Page 64 of Ruinous Need
“What’s changed?” Nikolay Bryusov asked me. He’s just taken over the council seat from his own father. We used to go to school together. “You didn’t want to lead back when your father died. I see no reason to believe you’re a different person than you were ten years ago.”
“This isn’t about me,” I reply smoothly.
We’ve workshopped this. I don’t want to lean in to my reputation for being a monster, but I also need to explain my sudden about-turn.
If I tell them all this is for a woman, a woman with no connection to the Bratva, who’s already at the center of Semyon’s war, I’ll gain no support. So I need to deceive them… While also gaining their trust. A difficult duality to achieve.
“This is about Semyon’s actions. I don’t want to lead, but I will step up in order to replace him.”
I try to make myself sound like the humble do-gooder who’s having leadership thrust upon him — when really I’m the selfish lone wolf who would kill everyone in this room if it meant I could stay with Lisette.
“Ten years,” calls out Vanya Petrova from the back.
Vanya is the lone woman on the Council, its oldest member and a formidable force. Her husband passed away back in the 90s and all of her children were too terrified of her to stop her from taking on the voting rights for herself.
Even as she slowly rises to speak to the room, she’s barely taller than the roomful of seated men. Her perfectly coiffed hair is covered with a patterned scarf.
“You’ve been out of this game for ten years, not showing up to our meetings, barely taking part, rampaging against the old Council with no regard for the fear you instill in their families.” Her tone is accusing but I know that Vanya’s always had a soft spot for me. She used to sneak me baked goods when my father forced me to attend Council meetings with him.
I soften my tone. “It wasn’t because I didn’t care, Vanya. And as for the old Council… I believe in vengeance for those who’ve wronged me and my friends, like everyone in this room does. That, I think we can all agree, is a Bratva value like nothing else. You’ll note that you were spared my knife, Babushka. I reservedthe death sentence for the ones who made the decisions leading to Lev’s death.”
“And your own father.”
I grind my teeth. “Him too. That was on my mother’s behalf, Vanya, which I’m sure you’d understand.”
“I know, Vitya.” Her voice quiets and her face is solemn. “I just think we should all be on the same page when it comes to your reputation. It’s certainly a bloody one. And that might make things difficult.”
“Bloody or not,” I address the room. “I believe I can unite the Bratva against Semyon. And I humbly ask for your support in overthrowing him.”
Markov claps me on the back when the ordeal is over. “Whatever they decide, we’ve got more support than we started with,” he assures me.
When you’re starting at zero, that’s not such an impressive achievement.
At night, without Lisette in my arms to comfort me, the memories crash through my mind.
Lev on the ground looking up at me with fear in his eyes, clutching at his chest, his hands coming away covered in thick blood.
The heavy hand of my father on my shoulder leading me away from the photograph hanging in the hallway where they were all smiling and alive.
And then later on, my mother. It was always going to happen. I know that I couldn’t have stopped it. But I would have given anything to be able to.
If everything I’ve done in the decade since she died, is try to separate myself from Papa. His poisonous legacy.
My last act as his son was putting a bullet between his eyes. He never saw that coming. He wasn’t the kind of man who expected the people he abused to ever fight back.
In the non-mafia world, there’s a law that you don’t inherit if you’re the reason someone died. No such thing in the Bratva.
So technically, I was the leader once I killed my father.
The thing was, I didn’t want it. Not at all. And Semyon wanted it so much.
And yet here I am. Scheming to take power the same way that my father did, in a reckless coup. Counting men’s lives like they’re nothing.
At least I’m doing it for love. He never was.
Lisette is walking Chekhov through the snow as I pull up to the mountain house.
Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her hands shoved in her pockets. She’s nodding her head as she listens to music. So fucking cute.
