Page 140 of Vendetta Crown

"And where is Vyacheslav Petrovich?" Gregor asks, his voice dripping with feigned concern.

I almost smile.

He thinks he's found his escape hatch.

I reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out my phone. "Shall we ask him right now?"

The gathered pakhans exchange looks as I dial Potyomkin's number. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the electronic ring coming from my phone.

Potyomkin answers on the fourth ring. "Ruslan."

His voice fills the entranceway, clear and strong through the speaker. Gregor's eyes narrow.

"Vyacheslav Petrovich," I say, keeping my voice formal. "I have Gregor Iosifovich and the rest of theVorihere with me. We're discussing some important matters."

There's a brief pause, then Potyomkin chuckles. "Let me guess. The old man is making things difficult."

Gregor's face tightens, his jaw clenching at the disrespect.

I move to the point swiftly. "Vyacheslav Petrovich, would you like to put forth a motion to remove Gregor Iosifovich as pakhan of pakhans?"

"With pleasure," Potyomkin answers without hesitation. "I move to strip Gregor Belov of his title for betrayal of theVorithrough his secret negotiations with Semyon Mikonov. For his part in the deaths of Lev and Mikhail Dragunov."

I turn to look at my allies, feeling the weight of the moment. "Do I have a second?"

Korsakov steps forward immediately, his voice cutting through the tension. "I second the motion."

Gregor stares at us, his face an unreadable mask. But I can see the slight tremor in his hands as his fingers tighten around his cane.

"The motion has been made and seconded," I announce, looking around the gathered men. "We will now vote. Those in favor?"

Voronin's hand rises first. "Da."

Balakirev follows without hesitation. "Da."

Svarikov joins them. "Da."

"Slava?" I ask into the phone.

"Da." Potyomkin answers with laughter in his voice.

Then, Korsakov adds his vote as well. My eyes scan the rest of the gathered pakhans before turning back to Gregor, whose face is starting to pale.

"And what about the rest of you?" I ask. "Raise your hand now if you wish to vote with us."

One by one, the remaining pakhans raise their hands in affirmation. Some eagerly, some reluctantly, but they all recognize which way the wind is blowing. Some still choose to keep their hands down, but it doesn't matter.

There are more than enough votes to carry me through.

I meet Gregor's eyes as the final hands go up. "Two votes left."

And then I raising my own hand.

Gregor doesn't move. His eyes scan the faces of the men he once commanded, searching for any sign of loyalty and finding none.

The realization dawns on him slowly, like ice melting in the sun. Thirty years of power slipping away before his eyes.

He stares at me for what feels like forever, and then finally raises his voice to the gathered crowd.

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