Chapter 43 Petyr
PETYR
The next morning, I can’t stop thinking about what Sima said.
She could’ve asked for anything. Money. Cars. A new house. I would’ve handed it over without a second thought. But all she wanted was to know if her sister was alive.
That alone tells me everything about her.
The story she told me last night runs through my head again. Her father screaming. Her mother shrinking. Her teenage sister becoming the adult for her sake, turning up the volume on a movie to drown out the noise. I see it all too clearly, like I was there.
And it makes my fucking blood boil.
Her father isn’t a man. He’s a coward who built his empire on fear and pain. If he were still breathing, I’d put my hands around his throat and squeeze until there was nothing left.
My father was a hard man, too, but never like that. He demanded loyalty, discipline, control. He wanted his sons to be strong.
But he never laid a hand on us in anger. He never made my mother afraid to breathe in her own house. He might’ve been ruthless to everyone else, but with us, he was human.
Sima’s father doesn’t deserve to share the same air my father did.
At my desk in the home office, I scroll through the search results, the blue light from the monitor sharp against the dark. Lara Danilo’s name pops up again and again in old registries and social pages, but one record freezes me in place.
Lara Volkov.
I click the file open and stare at the name beside hers.
Timur Volkov.
Shit.
I sit back in my chair and exhale slowly. I know Timur Volkov’s name well enough. He’s a piece of work. Vicious, greedy, a relic from an older generation of Bratva men who think fear is loyalty and violence is love.
Seeing Sima’s sister bound to a man like that… It makes too much sense. No wonder Sima ran. That she flinched every time the word marriage came up.
If this was her sister’s life for the last thirteen years, I can only imagine what it’s done to her. What horrors she’s endured.
Worse, Sima can imagine it, too. She didn’t need to know who her husband was in detail to realize how bad he’d be for her. Even at twelve, she was the smartest person in the room.
And the kindest. Always, always the kindest.
I find the date of the marriage. The picture attached to the news clipping.
Lara is eighteen in the photo. Barely more than a girl, standing next to a man old enough to be her grandfather. His hand is on her waist, his face cruel in triumph.
Lara’s expression says everything she couldn't say out loud. Her smile seems frozen and forced. She’s terrified underneath, and anyone with an ounce of compassion would have put a stop to this madness right then and there.
Clearly, Nikolai Danilo didn’t even have that. Not even when it came to his own fucking daughters.
I keep scrolling, but the public information ends fast. Timur always kept his private life buried deep, like most men of his kind. What I find is surface-level at best: no addresses, no current photo, just whispers and speculation.
Not enough.
I grab my phone and call Luka. “I need a file run,” I say. “Timur Volkov. Old Bratva money. Married to a woman named Lara Danilo thirteen years ago. Find out where they are and who they’re with.”
I can practically hear Luka’s frown through the phone. “Lara Danilo? You mean she’s Sima’s—?”
“Sister,” I fill in. “Is that going to be a problem?”
For a second, he hesitates. I know I’m asking a lot of him. The Danilos have hurt him worse than most.
But despite that, he still had Sima’s back when it mattered. That’s the kind of man I need on a job like this. One who’ll be able to look past the blood feud between our Bratvas and do the right thing.
I can’t think of anybody better.
Finally, Luka exhales. When he speaks next, his voice is certain. “No, boss. I’ll do it.”
“Good. I’ll expect updates.”
I hang up and look back at the photo on the screen. Lara’s lips are twisted up into a parody of a smile, the best she could do under the circumstances, but her eyes don’t lie. They’re wide with fear.
I recognize that kind of look. The one that says you’ve already learned not to hope for rescue.
If she’s alive, I’ll find her. If she’s not, I’ll find whoever stole her future.
Either way, I’m not stopping until I know the truth.
Afterwards, I head to the warehouse. My men are already gathered when I arrive. The air is thick with smoke. The low hum of voices cuts off as soon as they see me walk in.
Mikhail and Ivan are at the far end of the table. They seem to be arguing quietly over something until they notice me. Ivan straightens, while Mikhail leans back, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his mouth like he’s waiting for a show. He knows what my appearance here means.
Payback.
The last two months, I’ve been preoccupied. With Sima, Lilia, the odds and ends of the business.
But I haven’t forgotten what the Danilos did. The hit on me and Misha. They thought they could take our lives on my turf and live to brag about it.
Over my dead fucking body.
I take a seat at the head of the table. “We’re done playing defense,” I begin. “You hit my people, you bleed for it. What happened at the White Russian cannot go unpunished.”
Mikhail’s grin stretches. “Glad to have you back from your paternity leave, cuzzo. Who are we skinning first?”
I suppress a smile and the urge to shake my head.
Mikhail’s become invaluable to me in the past few months.
Ever since he backed me up against Anatoli, he’s been taking up Lev’s mantle.
Admirably so. He never once bothered me while I was out to care for Lilia and Sima, not unless it was life or death.
He and Ivan kept things afloat and everybody else in line.
But he’s been itching for this. I can see it on his face.
That’s good. I’ll need my men motivated for what’s to come.
I turn back to the others. “Starting tonight, I want three of their key brigadiry gone. Make it clean, but make it loud. I want their families to wake up tomorrow knowing what happens when a Danilo crosses my line.”
Ivan exhales, rubs a hand over his jaw. “That’ll stir up hell, Petyr. You sure you want it loud?”
“I’m not asking for opinions,” I say. “I want them to remember this night.”
Mikhail grins. “About damn time we stopped pretending we’re the nice ones.”
“We move tonight,” I say. “Ivan, you’ll coordinate transport. Mikhail, I want your men covering exit routes. Oleg, you take cleanup. No witnesses, no hesitation.”
Ivan nods. He may not approve of it, but my uncle isn’t the type to disobey an order. Besides, he knows how the business goes. This must be done, whether he likes it or not. “Understood.”
I slide a folder across the table. Mikhail opens it, scans the names inside. “You want it brutal?”
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t have to. “Make it a message.”
Ivan leans forward. “How brutal are we talking?”
I look him dead in the eye. “Make sure they need a dentist to ID the bodies. That brutal enough for you?”
Ivan sighs. Mikhail grins again, sharper this time. “Perfect.”
The room goes still for a beat as the men take in their assignment. Then everyone starts to move.
Orders fly. Routes, weapons, vehicles. The rhythm of it all is muscle memory. The smell of metal and gun oil hangs thick in the air. It feels like the past creeping back in.
The Gubarev Bratva has been playing defense for far too fucking long. Tonight, they’ll see what it means when we attack. Learn that I’m not the kind of pakhan who lets things slide.
As long as I’m on this throne, it’ll be covered in the blood of my enemies.
Come what fucking may.
When the meeting’s done, I head home. The house is quiet, peaceful. A stark contrast to everything I’ve been setting up.
Upstairs, Sima’s asleep. Lilia starts fussing in her crib when hears me step into the room.
I pick her up and rock her, slow and steady, the way that always soothes her. Her head settles against my shoulder. She smells like milk and soap.
I stay like that for a while. Hours, maybe. When I’m with my daughter, I tend to lose track of time. Not the greatest of habits for a pakhan, but they tell me it’s what dads do.
At some point, my phone vibrates once in my pocket. A text from Ivan.
It’s done.
I stare at the screen for a second before locking it and slipping it back into my pocket. Lilia sighs in her sleep, small and peaceful, like she’s never known what the world outside this house really is.
I hold her tighter.
That world can stay far the fuck away from her.