Forced to Marry the Bratva Monster (Utkin Bratva #5)
Chapter One - Akim
By the time I arrive, the majority of my Bratva associates are already inside the hidden warehouse in Cicero. Technicially, I would be called late. A skull bone etched into the heavy wooden door marks our territory, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m right on time.
A haze of smoky Chicago clouds cling to the gloomy night skyline, and it’s likely a mirror to the mood of the men behind these double doors. An emergency meeting has been called by the Pakhan, and this is a rare event that only happens when the entire Bratva organization is under threat. I let out a hard sigh, pushing the door open, ready for my spanking because this event is going down in my jurisdiction.
Inside the room there’s another billowing cloud of smoke, but it’s coming from the Pakhan and various associates puffing on cigars and cigarettes, clogging up the space. Hushed voices speak amongst themselves, the chatter dying down when I enter.
I know what the issue’s about, and it’s a good thing Jeff is our informant. He’s proven to be worth his weight in gold. That, and Ryurik’s wife came to her senses stepping onto the dark side and giving us the heads-up about the Chicago police department’s next move.
Mind you, I didn’t think the information would be supported or coming from her, given her disdain for the Bratva, and her dedication to the force, but that’s the thing about the Bratva. We take what’s ours or we break you in, and before you know it, you find yourself on our side, wondering why you ever decided to defy us in the first place.
I pull the lapels of my tailored navy-blue suit together, keeping my sunglasses covering my face, rolling back my shoulder with extreme confidence and taking my place just in time to hear the Pakhan speak.
“Ah. Good. Akim is here. We can officially begin the meeting.” I nod in the Pakhan’s direction, opting to take my glasses off out of respect. “We have a little bit of a problem it seems,” the Pakhan croaks, tippling the ash from his cigar into his ashtray as he sits at the head of the room with his own inside circle of advisors. It takes a long time to get to the seat he’s in, but I hope to one day take his spot. “And it’s a costly one in many ways. If we don’t rectify it, it could lead to serious repercussions.” He pauses, taking a sip of the amber liquid in the glass beside him. “But first, I want to welcome everybody for attending tonight. I know it was short notice.”
“What are we up against?” Ruslan asks as I survey the crowded room. There’s a minimum of over twenty-five men in the room from our Chicago district. A drink is placed in front of me from the bartender on site, and I gladly take it. The room is full of bodies, wooden tables arranged in a large semicircle surrounding the Pakhan.
“Good question. Akim, this relates to your operation.” The Pakhan directs his energy my way as I nod.
“Understood,” I reply, pissed off and annoyed that it has to do with my operation, but say nothing more, waiting for the Pakhan to inform the masses.
“We received a voice recording from our inside informant that the Chicago police are headed to the Port of Chicago, and this is where we receive important weaponry shipments. A dilemma presents itself, however, as we are not in an immediate position to move the shipments,” the Pakhan advises in a waspy voice, but the man is in his late sixties. I’ll give him a pass.
“Shit. If we can’t move the shipment, then what are we going to do?” one of the members calls out in a panic.
Gritting my teeth, I slam down the rest of my vodka, hating the fact we have to change tracks because of the fucking police. Our illegal weapons trafficking has been working a treat for years without interruption, so to have a disruption like this now, is a bitch to deal with.
“Yes. This is why we’re here, to figure out damage control,” the Pakhan advises calmly.
“We are bound to face loss. Are we not?” another shouts out, the alcohol warming up my system.
“Yes,” I reply evenly. “This is our largest shipment of weaponry to be received. We have new gun prototypes from Russia, which have not been introduced to the USA.” I know what I’m saying paints a grim picture, but I do have a plan. “And it’s not only going to affect us, but will affect our local and international clients.” Those clients are big players in US military operations and beyond. I was hoping these new gun prototypes would break us into the black market and step up to missiles and other hardcore weaponry, but this momentary stall is breaking our stride.
“Clients?” Dimitri, my cousin scoffs, causing me to glare in his direction. Ever since he locked his major contract for Raven’s Peak, he’s been a little too high and mighty, but I know why. He’s gunning for a seat next to the Pakhan, and out of any of the Utkins, because of his huge money haul back into the Bratva, he’s in a good position to achieve it. “Don’t worry about clients; it’s the law we have to be concerned with.”
My jaw ticks as I regard him slowly thinking it over. “I’m in agreement. However, we do have deep networks, but maybe those networks aren’t deep enough. It’s a crapshoot. We don’t have all our informants lined up in a way that’s of best use to us.”
“Can we redirect them?” Dimitri questions, and I shut it down.
“No. They already have their hands on the information,” I relay in slow deliberation, signaling to the bartender serving drinks for another vodka. She prepares one, sets it in front of me, and I take a sip.
“The main issue is the law. They’re going to be at our doorstep soon enough. This is going to be an issue, Akim. We have to decide who is taking the fall,” one of the byki calls out in objection. Trust the bodyguards to be so vocal, when really, they should be focused on doing their jobs.
Narrowing my eyes at the man, I scoff as the Sovietnik speaks to bring calm to the situation. “I’ll get to work with the lawyers and with my higher-up contacts to smooth over everything. It might not stop a conviction, but it will buy us some time, perhaps.”
“No need for all of that, counselor,” I reply in a low monotone.
“Why’s that, Akim?” he replies as a slow smile emerges on my face.
