Page 158 of Filthy Lies

I’m not. Not anymore.

Some lines cannot be uncrossed.

“Gentlemen,” I say, moving to the head of the conference table, “let’s discuss the implications of what we’re witnessing.”

They peel themselves away from the window, reluctantly abandoning the spectacle of the Solovyovs’ humiliation.

“This changes everything,” Boris asserts, his eyes darting nervously around the room. “The feds have gone too far. They’ve never moved against a family this aggressively.”

Mikhail nods, his heavy jowls quivering. “They’ll come for us next. We should temporarily suspend all operations. Go dark.”

“Freeze our assets,” another suggests.

“Move offshore,” says a third.

Their fear is a tangible thing, thickening the air, clouding their judgment. These are men who have butchered their enemies without remorse, yet the sight of federal agents has them shitting their thousand-dollar suits.

“Overreaction is weakness,” I caution. “So is panic.”

“With all due respect, Vincent,” Boris counters, “this isn’t panic. It’s self-preservation. The Solovyovs were untouchable until today. What makes you think we’re any different?”

“Because unlike the Solovyovs, we’re evolving,” I say. “While they clung to old methods—human trafficking, drug importation, extortion rackets—we’ve been quietly legitimizing our core business.”

“Legitimate business doesn’t pay like the other kind,” Dima scoffs. “And the feds don’t care if our money comes from shipping contracts or heroin. They just want us all in boxes.”

I slam my palm on the table, making them flinch collectively. “So is that your solution?” I hiss. “Cower? Hide? Wait for them to come knocking at our door?” I straighten up and shoot my cuffs. “Forgive me if I expected more from the leadership of the Akopov Bratva.”

A heavy silence falls over the room.

“The world is changing,” I continue, softer now. “We’re entering a new era. One where brute force alone won’t protect us. What we’re witnessing isn’t the end of our way of life—it’s an opportunity to cement our position while our competitors are removed from the board.”

I move around the table slowly, placing a hand on the shoulder of each man as I pass.

“The Costa Rica project provides perfect cover for our legitimate expansion. International real estate development that generates clean income while allowing us to move funds discreetly is the key to our future.” I pause, letting that sink in. “Meanwhile, we transition the more…traditionalaspects of our business into the background.”

“You’re talking about going soft,” Boris accuses.

“It comes down to two choices,” I counter. “Adaptation or extinction. Those are our options. The dinosaurs were the most fearsome creatures to walk the earth until the climate changed. Then they died, and the cockroaches inherited the world.”

I complete my circuit of the table and take my seat at its head, the position my father held for decades. The symmetry isn’t lost on me. I’m dismantling his legacy piece by piece while sitting in his chair.

And there’s more symmetry to come.

He tried putting a bullet in my head. I’m about to return the favor.

The only difference is, I won’t miss when I go to put one in his.

“Your father would never—” Mikhail begins.

“My father isn’t here,” I cut him off. “I am. And I’m telling you that we have two paths: adapt to a new reality or follow the Solovyovs into federal custody.”

The silence stretches, punctuated only by the distant wail of police sirens from the street below.

“How exactly do you propose we adapt?” Konstantin asks finally.

I allow myself a small smile. “I’ve prepared a transition plan. Key operations will continue under enhanced security protocols. Meanwhile, we accelerate legitimate business growth, particularly international ventures where federal jurisdiction is murky at best.”

“And you truly believe this will work?” Boris presses.

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