Chapter Three
Tatiana
TAP United Logistics, Forest Parkway, bordering Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, Fulton Industrial District, Atlanta, United States…
The morning sun glinted off the massive windows of the corner office, casting colorful patterns across the plush carpet. The space was a testament to power and wealth—all chrome, glass, and stark white surfaces softened only by the plush leather of the executive sofa and the abstract art pieces carefully chosen to complement the minimalist décor.
From the thirty-story vantage point, Tatiana Polov had an unobstructed view of Hartsfield-Jackson’s myriad pattern of runways, where commercial and private jets arrived and departed with a precise choreography she once dreamed of leading.
“I already gave you my answer,” she said with measured indifference. On more than one occasion, his grandfatherly patience, what little existed, had been tested and stretched to accommodate the unsanctioned petulance of his granddaughter. If it had been anyone else, it would’ve been met with a thunderous rebuke augmented with a generous dose of physical pain.
Blessed with the genes of a titan and in his seventh decade, Gregor Polov commanded attention. His Herculean bulk made him a giant among men. A shock of steel-gray hair swept forward across his head like a crown, and his ice-blue eyes stared down at others from his towering height, making them feel small in his presence.
Ruthless and unforgiving, Polov had watched dispassionately as those who had betrayed his trust lost their bowels while under extreme interrogation. If found beyond redemption, a quick nod would send the offender to the hangman’s noose, where they would entertain a select audience as they shuddered and twitched at the end of a rope.
As the leader of the Polovskaya Bratva, Polov was feared from Brighton Beach to the white sand beaches of Baja, Mexico. His reputation for meting out indiscriminate cruelty was on such a grand scale, it would make Stalin blush.
As for Tatiana, unaware of his true cruel nature, she had long learned how to deflect the boisterous displays of her grandfather’s wrath.
“ Yebat’ , Tatiana! You are just as stubborn as your father used to be,” he growled, showering quarterly reports with hot coffee as he slammed her favorite coffee mug onto the desk.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she muttered as she quickly snatched them up . With a sigh, she crossed her legs with deliberate slowness as she brushed an imaginary speck from her Armani pantsuit. Tatiana’s height gave her movements a natural grace. Her lean frame curved in ways that turned heads wherever she went. Long blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face that could disarm the most steadfast opponent. The azure depths of her eyes, veiled by dark lashes, could shift from demure to sharpness in an instant, while her full, pouty lips often curved into a smile that mostly reflected pure joy. Even the simple gesture of crossing her legs and the casual brush of her hand carried the practiced elegance of someone who knew exactly how to command a room. “Please control your temper, Dedushka .”
His face bloomed red at her dismissive tone. Once, she would have cowered before such a display. Once, she had been the dutiful granddaughter, hanging on every word and soaking up his lessons like a sponge—learning to strip down a Glock blindfolded and memorizing the complex web of bribes and favors that kept their empire running. She had mastered the subtle art of adjusting the recalcitrant behavior of potential clients by issuing discreet ultimatums neatly wrapped in diplomatic language.
A Boeing 747 caught her attention as it descended. Its massive frame gracefully touched down on runway 27R. Her heart clenched with familiar pain as she watched it taxi past. That should have been her up there, commanding tons of steel through the clouds, not stuck in this gilded cage because her grandfather had deceived her for all those years.
“Another dream wasted,” she muttered, barely aware she had spoken aloud.
She remembered the pride in her grandfather’s eyes as she excelled in his “lessons” in the tricks of the trade—combat training with ex-Spetsnaz instructors, weapons handling with his best assassin, Skull, aka Ivor Smirnoff. He even taught her the intricate concept of international money laundering.
Gregor Polov had molded her into the perfect successor—or so she had thought.
What a crock of shit! It had been a rude awakening to realize what a fool she had been, believing the fairy tales of becoming the first female Pakhan, the Ice Princess of the Polovskaya Bratva, and of modernizing the organization for a new era.
The truth of the matter, having been hidden all along, had left her bitter and resentful. She had been groomed not to lead but to follow. It was a man’s world, and she had hit the glass ceiling. Never to advance beyond the limits of a well-trained subordinate whose job was to charm and entice clients at lavish venues while her male counterparts took care of the real business by cutting lucrative deals and forging new alliances in the white crime industry. Gregor Polov had sworn never to embark on the darker side of the underworld.
