Page 1 of Cruel Russian Pakhan
Chapter 1 - Lev
“So, you’re really going to marry Vera Rykov?”
I had just finished pouring my drink. I took a long sip before turning to face six pairs of eyes belonging to my siblings.
We met for dinner once a week at the family mansion, where business always followed in the lounge.
Marten had been the one who asked the question. A hothead, built like a boulder with a shaved head. The look in his cold blue eyes made grown men cower. His gruff voice was barely restrained.
Siblings or not, they knew better than to forget who led the Safin Bratva.
“Yes. It’s a needed move at this point,” I said, keeping my tone level.
Jaroslav’s steel-gray eyes narrowed as his lean frame stayed propped against the wall, hands shoved in his pants pockets. “So, you walked up to Artyom, asked for his sister's hand in marriage, and he agreed to this?”
He was my underboss, the strategist and executioner, always thinking three moves ahead. In that one sentence, I knew he’d already run through every angle, every possible outcome, before the words even left his mouth. His mind was just as lethal as the man himself.
“Yes.” My answer was short and to the point.
When I first sat down in a meeting with Artyom, he was two hours late. I knew exactly what he was doing—trying to assert control and test my patience. I let him, since I’d already mapped out every move. When he finally arrived, I told him I was ready to settle down. After all, I was thirty-eight, and itwas time to have a family. I told him I wanted a family just as powerful as ours to align with. I played to his ego, inflated that Rykov pride until he was practically preening, and made him believe I saw the Rykovs as equals. Then I told him Vera was the kind of wife a man like me needed: composed, loyal, raised in the life. That was all he needed to hear.
Pyotr let out a dry chuckle from across the room, sprawled in a chair. His black hair stuck up like he’d fought a hurricane and lost. As relaxed as he looked, if alerted to danger his demeanor would change, and there'd be a bullet in the head of the intruder before he knew what was happening. “And what’s he getting in return? Because we all know Artyom Rykov doesn’t do charity.”
“I’ll be opening up our Eastern European smuggling route to him.”
I caught the subtle shift in everyone’s expression. Handing over an international route was no small move. But they also knew I didn’t make half-assed decisions; there had to be a bigger payoff.
Avit raised an eyebrow, that trademark smirk tugging at his lips. “And what are you getting besides a pretty wife?”
I allowed a small smile to curl my lips. “My spies found out he runs an elite information brokerage system: CIA, Interpol, MI6.”
Avit let out a low whistle as I continued. “With access to intel like that, we’ll be able to level up our entire operation. In our world, information is power. And power is what keeps you relevant…”
“...and feared,” Marten added.
Ninel, the youngest of the Safin siblings at twenty-one, stared at me, her silver eyes wide. “But isn’t that exactly why the founding families are at each other’s throats? The fear that outsiders will put everyone at risk?”
In the generations before my leadership, Safin women weren’t allowed to sit in on business. But I changed that when I took over. My sisters, Ninel and Mariya, needed to understand the rules of our world, not just because they were born into it, but because they’d die in it, too. And while they were alive, I’d make damn sure they knew how to survive it.
“Insiders put us at risk, too. Not all Bratva factions are loyal to the organization, and not all Bratva leaders are trustworthy.” Jaroslav’s eyes met mine.
I held his gaze. “As long as power’s in play, even your closest ally can become a threat. Trust isn’t required in business, results are. You weigh the pros and cons, and if the scale tips in your favor, you move. But never blindly. You build for betrayal from the start.”
Jaroslav nodded, catching my hidden meaning, as I knew he would.
I turned to Ninel. “Whether the founding families like it or not, the world is changing. The Bratva has rules, our own code, our own justice. Punishment comes swiftly when lines are crossed. But alliances complicate that. When we tie ourselves to cartels or other syndicates, justice doesn’t always come cleanly; sometimes, it comes in more blood than we care to spill. Still, survival means walking that line. We adapt, or we die.”
I paused and took another sip of my drink, meeting each gaze before I went on. “Trust isn’t a luxury. It’s a calculated risk. So, creating new partnerships with people we don't trust, inside or outside, can no longer be avoided.”
“Like the Rykovs,” Mariya said, biting her lower lip.
“Yes, like the Rykovs,” I confirmed.
Her eyes searched mine. “Do you really think it’s wise to bring one of their own into our lives…into your home? What if she hurts you?”
For a moment, no one spoke. The air went still, as though Mariya’s question snatched the air from the room.
My jaw flexed as my hand tightened around the glass in my hand. I’d considered that possibility. If Vera ever tried to kill me on Artyom’s orders, she wouldn’t live long enough to deliver the message that she had succeeded. And as manipulative as Artyom was, I didn’t want to believe he was stupid enough to put his own sister in that kind of danger, because he wouldn't even have a body left to bury.