“Because… we have no involvement with this shipment of goods whatsoever.” Sitting up straight, I address the room, the plan coming together in my head. “All we have to do is back off. Don’t say a fucking word.”
“What good is that going to do?” someone calls out, irritating me with their stupidity.
“What good it will do is I work with one logistics partner. Only one. He’s not of us. He can take the blame. Don’t you get it?” I reply in mild sarcasm but keeping the steadiness of my tone.
“Ahhh, I see,” the counselor replies, chuckling under his breath and raising his glass. “I should have known you would have a plan, Akim.”
“Of course. When have I not?” I punch back with a touch of arrogance, Dimitri and Luka shaking their heads. “The way I see it is, our logistics partner is aware of the rules, and they’ve broken them by bringing the police our way. They’ve dropped the ball and someone who works for them has tipped the police off, either that or he has a mole on the inside. Either way, he should pay.”
Boris, my right hand grins, nodding his head in agreement. “That’s it. Perfect solution. Michael can take the long fall.”
Michael Jane has been our logistics partner for several years, and we pay him an extraordinary amount of money to keep our shipments hush-hush. He’s done his job well, but this shipment being raided is going to cost us millions of dollars and tarnish our name to both our black-market clients and military partners if we can’t replace their shipment. Some of the prototypes aren’t replaceable. I can’t have them losing trust in us.
Now I’ve got to find a way to double the shipment the next time and find another logistics partner.
“Exactly, the company’s name is called Freight Waves, and it’s listed under his name. We can take a hands-off approach,” I explain to the group.
“Yes. But the shipment is linked to the Bratva, so how can we place blame on Michael Jane?” the Pakhan asks as I grin.
“The plan is simple. We send our men to Michael’s office to tamper with the evidence. That evidence being the daily manifest shipments that have our guns listed on them. Make it as plain as day. As far as we’re concerned, the only shipments we’re bringing in is frozen seafood and canned goods from the Soviet Union,” I explain in an offhanded manner, shrugging my shoulders.
“Very good. Very good,” the Pakhan agrees.
“The way I see it, the police can’t do anything if they don’t have any evidence.” I smirk, feeling confident about the plan.
“That’s right, and if we set the trap just right, Michael Jane doesn’t stand a chance. How was the information leaked to the cops in the first place?” Boris questions, and it’s almost as if he’s summoning the very questions I want answered even if I already have my theories about who might have done it.
“As far as we know, there was a bundle at the port authority, and one of the usual foremen on the ground wasn’t around. He’s one of ours, so Michael didn’t dot his i’s or cross his t’s to confirm who the best contact would be when unloading the shipment,” the Pakhan explains.
Fucking idiot. I drain the rest of my drink, agitated that our normally smooth operations are being interrupted. “That would be right,” I grumble under my breath.
“It’s going to work out fine. I like the plan,” Boris advises with a firm head nod.
“The question is, what to do about Michael?” one of the associates calls out.
Jutting out my bottom lip, I shrug once more. “There’s nothing to do about Michael. He’s not Bratva. We protect blood first. Let’s not get sentimental here.” I lower my voice, but I know for a fact the words I say carry considerable weight amongst my associates.
I’m sure everyone is thinking over the plan, but I could care less if they like it or not. It’s going to work. Unfortunately, the burden of care was stamped out of my soul long ago, lost somewhere in the bowels of Moscow, and buried deep in my early childhood never to return.
“Yes. Agreed.” Boris chuckles, the room reverberating with contemplative silence as I study the Pakhan, waiting for his decision.
“We, too, agree. Very well, Akim. Proceed with your plan, but given the circumstances, I want you to understand this can never happen again.”
My forearm twitches at the wrist slap from the Pakhan. Michael, you scum. You’ve embarrassed me in front of the Pakhan. Now it’s time for you to pay.
“Understood. It will be a clean raid, I assure you. And Michael should be more than happy to take the fall because he’s the one who was complacent enough to get caught,” I remind the others in the room as they slowly come around to the idea.
“Good. I expect a daily report until he is picked up and arrested. Stay vigilant, and I’ll work on eradicating this incident from our records with the police,” the Pakhan advises. “This meeting is now adjourned.
Chairs screech as everyone rises to their feet, low murmurs circulating, but I quickly reconvene with Boris and Luka, my brother, afterwards knowing the exact men to put in place for the office tamper.
“And?” he asks as all peel out, going their separate ways, nightfall tracking us.
“And what? There’s nothing to worry about. The police will back off. You heard the Pakhan. Besides we have Omerta Files. There has to be someone in the police department we can blackmail as a distraction,” I tell him, tempted to light up a cigar.
“Good point. I wonder when the police will hit the docks,” Boris speculates, the whole debacle already a thorn in my side.
“I’ve got surveillance on my phone. As soon as they do hit, I’m going to know about it,” I inform him. “The security team had already been updated before I got here. All the men are in place. Everything is already running like clockwork.”
I stare up at the crescent moon, holding the lessons of my father in my psyche. It’s been drilled deep in the fibers of me as a Bratva man. Always be ten steps ahead of your enemy. Don’t take weapons from the hands of authority members. No. Instead, we sell them to them. Simple Bratva rules, none of them to be broken.
“You always do, Akim. You always do.” Boris and I walk together to our vehicles with the knowledge the Bratva will get off lightly.
Michael Jane… you knew the cost, and now it’s time you pay for your reckless sins.