For years, she questioned why her grandmother had told her the dark secrets of the family. Surely, she had known where it would lead. At fifteen, she had painted her world in fairytale colors, blind to the shadows lurking at the edges. Devouring volumes of mafia romance novels paved the way for how she believed her life would turn out. Now she knew better. Her grandmother’s revelations about their family’s true nature hadn’t been meant to empower her. Instead, they were meant to bind her more tightly to the family’s will.
“You are annoying me,” Gregor snarled, jerking her out of the bitter reverie. “Your rebellious behavior serves no purpose other than to antagonize me further, young lady. Knock it off and show some respect.”
The rebuke only succeeded in pinching the corners of her eyes to express a hidden smile. Let him rage. She was done being the good little princess in his criminal kingdom. She had built something of her own here—legitimate, powerful, and completely beyond his control. The view might not be from a cockpit, but at least it was hers.
A familiar surge of pride swelled Tatiana’s chest as she gazed at the sprawling complex that was TAP United Logistics. Every brick, every inch of concrete, and every printed logo represented countless hours of sweat and dedication. She had built this empire with her own hands, her own mind, and her own determination—not with blood money or strongarm tactics like her grandfather’s lawless empire.
The irony wasn’t lost on her that she had proven herself a better strategist than any of her male relatives. At twenty-three, while they were still playing at being tough guys in Atlanta’s back alleys, she had already earned her MBA, graduating summa cum laude. She had seen the potential in this patch of land bordering Hartsfield-Jackson—the world’s busiest airport—when everyone else saw just another industrial lot.
Starting with nothing but two secondhand trucks and an office barely bigger than a closet, she had worked eighteen-hour days and slept on a fold-out sofa between client meetings. Word spread quickly in Atlanta’s business community about the young logistics prodigy who could make the impossible happen. Need urgent medical supplies transported across state lines in the middle of a snowstorm? TAP could handle it. Last-minute change in shipping manifests for a Fortune 500 company? No problem for TAP’s state-of-the-art tracking system.
Within five years, that tiny office had grown into a thirty-story testament to a legitimate business concern. The warehouse complex sprawled across ten acres, its loading bays constantly busy with the fleet of TAP trucks coming and going. The crown jewels of her achievement were two recently acquired Boeing cargo planes with the TAP logo emblazoned on their tails. The day would come when she would carve out the time to pilot one of them since she obtained a pilot’s license five years ago.
Yet her grandfather had dismissed all her achievements with a wave of his hand, as if building a multi-million-dollar business was no more impressive than learning to tie her shoes. Her grandmother’s only comment had been to ask when she planned to start a family, as if running one of the Southeast’s largest logistics companies was just a childish hobby to keep her occupied until marriage.
And now... now they wanted to take it all away. Force her to marry one of their associates, who no doubt intended to utilize her life’s work as a front for their criminal empire.
“This is not a request, vnuchka ,” Gregor said, cutting through her thoughts. “It’s time to forge ahead. The organization needs—”
“The organization?” Tatiana’s laugh mocked the hollow sincerity of her grandfather’s words. “You mean your organization, Dedushka . There was never going to be a place for me except as an exquisite lure to pucker and wiggle on the end of a hook to entice those sharkskin-suited half-wits you call associates . And now you expect me to just drop everything I’ve struggled to build into a successful business to come dancing along to your tune because it’s convenient for you? Do you have any idea at all how absurd and offensive that is to me? Apparently not.”
She rose sharply from her desk and walked to the window. Below, a TAP truck was pulling out of the yard with its distinctive blue and silver livery gleaming in the morning sun. Each vehicle in her fleet represented a contract won through skill and determination, not with threats and bribery.
“I built this,” she said in a steel-edged voice. “Every client, every contract, every success—I earned it, and now you want to turn it into just another money laundering operation? Another front for your precious Bratva to appease one of your cronies?” She turned to face him, her own ice-blue eyes matching his glare. “No. Not this time. Not ever, Dedushka . TAP is mine. I own it and built it. My name is on it in big, bold letters, right there—Tatiana Anastasia Polov—and you think you can take it from me? Over my dead body. It’s not happening. It stays clean!” Her voice turned bitter.
