19. Sasha #2
“Watch your tone, punk,” Viktor warns from the passenger seat, fixating me with his signature glare.
The car comes to a stop in front of a large metal gate. Everyone stays still for a moment, probably being examined by the cameras. Then the gate creaks open, and Yuri speeds inside the enormous property.
By the time we arrive at the mansion's circular driveway, I’m about to vomit from motion sickness.
And I’ve never even had that before.
We step out of the car that’s parked behind a dozen others. We find Konstantin’s men chatting happily with other guards, probably the Pakhan’s.
They stop talking upon spotting Kirill and make way for him. Only two guards are allowed to escort him inside. Since Yuri is staying by the car, I follow Viktor and Kirill to a grand hall.
This place is even more majestic than the Morozov family house, and that’s saying something since that mansion looks royal.
This one, however, has a grimmer feel. In the entrance hall, there’s a huge painting of a war between angels and demons. Blood splashes all over the piece, and gruesome facial expressions are drawn in spine-chilling detail. I can almost hear the horrifying screeches of the mythical creatures.
A big, burly man with a stoic expression that matches Viktor’s opens the double doors to the conference room.
Kirill strides inside without so much as a nod.
Viktor and I follow, then stop when he does.
The dining room is decorated with a gold-themed table, a huge chandelier, and candelabras on the fireplace.
But the atmosphere is neither welcoming nor joyful.
The men who attended the funeral sit around the table. At the head, there’s the Pakhan, the big boss, and the one who calls the shots, Sergei.
Vladimir and Adrian are sitting on the leader’s right and left respectively.
Then there’s Igor and Mikhail. The old-fashioned and older generations.
Beside Mikhail sits Konstantin, looking smug, with a smirk lifting his lips as if he’s already a victor.
On the opposite side, sits…a woman. Blonde, serious, and with elegance dripping from her expressionless face.
I saw her with Sergei at the funeral. Maksim said she’s his grandniece and the previous Pakhan’s granddaughter.
She has no opinion on the on-site operations, but since she’s climbing the ladder in the organization’s legitimate front, V Corp, she has voting rights.
Behind every member stand two guards like Viktor and me.
“You’re late,” Vladimir announces in his booming voice.
“Are we a joke to you, Morozov?” Mikhail adds in an accusatory tone.
Igor nods. “That’s disrespectful, not only to us, but to the Pakhan himself. It doesn’t look good for your application to be part of this table.”
Kirill pushes his glasses up his nose with his middle and ring fingers, not appearing affected in the least. “I apologize for the delay, but I had a legitimate reason.”
He pulls out his phone and shows them a picture of Yulia bound, bleeding, and barely consciousness.
“On my way here, I received this picture of my mother, and I had to go save her. She’s now safe and sound back home.” He faces Sergei. “I don’t believe I’m worthy of any position in the Bratva if I betray my own. If I can’t protect my family, how can I protect a bigger organization?”
Igor turns to Konstantin, whose smile has vanished. “Is this true?”
“I didn’t know she was kidnapped.”
“Oh, yes, you did. You received the same image, no?” Kirill shows the cc at the top of the email. “If you could confirm your attendance via email, surely you’ve seen this picture. The only difference is that you chose to ignore it.”
“You—” He stands up and falls back down again at everyone’s silent scrutiny.
“I apologize on behalf of my brother,” Kirill continues in his serene tone. “He’s still too young and doesn’t understand the value of family yet.”
“You’re the one who left for Russia!” Konstantin accuses.
“At Father’s orders. As I said, family.”
“Roman did mention that he sent Kirill to Russia for further training,” Igor says.
Kirill’s expression remains neutral, despite knowing that’s not the case.
I’m not surprised that his father lied to his friends. He didn’t seem like the type who would’ve wanted to advertise his authority being challenged. So it’s plausible that he made them think the Russia episode was all part of his plan.
After all, judging by the will and the sensitive material he left for Kirill, he always considered him his sole heir.
Sergei places a hand on the table, and everyone’s attention flies to him. No further words are exchanged, and heavy silence clings to the tension in the room.
“I’m disappointed in your misconduct, Konstantin,” he says in a slow, composed speech pattern.
When the younger of the Morozov brothers starts to speak, Sergei lifts his hand, effectively shutting him up. “Nevertheless, we promised a vote, and we’ll conduct a vote. Those in favor of Kirill joining our table, raise your hand.”
Igor is the first to do so, followed by Vladimir, Adrian, and the woman.
Then, finally, Sergei himself.
When he raises his hand, Mikhail does, too, although reluctantly.
Konstantin’s face turns red, just like his mother’s earlier. All he can do is watch as Kirill topples his carefully constructed plans that he probably spent years devising.
“We won’t even need to wait for Damien,” Sergei says. “Welcome aboard, Kirill. Konstantin, I expect you to support your brother going forward. You can take your leave.”
“But—”
“ Now .” There’s a nonnegotiable quality to Sergei’s voice that the younger Morozov has no choice but to follow.
As soon as the door closes behind him, Kirill takes his brother’s seat. “I apologize for his behavior. He still has a long way to go.”
“Indeed,” Vladimir says. “I trust you’ll keep him in check as you promised.”
Kirill nods. “You have my word.”
Oh, I see.
The pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place.
Kirill already had a plan A and a plan B. The first one was his mother’s kidnapping and making himself appeal to Sergei’s sense of loyalty and family.
But if that somehow went awry, he already had a plan B in place. Vladimir and most likely Adrian and Igor. He must’ve made some deals under the table, so they’d vote for him instead of his brother.
I stare at his back from my position behind him.
This man…is on another level.
And I’m genuinely glad to be on his side. I wouldn’t have survived if I were his enemy.
I’m starting to believe that he truly meant what he said. This isn’t simple ambition.
Kirill wants the world, not caring who he has to trample in his path.
I pay close attention to the meeting. Kirill tells them how he’ll improve his father’s legacy and even gives them his word about the percentage of profit they can expect from him this time next year.
One hundred percent. No shit.
By the end of the meeting, everyone looks at him through a new lens. He has a godly presence that demands both attention and weariness.
Some are apprehensive—Mikhail, Vladimir, and Rai. Others are appreciative—Sergei and Igor.
The only one who remains neutral throughout the whole meeting is Adrian.
There’s no sense of victory on Kirill’s face when we leave the dining room and head to the front door.
No sense of success or celebration.
He knew this would be the result all along. His level of strategizing is out of this world.
As we’re about to get in the waiting car, a tall, muscular man approaches us.
His shirt is barely buttoned, and his hair looks like he just got out of bed. But despite his overall disheveled appearance, he is anything but.
A sinister edge lurks in his gray-green gaze. It’s the look I’ve seen on the faces of soldiers who joined the army for bloodlust.
When he’s within touching distance, I slip in front of Kirill, hold up a hand against his chest, and say in my deepest, manliest tone, “Step back.”
The man’s deadly expression falls on my hand. “Why, aren’t you a tough little shit?”
He starts to twist my hand with ease, but I slip it out and manage to grab his and then twist it to his back.
Before I can pin it, though, he whirls around and punches me in the face, sending me flying against the pillar.
The breath knocks out of my lungs, and I cough several times as I feel a bruise doubling the size of my face.
In fact, I can’t feel my face. And why is the earth so hazy?
“As I was saying.” I hear the newcomer tell Kirill. “Are you why I was woken up so early? You don’t look that special to me. You sure you’re not supposed to be the accountant—”
The last thing I see is Kirill’s fist connecting with the man’s face before my world turns black.