"So, what's the plan?" another Pakhan asks.
I spend the next twenty minutes laying out the strategy. We'll move against the conspiracy families simultaneously, hitting their operations and cutting off their resources. It has to be fast and brutal, giving them no time to regroup or call in reinforcements.
"This is going to be bloody," Dmitri says quietly.
"Yes." I don't sugarcoat it. "But if we don't act, they'll eventually figure out we have this information. And then they'll come for all of us."
The meeting breaks up after thirty minutes, everyone disappearing into the rain as quickly as they arrived. We never meet for longer than thirty minutes so that there's less chance the wrong families discover we're getting together. I climb back into the SUV with Viktor, my mind already moving to the next meeting scheduled for tomorrow.
The week passes in a blur of secret meetings and careful planning. We never meet in the same place twice and never stay longer than necessary. Each Pakhan brings new information,new connections to the conspiracy that make the web even more complex.
By the third meeting, we've identified twelve families involved in the original massacre. Some are still powerful, others have faded over the years. But they're all connected, all part of the same network that's been manipulating the Bratva from the shadows.
"We need to move soon," one of the Pakhans says during our fifth meeting. "The longer we wait, the more chance that someone discovers what we're planning."
"Agreed." I look around the table at the faces of men who've committed to this fight. "We strike in two weeks. That gives us time to position our people and prepare for the fallout."
Dmitri nods slowly. "Then we go to war."
The final meeting happens on the seventh day, in a basement beneath a restaurant that's been closed for renovations. All seven Pakhans are present, along with their most trusted advisors. The atmosphere is tense, charged with the knowledge that we're about to trigger something that can't be undone.
I spread out the final version of our plan, detailing which families each of us will target. The coordination has to be perfect. If even one family gets a warning, they'll alert the others, and we'll lose our advantage.
"Questions?" I ask when I finish explaining.
Silence. Then Alexei speaks up. "What about Pushkin? Where does he fit into this?"
"He doesn't." The lie comes easily. "He gave us the information we needed. That's enough."
It's not entirely true. Yegor is still out there somewhere, still hiding from the same families we're about to go to war with. But I can't tell them about the lead I received on his location. I can't risk word getting back to Mariya before I've had a chance to verify it.
The meeting ends with handshakes and promises of loyalty. We'll stand together or fall together. There's no middle ground anymore.
Back at the hotel, I strip off my jacket and pour myself a drink. The vodka burns going down, but it helps ease the tension that's been building all week. My phone sits on the desk, silent. I haven't called Mariya since I left, keeping communication minimal to avoid any chance of being tracked.
I miss her. I miss the way she fits against my chest when we sleep, the sound of her voice, and the feel of her rounded belly under my hand. Soon, this will be over and we can focus on having a baby, becoming a family.
I finish my drink and head for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the stress of the day. The plan is solid. We have the numbers, the resources, and the element of surprise. If everything goes according to plan, we'll cripple the conspiracy families before they know what hit them.
But I've been in this business long enough to know that nothing ever goes completely according to plan. There will be casualties. Betrayals. Unexpected complications that force us to adapt on the fly.
If it doesn't go according to plan, it's going to be even bloodier than we're preparing for.
The thought sits heavily in my chest as I turn off the water and grab a towel. Tomorrow morning, I'll head home. I'll hold Mariya, feel our baby kick, and pretend for a few hours that we're just a normal couple expecting their first child.
Then I'll start preparing for war.
I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist, running my hand through my wet hair. The hotel room is quiet, just the sound of rain against the windows and the distant hum of traffic below.
I'm reaching for my phone when I notice something wrong.
The chair by the desk has been moved. Just slightly, but enough that I notice. My hand goes immediately to the gun I keep on the nightstand, my body tensing as I scan the room.
That's when I see him.
Yegor Pushkin sits in the chair next to the desk, his hands folded calmly in his lap. He's older than I remember, his hair more gray than blond now, but his blue eyes are sharp and alert. He's wearing civilian clothes, nothing that would draw attention, and there's no weapon visible.
But the fact that he got into my room without triggering any alarms tells me everything I need to know about how dangerous he still is.