“And here’s some more news for you, Dedushka . I would rather die from a thousand cuts than marry that ancient piece of shit you dug up from under a rock. That is never, ever going to happen—not if I live to be a hundred.”
“Tatiana! You will not speak of Barto with such disrespect.”
“What did you expect, Dedushka ? Ordering me to marry a man old enough to be my father? This isn’t 19th-century Russia, for fuck’s sake. What world do you think we’re all living in?”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, young lady?” he bellowed angrily. “You will offer me the respect I deserve.”
“Respect is a two-way street, grandfather. You have shown none toward me or my accomplishments. I’ll gladly show you respect just as soon as I get some from you. The hard truth is that I absolutely loathe what you’re trying to force on me.” She held up her hand as he dragged in a deep breath. “I am my own self-respecting woman. I have worked myself to the bone building TAP, and if you think marrying me off to that sixty-five-year-old piece of shit will give you access to my company, then you are seriously deluded!”
“And you’re thirty-five and still unmarried. You need to produce an heir to the family. What does it matter how old he is? As long as he can fill your belly with his seed, that is what’s important.”
“Do you have any idea how utterly despicable your words are to me? I’m your goddamn granddaughter! Not some fucking whore! You disgust me!” Jumping up, she stomped toward the window. “No wonder my parents walked away all those years ago,” she scoffed angrily.
“How dare you speak to me in that tone! You know nothing about what happened!” he thundered.
She spun around angrily. “Then tell me I’m wrong! Or is there something you and Grandmother have kept silent about for all these years? You never told me anything. So, where are my parents? Are they even still alive? Did they really believe it was best to leave their only child behind? Or did they end up at the bottom of the ocean for daring to oppose your executive orders ?”
For a split second, something telling flashed in Gregor’s eyes … a flicker of guilt, perhaps… then vanished so quickly, Tatiana thought she had imagined it. Just as quickly, the moment was consumed by a fury she had never seen before. The open hand moved in a blur to land in a loud crack across her left cheek with such force, it knocked her off balance. Her hip caught the edge of her desk as she went down. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she stared up at him with one hand pressed against her burning cheek. In thirty-six years, he had never raised a hand to her.
“Yes, you better be scared, terrified even. How dare—”
“As always, you’re wrong, and mark my words, you will regret this, Grandfather.” Her voice was steady despite the tremor in her hands. “I’m not afraid of you, and you just answered my question. Thank you for showing me who you really are.”
“ Vnuchka …” The blood drained from his face, leaving him ashen. His hands shook as he took a step back.
The pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity. All these years, she had believed the story they had fed her—that her father had been too weak to handle the pressure of the Bratva, that her mother had chosen him over her own daughter, and that they had abandoned her to start a new life away from the family’s influence. But that momentary flash of guilt in Gregor’s eyes, followed by this unprecedented violence born from a simple question...
She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the throbbing in her cheek and hip. The truth felt like ice in her veins. It had all been lies. Her parents hadn’t abandoned her. They hadn’t chosen to leave her behind. Whatever had happened to them, whatever fate they had met, it had been at her grandfather’s behest.
Walking to the door on legs that threatened to buckle, she pulled it open. “This meeting is over, Dedushka . I want you to leave.”
“Tatiana—”
“Now.” The sharp retort cut the air like a knife. “Get out of my office. Get out of my building. I will not stand for secrets between us, and I will not be manipulated.”
Polov stood speechless. This titan of a man, who had ruled through fear and intimidation for decades, suddenly looked old and impotent. He had been effectively dismantled by his granddaughter. For the first time, she saw him clearly—not as the mighty Pakhan, not as her beloved grandfather, but for what he truly was—a man whose power was built on lies.
“You can’t hide from this forever,” she said softly. “Sooner or later, I will find out the truth.”
The door closed behind him with a quiet click that seemed to echo with finality. Alone in her office, Tatiana pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching planes take off into the morning sky, each one carrying its own cargo of secrets and lies.
Like those aircraft, her grandfather’s secrets couldn’t stay airborne forever. Eventually, they would all have to land in a whirlpool of discovery.