Chapter 24 Petyr
PETYR
The warehouse door grinds open for me. Two men stand guard—standard procedure since last time things went south here.
I step inside. My boots echo off the concrete. “Mikh.”
Mikhael straightens when he sees me. “Petyr.” His face is calm, but I know him well enough to see the irritation beneath.
I take a moment to look at him. My cousin. Blood of my blood. He’s always been cocky, has tested my boundaries more than it would be smart in the past few months, but lately, he’s been steady. Loyal in a way I didn’t expect.
Since the night I killed Anatoli, he’s been there without fail. Running the streets when I can’t. Watching my back.
I may not say it out loud, but I’m glad to have him next to me. Especially now, when everything feels like it could break apart with one wrong move.
I stop in front of him. “What’s so urgent I had to come down here myself?”
Mikhael shakes his head, frustrated. “Fucking Sidorov, that’s what.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course it’s the Sidorov Bratva. My least important ally, and yet the constant thorn in my side.
Boris’s family has always been small. Hungry, but weak. They cling to whoever looks strongest, and they change their tune when the wind shifts.
Their leader was no different. He wanted the title of pakhan but never had the weight to carry it. He leaned on us for protection and then strutted around town like he earned it.
In the end, the Danilos cut Boris down. Used his body as a decoy and tried to gun us all down. That ambush at the restaurant—it plays in my head as if it happened last night. He wasn’t worth much, but he didn’t deserve that. No man does.
Once, he was on track to become my father-in-law. His daughter Polina would have tied us together if she hadn’t pulled a runaway bride act.
I can admit now she did me a favor. If she hadn’t run, I never would have married Sima.
I glance back at Mikhael. “What did they do this time?”
He exhales through his nose. He’s looking more and more exhausted these days, and I can’t blame him. This war is wearing us all down.
“Since Boris went in the ground, his brothers have been getting bolder,” he says.
“Bold how?”
“Bold enough to try playing both sides.”
Of course. I should have seen it coming. The Sidorovs aren’t built for loyalty. They’ll roll over for the first big dog in the park, and now, they’re showing their bellies to my adversaries.
I expected as much, though. The Sidorov Bratva is too ambitious to know their place. They take what they’re given, then start sniffing around for more. They never stay loyal unless they’re forced to.
I focus back on Mikhael. “They realize the Danilos are the ones who killed their brother, yes?”
“If you ask me, they don’t care.” He shrugs, his mouth curled in distaste. “They just want to be on the winning side.”
No one hates traitors more than Mikh. He had every right to stage a coup on me, but he still didn’t do that.
He was man enough to step back from the throne when my Uncle Grigoriy—his father—died and my father became pakhan.
The succession changed then. But he didn’t turn traitor for that, and he despises anyone who’d stoop that low for less.
“What did the Danilos promise them?”
“Fucked if I know. The Hamptons?” He spits on the ground. “Those goddamn mudaki. They’re hedging their bets. Cowards, all of them.”
If they’d turned to the other side, I would have understood.
Right now, this war is muddled. I know I’m going to win, but not everyone has that same clarity.
They don’t see the board like I see it. If they thought the Danilos were stronger than me, it would have made sense to turn. Cowardly, but reasonable.
But keeping a foot in both camps—that pisses me the fuck off. Because if the Sidorovs are doing it, others will follow their example. Betrayal is contagious. It’s a goddamned plague, and I’m not going to sit back and watch it spread.
I need people who are steady when the bullets start flying, not rats who will look at both doors and wonder which one to run through.
I lean on the table, lock eyes with Mikhael. “Then we put them in their place. Tonight.”
My cousin grins. I can tell it’s exactly what he wanted to hear.
Not like I had a choice. This isn’t about Sidorov anymore. It’s about everyone else watching. Allies. Rivals. Whoever thinks I can be tested.
Boris’s rats want to play both sides? Fine. I’ll make sure they learn quickly there’s only one side worth standing on.
Mine.
We pull up outside the Sidorov brothers’ restaurant. The lights are off. Chairs stacked on tables. Closed for the night, but we know they’re still inside.
I step out of the car first. Mikhael comes with me. Two of our men follow. The rest stay outside to cover the exits. I don’t expect much of a fight, but I’m not leaving anything to chance.
The door opens with barely a push. One of the brothers’ guards blinks at me like he can’t believe I’m standing there.
Mikhael puts a bullet in his head before he can say a word. We keep walking.
Inside, the Sidorov brothers sit at a table in the back with a half-empty bottle between them. A few bodyguards stand scattered around the room. They look up when I enter, eyes wide. They weren’t expecting me tonight.
I pull out a chair and sit down across from them. Mikhael takes the seat to my left. My men spread out, hands resting on their weapons.
“You know why I’m here,” I begin.
The older one shakes his head too fast. “No, Petyr, of course not. We’ve been loyal—”
“Don’t waste my time.” My voice is flat. “You go to me for protection, then you meet with the Danilos behind my back. That doesn’t make you loyal—that makes you rats.”
The younger one sputters. “Lies. Rumors. You can’t believe—”
I draw my gun and put a bullet through his chest. He slumps forward onto the table.
Glass shatters. His brother screams.
The bodyguards start to move. Mikhael is faster. He empties his clip into them before they can even raise their guns.
The whole thing is over in seconds. Smoke hangs in the air, blood squelches on the floor, chairs lie where they toppled.
I turn my eyes back to the last Sidorov brother. He’s shaking, staring at the hole in his brother’s chest.
“You had one chance to keep your family alive,” I tell him. “You chose wrong.”
He starts to beg. His words tumble out fast. “Please, Petyr, we can fix this. You have my word. Just let me live—”
I put a bullet in his head and end it.
Silence follows.
I stand. “Burn this place down. I don’t want a brick left standing.”
Mikhael nods. “What about their turf?”
“Take it. Move in before dawn. Grab every corner; don’t let anyone go. By tomorrow, Sidorov territory belongs to me.”
When I finally turn toward the exit, I already know where I’m headed next.
Home.
Back to Sima.
Back to my daughter.
Back to my wife.