Page 6 of Lev
“Da, all good,” Ivan hums, taking a drink of Vodka.
“Pakhan mentioned that you two are my two Spies. Czar, you’re my Sovietnik, and Anatoly, you’re my Obshchak,” I say, looking at them.
I hear Ivan hiss, and he walks away, drinking his Vodka. I glance at him, pressing my lips; he looks pissed off.
“Da, Pakhan told us, and it’s a pleasure to have your six,” Czar hums, smiling.
“Da, we got you, Brat,” Anatoly hums, nodding.
“Great, now we need to get to work; I want to kill that svoloch’ that dared to take out our Pakhan,” I growl, gathering my brows.
We order some pizza, gather around the table, and make plans.
As soon as my Brats leave, Ivan starts grumbling. I watch him closely, resting my hands on my waist. It’s like a fucking jealousy switch was turned on. I’ve never seen Ivan so riled, so pissed off.
“I still think that we can’t trust your Brats. I don’t feel it’s right. It’s a mistake to make them your two spies. What’s up with that?”
“I make the decisions, and it’s right for them to be my Two Spies; they’re my blood!”
“I’m your blood! I’ve been with you since we were in diapers.”
I stare at Ivan, and I understand his anger, but he’s not my Brat. My Pakhan was confident that my Brats would have my back.
“I made my decision. You’re still my right-hand man,” I say, lowering my eyelids.
“It’s not the fucking same! I thought that I was going to be one of your Spies. What the fuck!”
“Ivan, that’s enough! Remember, I’m your Pakhan, and I will not tolerate your insolence!”
“Fuck you,” Ivan yells, walking out of the apartment.
A month later.
My Brigadier Varkov is as solid as you can be. He had Soldiers who were loyal and ready to work and now working for me. He handed over a file of what transpired, every detail of myPakhan’s death, and all the activity in the Bratva a few months leading up to his demise.
We watched the svoloch’ every day, ensuring that we had his schedule down to the last minute of his day.
It’s the middle of the night, the wind is cold, but that’s okay. I’m stretched out on my stomach, dressed in black tactical clothes, and wearing my black balaclava. I look through the scoop of my rifle. Yeah, I’m an excellent shot, and I’m going to fucking kill Balakin.
A few minutes later, a black SUV pulls up to the black back door. Then I watch the old svoloch’, Obshchak Balakin walks out of his club, swaying. He’s only a few feet away from his SUV. But since they’ve done this forever, they have their guard down. The mudak loves to drink his Vodka and feels confident of getting inebriated at his club.
Balakin has a clandestine gambling club that you can only enter by a special key. But we know his routine and the old svoloch’ never deviates. What a fool, we got him.
It's finally time for his annihilation. He won’t know what hit him.
I watch Balakin from the opposite building, lying flat on the roof with my sniper rifle. Of course, I’m taking him out. It has to be me, I’m the fucking Pakhan, the lion, the king.
I look through the scoop, press the trigger, and shoot him in the eye.
An eye for an eye, right?
I shoot consecutively, shooting him in his black, treacherous heart. Then I shoot his guards, stupid Soldiers.
Prologue Valentina
Valentina
Eleven years old.
