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The silver haired Bratva king takes a deep breath, the lines on his face deepening heavily before he finally clears his throat.
“I am afraid…”
Oh shit.
“No.”
The word blurts from his mouth as he shakes his head.
“The Kalishnik family votes no toOkhrana Soveta.”
“Youmotherfucker—”
“Until,” Marko adds, shooting a cold look at Abram, “such time that it can be proven that Drazen is behind these attacks, or that we need to invoke this to defeat him, my answer isno.”
Viktor exhales slowly, shaking his head. Yuri nods. “Well then, the vote is done. The motion is not passed.”
“Cowards!” Abram snarls.
“That’s enough,” Yuri mutters back.
“Grow some fucking balls and—”
“I saidENOUGH.”
I almost grin at the way the room goes silent. Yuri’s a master at diplomacy. He can be cool and collected…until he isn’t. And then, when he lets loose, shit gets realreallyfast.
His eyes narrow at Abram. “It’s over, Abram. The vote is done. There will be no infighting between members of this table over the result of that vote. We can revisit the question in a month. Now, are there any more items to discuss this evening?”
The table is silent.
“Then we’re done here. Meeting adjourned.”
Abram and his second-in-command, Hadeon, storm angrily from the room with Demyan Ozerov close behind. I stand and make a move toward Anastasia, because I’ve got some serious questions about the way she voted. But she avoids me and slips from the room with her imposing number two, Danylo.
Marko at least has the decency to bid goodnight to everyone who is still there before he himself leaves, though he makes no move to speak about what just transpired.
“That was much closer than it should have been,” Ilya growls, leaning against the table and flicking his Zippo open and closed meditatively. He quit cigarettes years ago. The Zippo thing is a lingering stress reliever.
“Waytoo close,” Lukas murmurs.
“Anastasia’s vote was…surprising,” I say.
Yuri nods. “I agree. That was very odd. Demyan is obviously in Abram’s pocket, but I wouldn’t have pegged her to side with those two.”
“I’ll reach out to Misha,” Lukas frowns. As in Misha Tsavakov, another friend from Oxford Hills. While not officially Bratva, the Tsavakov empire is firmly in bed with families like mine, Ilya’s, and Lukas’. “Kristoff, Misha’s number two, was once somewhat close to Anastasia. He might be a better choice to get answers out of her.”
Viktor nods. “Solid idea, asking him.”
“Until then,” Yuri says quietly, even though we’re the only ones left in the room, “I say we make an effort to look into the Drazen situation. And I think it goes without saying, let’s all keep a close eye on Abram. His ambition might be venturing into dangerous territory.”
When we leave, I end up tagging along with Ilya and Lukas to go grab a drink.
“Welcome to the fucking table, huh?” Ilya smirks, clinking his glass to mine as he rolls his eyes. “Nothing like hitting the ground fucking running.”
Lukas chuckles. “It’ll get sorted out. Abram’s just a hothead. He’ll simmer down.” He glances at me. “Don’t let tonight shake you, man. Everyone’s got the fullest confidence in your ability to wear that crown solo.”
I nod and smile my thanks, and I drink with my friends as we discuss the table business, and other business, and the two of them being fathers now. And I do that all well, because I’m very, very good at wearing this mask.
