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“I love you Lina.”
“I love you too, Fina.”
The following day, we go on a shopping trip to find the perfect wedding dress. The bridal boutique in upscale Manhattan boasts exquisite decor, complete with plush seating areas and opulent chandeliers that bathe the room in a warm and inviting glow. The air is infused with the delicate fragrance of fresh flowers and subtle perfume, further enhancing the ambiance of romance and elegance. The expansive showroom showcases rows upon rows of breathtaking gowns, each one more captivating than the last.
The boutique's staff exudes expertise and professionalism, readily offering their guidance throughout the selection process. From the moment we cross the threshold, my mother and I are treated with the utmost respect and care, as if we were esteemed royalty.
Wow! The wedding gowns are truly captivating, adorned with intricate beading, delicate lace, and exquisite embroidery that glisten and dazzle in the light. The fabrics, ranging from luxurious silk to smooth satin and ethereal tulle, embody elegance and grace. Each gown can be expertly tailored to complement the bride's unique body shape and style, with meticulous fittings and skillful alterations to ensure a flawless and personalized fit.
As I step into the dresses, my mother diligently captures the moments with her camera, eager to showcase her impeccable choice for her future son-in-law. One particular gown catches my attention—a stunning white silk creation. Its skirt gracefully flows into a sweeping train that trails behind me, exuding an air of regality. Though undeniably exquisite, the dress fails to make me feel at ease. Its revealing nature and fitted bodice accentuate my figure, making my ample bosom appear even more prominent. The row of buttons adorning the front seems to taunt me, threatening to reveal too much with every deep breath I take. Why did I agree to try on this dress in the first place? Despite my reservations, my mother is enamored by its beauty and promptly places an order, eager to see me walk down the aisle in it.
We exit the store, my heart heavy with disappointment as my mother finalizes the purchase of the dress I despise. To make matters worse, she insists on dragging me to a fancy restaurant where I reluctantly settle for a salad instead of indulging in the comforting delights of spaghetti or lasagna.
As we sit at the table, my mother can't contain her curiosity any longer. "Why are you so against marrying Mario?" she probes, her voice filled with genuine bewilderment. "He is a catch, a man of means."
"He's too old for me, Mama," I respond in a hushed tone, my frustration evident. "And he's a thug. I can't stand him."
My words seem to grate on her nerves, evident by the annoyance that flashes across her face. "What kind of daughter refuses to comply with her father's wishes for a good marriage?" Her voice drips with disapproval, her disappointment palpable.
"I want to marry for love," I mutter, my words almost lost in the air.
She chuckles dismissively, the sound hollow and devoid of warmth. However, the smile abruptly fades from her face, replaced by a chilling glint in her eyes that sends shivers down my spine.
Chapter 2
Nikolai
Fucking Chicago, the iconic "Windy City" and the historical playground of Al Capone, my personal favorite gangster. Here I am, stepping out of my sleek private jet that just touched down at a secluded terminal in O'Hare airport. The sharp breeze instantly caresses my face, a stark reminder that I've entered unfamiliar territory. My purpose here is clear: to reclaim what rightfully belongs to me.
My name is Nikolai Fedorov, a seasoned assassin who has faithfully served the Bratva for countless years. Renowned for my exceptional skills and unyielding brutality, I have earned a fearsome reputation among our ranks. Having held the esteemed title of Vor within the London Bratva, I now find myself in Chicago, prepared to assume the mantle of Vor for the esteemed Chicago Bratva. As Vor, I bear the weighty responsibility of maintaining order and ensuring strict adherence to the Bratva's unwavering code of conduct.
The Russian Bratva has gained infamy for its ruthless tactics and wide-ranging criminal operations, encompassing illicit activities such as drug trafficking, arms smuggling, money laundering, and extortion. Employing a combination of violence and intimidation, we stop at nothing to accomplish our objectives, often leaving a trail of high-profile assassinations and bombings in our wake. It comes as no surprise that governments across the globe regard us with apprehension and trepidation.
