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The dimly lit backroom of "El Canto" reeks of aged rum and hushed secrets. Bare bulbs cast long shadows as merengue music faintly penetrates from the main floor. Across from me sits Carlos "Caribe" Rodriguez, head of the Rodriguez Syndicate, a formidable Dominican crew known more for their cunning than brute force. Their operations weave through the Five Boroughs, a web of influence that even the traditional big players have learned to navigate around.
Carlos, dark eyes sharp under hooded brows, assesses me. I return the look, showing no fear.
"And yet, New York feels familiar," I reply, my tone measured. "Busy streets, crowded markets, opportunities around every corner."
Carlos smiles, a slow-spreading, confident grin. "And what makes you think the Rodriguez Syndicate needs what you're selling?"
"Expansion," I say, simply. "You have the West, I've got my eyes on the East. Alone, we're formidable. Together, unstoppable. The market's big enough, Caribe. Why waste time and resources clashing?"
His fingers drum on the table, a rhythmic sound of contemplation. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. Walking into my territory, proposing partnership."
"It's a proposal built on mutual respect," I counter, reaching for the shot glass filled with amber liquid. "For traditions, territories. No overstepping, just handshakes."
Carlos laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "You're something else, Samuil. But I've heard about you, about your Bratva. Ruthless. Efficient."
“War’s expensive,” I shrug, “Bad for profit.”
His gaze lingers on mine, calculating. Then, nodding slowly, he says, "Alright, Russian. Let's give this a go.Tentativemente."
My lips twitch in a near-smile. "That's all I ask."
Carlos extends his hand, and I grasp it firmly. In our realm, this means more than any signed contract. "Hope you're ready for New York, Samuil. It's wilder than any beast you've tamed before."
"I'm looking forward to the challenge," I respond, a hint of a threat underlying my words.
Exiting "El Canto," the cacophony of New York engulfs me, a stark contrast to the tension-filled quiet of moments ago. This new alliance promises a fresh chapter in a city that constantly evolves. But as with everything in this life, only time will tell if it was worth the gamble.
New York’s noise is unrelenting—sirens, chatter, car horns, street performers, the distant hum of the subway. Buildings scrape the sky, pedestrians dart in every direction. Yet as I stroll through its convoluted streets, there’s a smile tugging at my lips. This city, with all its chaos, feels right. Three weeks in, and already the landscape of its underworld is shifting under the weight of our presence.
The Bratva's reputation has always been one of resilience and tenacity, and New York offers a unique challenge, a convergenceof ambition, diverse cultures, and relentless competition. But more than my desire to establish our territory, there's a personal yearning driving me.
Fatherhood.
The very word used to seem alien, a distant concept reserved for others. But now, the anticipation of our child, the blend of Ana's fierce spirit and my own unyielding resolve, stirs emotions I'd never expected. I imagine cradling our baby, watching as their little fingers grip mine. Those moments of vulnerability, of pure unadulterated love have become a beacon, guiding my every step.
I come across a small flower stall, its vibrant colors contrasting the gray cityscape. The elderly vendor, her skin weathered, her eyes sharp, greets me with a nod. I’ve frequented her stall over the past week, and for good reason. Among the roses and lilies, she sellsGvozdika,a Russian variety of carnation. The rich red petals, their fragrance subtly sweet, are a rare find in this sprawling metropolis—the only one in the city, as far as I can tell.
"For the missus?" she asks, wrapping a bouquet for me.
I nod. "Same as always."
The vendor smiles knowingly. "It's the little touches of home that keep us grounded. Enjoy your evening."
Flowers in hand, I weave through the crowds, the anticipation building. Every step brings me closer to our safe haven, to Ana. I can almost feel her presence, the warmth of her embrace, the softness of her lips. The city may be vast, daunting, a beast of its own, but in her arms, everything falls into place.
The sun begins its descent, casting an orange hue upon the streets, and I hasten my pace. The challenges New York presents—both professional and personal—can appear enormous, but with Ana by my side, they feel surmountable.
Rounding a corner, the familiar facade of our apartment building comes into view. Thoughts of the Bratva, of alliances and territories, fade. In this moment, it’s about family, about us.
The streets might be filled with the unknown, with potential and pitfalls, but tonight, they lead me home. To her. To us. And the promise of the life we're building together.
As I push through the grand double doors of our upscale apartment complex, the lobby is a hushed symphony of sophistication. Polished marble, muted gold accents. But my focus isn’t on the luxury. I catch the young woman at the reception desk casting a glance my way. A tinge of unease paints her features.
“Mr. Nicolaevich,” she greets, her voice a little shaky. "The security installation team finished their job on your penthouse a few hours ago. All set now."
Security installation? I hadn’t scheduled anything. I narrow my eyes, searching her face for signs of deceit. "Who authorized them?"
Her eyes widen slightly. "I thought you did. They had all the proper paperwork."
