actions were any indication, he had been a king among kings.
“To a great man,” Dimitri said as he raised his glass.
“Who are you kidding,” I teased. “He was a pain in the ass.”
We all laughed, yet the tension remained high.
“You should be careful, cousin,” Dimitri added. “You’re well aware your father’s enemies are already prepared to try and erase your father’s good name.”
“Then they have no understanding what I’m capable of. And you just worry about New York, cousin. Let me handle Russia.”
His booming laughter could fill a room. Even Mikhail laughed, a sound easily identifiable as well as rare. My brother’s return visit to a dark place was evident by the circles under his eyes. Life had been difficult for him.
There were nerves to squelch, and a billion-dollar business that required moving forward without adequate time to mourn. That was the way of the Bratva.
“We do need to worry about how we move forward. No disrespect,” Kirill offered.
“Understood.” And I did. There was too much on the table.
I glanced at Mikhail and Stash, making note of their grim expressions. While our father hadn’t been the kindest or the warmest of men, they’d both taken his death hard, Stash especially. As a half-brother to Mikhail and me, he’d only recently become a permanent part of our family, our father marrying the woman he’d had a long-term affair with.
While Mikhail had taken the discovery of the secret harshly, Stash had never been to blame. But he’d yet to prove himself within the organization.
“Now they’re together,” Mikhail said absently.
When his comment registered, I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him. “They?” I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about an uncle he’d barely spent any time with. He’d barely been a teenager when the life-altering incident had occurred.
“Our mother and father. No offense, Stash, but our mother was the love of our father’s life.”
Another ugliness. My father’s enjoyment of brothels had allowed him to fall in love with a beautiful Russian girl that had led to his illegitimate child, Stash unaware until only a couple of years before who his father was. Mikhail hadn’t taken the news of our father’s remarriage kindly.
Stash bristled. “At least my mother cares about you.”
“Are you trying to tell me my mother didn’t care about me? She was an angel.”
Mikhail’s exclamation was out of character. He was typically stoic with all aspects of his life. “Enough. Our father cared for Stash’s mother Marta very much. You will respect her position within this family.”
In the world of the Bratva, death was an everyday occurrence. Life expectancies usually maxed out at age sixty. While our father’s untimely death was a hiccup, Mikhail had taken our mother’s death very hard. He’d become almost inconsolable after the accident. Accident. Who the fuck was I kidding? She’d been murdered, but the bomb planted under the rental car had no doubt been meant for our father.
On the very vacation where the entire family had been together for the first and only time.
The same vacation that had nearly torn everyone apart.
Dimitri lifted his gaze, finding mine. We didn’t need to continue commiserating over our own levels of guilt. That past had been laid to rest.
