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Tenley took about nine months off work when Asher was born. But I know she’s recently back at the prestigious Blomkvist and Shier law firm here in New York where she’s a partner.
“It gets better,” Viktor smirks at the two of them. “Trust me.” In addition to adopting Lukas, Viktor and his wife Fiona have a nine-year-old son, Sasha, who already looks like he’s going to be as tall and broad-shouldered as his dad.
“What’s going on over here?”
Viktor turns to grin as Yuri Volkov, Ilya’s uncle, walks over. Yuri’s based out of Chicago alongside Viktor, though he’s been visiting New York a lot recently—in fact, he owns the building we’re meeting in tonight. Again, the Council isn’t a treaty or partnership between all seven families. But the Volkovs and the Komarovs have been close for a long time. Their unofficial partnership now includes the Reznikov empire as well, much to the chagrin of other members of the Council at times.
“The young’uns are complaining about not getting laid while their wives are going through pregnancy, childbirth, and everything that comes after.”
Yuri, himself now the father of two-year-old Adrik with his wife River, roars with laughter.
Ilya frowns. “That isnotwhat—”
“You want some advice, Konstantin?” Yuri grins at my brother who is starting to look more than a little forlorn. “Jerk off like a grownup and don’t even think about trying to pressure Mara into shit untilshecomes toyou. Pregnancy and birth is a goddamn mind-fuck for a woman. She’ll tell you when she’s—”
“Hey, Yuri?” There’s a sharp glint in Konstantin’s eyes as they narrow at the older Bratva king. “I’m taking a year off to treat my wife like the queen she is. Do me a favor and don’t ever fucking presume shit about her and me again, yeah?”
We’re all friendly here. And his tone is light enough. But Mara is Konstantin’s pressure point, and I know everyone here fully understands that.
Yuri grins as he claps Konstantin on the shoulder. “Atta boy.” Then he clears his throat.
“Well, I think the other members are already all upstairs. Shall we?” He turns to arch a brow at me. “You ready for the full weight?”
“Please. He was born ready,” my brother smirks, punching me in the arm.
“Okay then,” Yuri nods. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
“I hereby willingly relinquish myvote and my chair, passing both in complete confidence to my brother and co-king, Gavan, who will be voting in my place, with my blessing.”
In the softly-lit conference room, there are nods from all those seated around the table.
“Are there any objections?”
Yuri, the Council chairman, drags his gaze around the room before he turns back to Konstantin and me.
“We respect and approve of this exchange. Gavan Tsarenko will henceforth be the voting voice and High Council chair for the Reznikov family.”
Konstantin turns to me as we both stand, a grin on his face as he clasps my hand in his.
“You’ve fucking got this, brother,” he murmurs as he gives me a big bear hug. “You were born for it.”
He pulls away, turning to glance around the rest of the table. “Thank you, everyone. And now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have a plane to catch.”
Mara already flew back to London this morning, and now Konstantin will be joining her as he kicks off his year off from all things Bratva-related. With a final nod to the table, and one last firm shake of my hand, he turns and walks out of the room.
Yuri nods. “Okay, item one on our list is concluded. Next, I believe Abram wanted to—”
“Yeah, if we’re done with the theatrics, can we please get down to actual business?”
My jaw ticks as my eyes swivel across the table to Abram Diduch. Until just a couple of years ago, Abram’s uncle, Olek Domitrovich, had been the head of the Diduch Bratva family for close to forty years. Olek was calm, honorable, and magnanimous—in fact, he was a firm ally of Lizbet’s when she was trying to wrest control of her inheritance after the death of her piece of shit father Semyon Belsky, the man whose rape of my mother resulted in me.
Olek, however, stepped down three years ago for health reasons, and passed less than six months later. Unfortunately, his nephew seems to be cut from the exact opposite cloth.
Abram is only a year or so older than me. He’s a hothead, power-hungry, impulsive, and quite vocal about his dislike that the High Council even exists. Ironically, it’s because of temperaments like his that the Council was formed in the first place.
Next to me, Viktor and Lukas scowl at the same time—and, amusingly, in the sameway, despite not being biologically related.
