Page 17 of Untouchable Queen
TATIANA
Smoothing my green wrap dress, I take a deep breath as Lucian’s car pulls to a stop outside Nebo, my family’s nightclub where I’ve called my men to gather. From the way Liam and Igor eye the car with blatant suspicion, I get an early glimpse of the resistance I suspect my men are going to be giving up today. Not that I can blame them. Yesterday, we were enemies with Lucian Agosti and his men. Now, I have to find a way to convince my men to stand down from the war I had them riled up to fight to the bloody end.
“I’ll find my own ride back,” I tell the driver as I grasp the handle of my door.
“Boss said to pick you up when you’re ready,” he counters, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
“I don’t really care what he said,” I state flatly.
From the driver’s expression, I can tell he doesn’t want to disobey Lucian, and I purse my lips. I’m more than eager to do what I can to inform my new husband that he will not be in control of my life, but putting his men in unnecessarily challenging positions won’t exactly endear me to them.
“Fine. I’ll call you when I’m done.” I don’t wait for a response as I slip out of the vehicle and close the door with unnecessary force.
Squaring my shoulders, I approach the club, giving Liam and Igor each a nod as I approach. Their shoulders relax when they see me, and Igor leans in to pull open the nightclub’s heavy front door.
“We’re ready for you,” Liam states, a subtle way of hinting at the fact that I’m late. “Your sister’s already inside.”
“Good.”
Stepping into Nebo’s cool interior, I follow the dark hallway lit by a soft ribbon of blue-white light flowing straight through the walls on either side. Then the dim hallway opens up onto an overlook, two stories above the club’s massive glass dance floor. On the average night, bright squares of light shift colors beneath the surface every few seconds to make the space feel like a giant disco ball of sorts. But since the club hasn’t opened yet, the bright fluorescent ceiling lights are on instead, flooding the space with a harsh white light.
Nearly twenty men are gathered on the balcony one floor below me—my captains waiting to hear what the plan is now that our old one has been obliterated. Natasha stands with them, my sister’s slight frame looking diminutive compared to my father’s hulking men.
Stationed near the foot of the stairs, she seems to notice me before anyone else does. As soon as I reach the landing, she looks up at me with relief, her silver eyes—so much like our father’s—glassy with unshed tears. In so many ways, my sister reminds me of our late father. She’s stubborn and strong-willed and quick to solve problems by eliminating the obstacle rather than looking at the bigger picture. She’s also incredibly loyal and kind and supportive. She believes in me—in the leader I can be—and every time she looks at me, I see him in her gaze. God, I misshim. I miss his wisdom and understanding. I wonder if he would have seen the trap Lucian set for me if he were still alive. Maybe that’s why he’s dead. Then again, I don’t think any of us saw the Italians making a move against him in the first place. Don Agosti caught us all by surprise.
“Thank you for your patience,” I say to capture my men’s attention, letting my voice carry through the club as I make my way down the steps to the lower floor.
The men’s low conversation dies down, and they all turn in my direction to listen—not that they’re so eager to obey as Lucian’s men seem to be. Since my father’s death, my role as theirpakhanshahas felt more like pulling teeth than leading an army. At least the men respect me well enough as my father’s daughter to pay attention when I speak, but that doesn’t guarantee their cooperation.
As I come to a stop next to Natasha, I’m sorely tempted to take her hand—both to give myself confidence and to reassure her because I can see the storm that must have been brewing inside her since yesterday. But I can’t just reach out to her. Every gesture means something in our world, and right now, the men need to know I’m strong enough to stand on my own, to lead them without my father’s support—even if we lost the battle yesterday because of me, because I wasn’t smart enough to see the game Lucian was playing. I’ve been too distracted by the conflict within my ranks, I didn’t see the signs until it was too late.
The truth is the Sokolov Bratva has been in chaos since my father died. I’ve done my best to take command of our family since then, but it has required all my time and attention to take up the torch because I’ve faced significant pushback from within. It’s stupid really—the prejudice that’s made my life so difficult recently—but that’s how our world works. Traditionally,only men could inherit their fathers’ legacies, and my father’s men weren’t prepared to accept a woman in charge.
Until now, my sister and I have been heavily guarded secret assets to our family’s success. My father intended a gradual shift in power that would allow the men time to see my worth over time. We’d started the process—so the men know me—and I knew I would have to deal with taking control at some point. My father always intended to leave the family business to me, but rather than a slow transition, I’ve been dropped into the role before my father had the chance to properly prepare the men to swallow that kind of pill. And that means, for my first few months in charge, I’ve been dealing with conflicts both outside the Bratva, and within.
“I know yesterday’s outcome was not exactly what we were hoping for,” I start, resting my hand on the balustrade for support. “But in a roundabout way, it does solve the conflict that was going to have to be settled eventually between us and the Italians.”
The men shift restlessly, their hard expressions very clearly indicating that they’re not ready to let go of what happened. I can’t blame them. Their belovedpakhanwas murdered. They’re operating under a woman they never imagined they would have to accept as a leader. And I’m not handling the conflict with the same decisive victory I imagine they think my father could have led them to. Maybe he could have, but I think Lucian Agosti is proving a far more challenging adversary than any of us realized.
“No one hates the Italians more than I do for what they did. They took my father, a man you all swore loyalty to and have shown it without question for decades. But this alliance will save countless lives. It leaves us as a free Bratva, able to continue our business and rebuild rather than allowing the fight to slowly bleed our numbers and starve our business. So we will make this alliance work?—”
“We’re just going to roll over and play dead, then?” Renat demands, his curly red beard jutting forward from his chest as he lifts his chin defiantly.
Beside me, Natasha stiffens, her eyes casting quickly in my direction. It’s massively disrespectful to cut me off, and I clench my fists, willing myself to keep my cool as I debate whether it’s worth putting him in his place for it.
“We’re going to learn to cooperate—just like we did with the Kings. Because in the long run, having allies is better than facing enemies on all sides.”
Gleb tsks, shaking his head as he crosses his arms. “This is what happens when they leave a woman to do a man’s job. She ends up in bed with the enemy. We’ll all be working for the Italians before you know it.”
Low chuckles ripple through the group of men, along with a few words of agreement, and my temper flares. They make it sound like Iwantedthis. Like marrying Lucian was for me, not to protect them—to save their lives along with my sister’s. I can feel Natasha’s fury, in her stillness. When I cast my eyes in her direction, she’s watching me, waiting for permission.
I give a single nod.
In a flash, she’s moving across the space between me and the men. Something glints in her palm, and then she’s dipping low in front of Gleb, her French braid whipping around her face as her leg sweeps out in front of her, catching his knee. The towering Russian hits the floor with a pained cry as my sister uses his own body weight against him, rolling him as she wrenches his arm behind his back. Pinning it there with her knee, she grips a handful of his wild red hair and jerks his head back, her blade coming to rest against his exposed throat—all in a matter of seconds.
The rest of the men stumble back, eyes wide as they watch my sister bring down one of the strongest captains I have with ease.Gleb groans, his free hand pressing against the floor to try and relieve the hold she has on his hair, but she leans in to whisper something in his ear, and he freezes.
“Any more you’d like to say about the Sokolov women now, Gleb?” I demand, stepping lightly down from the bottom step so I can see his eyes.