Despite concerted efforts by law enforcement to dismantle our criminal empire, the Bratva remains resilient and continues to flourish. Our operations transcend the boundaries of Chicago, as we maintain strong connections with other organized crime syndicates spanning the globe. The web of influence we wield allows us to extend our reach and solidify our presence, despite the relentless pursuit of justice by those who seek to bring us down.
The Antonovich brothers, the fuckers who had previously overseen the operations of the Chicago Bratva, have been arrested, resulting in the transfer of their once-held territory to the Chicago Outfit. However, I am determined to reclaim control of the Bratva's dominion. I am well aware that this endeavor will not come without challenges; I must exercise cunning, strategy, and an unwavering commitment to achieving my goals.
Stepping out of O'Hare airport, I inhale the crisp Chicago air, instantly sensing the unfamiliarity of the city. However, adaptability has become second nature to me, forged through a life as an ex-Bratva assassin. Relocating frequently, executing missions with calculated precision has shaped my existence. Yet, this time, my purpose transcends a mere mission; it revolves around seizing control of the power vacuum left by the Antonovich Brothers.
A daunting night lies ahead, demanding a comprehensive gathering of intelligence regarding the Outfit's activities within the Bratva's realm. I must uncover those who remain loyal to our cause and identify those who have switched sides. Initiating the process of reclaiming what rightfully belongs to me commences now. I am resolved to employ every means necessary to achieve my objective, leaving no stone unturned.
As I settle into the waiting black limousine, my gaze fixates on the passing scenery as we make our way towards Velvet Handcuffs, the strip club once owned by the Antonovich brothers, now closed due to the Feds. Surprisingly, the streets exude an unexpected tranquility, devoid of the familiar presence of the Bratva. It seems the Chicago Outfit has established a firm grip on the city.
My strategy revolves around rallying Bratva soldiers, instilling our presence within the city's fabric. The reopening of Velvet Handcuffs will serve as a powerful statement, a symbol of our resurgence. Through calculated intimidation, I will ensure the Outfit's men comprehend that the Bratva has arrived to stake its claim, unyielding in our pursuit of what is rightfully ours.
Aware that my reputation as a former Bratva assassin precedes me, I bear the weight of proving myself to the men I am about to lead. My determination burns fiercely as I embark on the task of fortifying the Chicago Bratva, surpassing previous levels of strength and influence. I am prepared to venture into the depths of darkness, to destroy any obstacle in pursuit of my success.
I arrive at what remains of Velvet Handcuffs. What a dump! The state of this place is a fucking disaster. Surveying the wreckage before me, I am acutely aware that rebuilding will be time-consuming. My exploration leads me to the back office, where I lean against the desk amidst the chaos of strewn papers, a clear aftermath of the fucking Feds. The negligence and arrogance of the Antonovich Brothers have left the Chicago Bratva in shambles. They were careless. Too much hubris.
The vast majority of the Antonovich brothers' soldiers have either faced arrests or been deported, leaving only a handful remaining. It is imperative that I reach out to Lev. Lev Volkova, the Vor of the New York Bratva, holds the key to my need for manpower. I must assemble an army to execute my plans for Chicago. Retrieving my cellphone from the pocket of my suit coat, I dial his number.
"Hello, Lev. I'm in need of your assistance," I state firmly.
"Ah, Nikolai Fedorov," Lev responds, a chuckle evident in his voice. "I've been expecting your call. So, you've taken control of the Chicago Bratva. I hope you fully grasp the gravity of what you've entangled yourself in."
"I am fully aware of the situation I've stepped into. Velvet Handcuffs has been forcefully closed by the feds. Our accounts have been frozen, and our records and computers seized. It's highly likely that our drug dealers have defected to the Outfit. I require reinforcements."
"I am well-informed about the challenges plaguing Chicago. The Bratva has relinquished all drug territories to the Outfit. I will mobilize soldiers to support you. I have the perfect individuals for the task at hand," Lev offers willingly.
