Chapter 30 Voronin Bratva
Chapter thirty
Voronin Bratva
Evelina honestly felt as though things were finally looking up.
That probably had something to do with the toe-curling orgasm that had pulled her from her dirty dream and the head she’d found shamelessly buried between her thighs. Because yeah, that was the absolute best way to start a day, no question.
She couldn’t allow herself to get distracted with those thoughts at the moment, however.
Her happiness with Otto was solid, if not still a bit surreal, but it was time to put her game face on.
She’d paid attention to her cousins during their visit, and she had noticed that while none of them were carefree in a general sense, each of them put on a slightly altered persona in front of their men.
It was a psychological, physiological shift from work-mode to family-mode.
She imagined there was an in-between, too, since all three had public day jobs, but regardless, when she’d figured that out, it had inspired her.
She’d thought she needed to simply discover and embody an inner take-charge spirit. And in some ways, she did. The difference she hadn’t distinguished for herself was that she didn’t need to be that newer, stronger woman every moment of every day.
She settled herself comfortably, having chosen the chair Dante had preferred during his stay, and crossed her legs. For the first time, as she pulled in her next breath, that inner image of strength settled into her skin.
Iouri offered her a conspiratorial wink as he set down the cup of coffee he’d insisted on making for her, then shuffled to the side and the island barstool he’d positioned there.
He was healing nicely, though the bruises visible on his face and arms were still in the ugly stage, and he insisted he felt fine.
More than that, the conversation she and Otto had made sure to have with him barely an hour earlier had reinvigorated the man and Evelina was fairly certain he’d regained a decade of his youth.
She’d been a bit nervous to tell him about their engagement, and in hindsight, she had no idea why.
Once that had been handled, he’d veritably jumped at her request to become her advisor in the founding years of the Voronin Bratva—on the condition he was allowed to retire once he had grandkids to spoil.
Evelina reached for the coffee as Otto led the men she’d called for into the sitting room.
Without the house to meet at, she’d thought the easiest place for this set of conversations really was the suite.
It was plenty large enough. And she had it on very good authority that both Artem and Kirill were itching to be let off medical leave, as if it were some type of punishment.
She met each man’s smile in turn with a smaller one of her own as Otto moved to stand at the arm of her chair.
“Thank you both for coming.” She glanced between them and settled on Kirill, whom she hadn’t spoken to as recently.
“How’re your burns healing?” The man had done more than his share on the day of the house fire, trying to save the building and aid the evacuation of staff.
He’d gotten a petrified maid out safely, but he himself had come out quite literally aflame.
Kirill grunted. “Significantly better than my pride. Thank you.”
Instead of apologizing for his pain, Evelina said, “Your pride should be swollen. You are the reason that woman made it home to her child; the reason that little boy isn’t the next of us to bury his mother.
And some seventy-two hours later, here you are, answering a summons.
I want you to know I appreciate that sort of effort. ”
He stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat roughly and averted his gaze.
She was almost sure his face was redder than when he’d arrived, but she did him the courtesy of not mentioning the fact. Instead, she motioned to the open seating options. “Both of you, please, sit. Did you want some coffee? Iouri made a fresh pot.”
Artem and Kirill chose seats, and Evelina kept a straight face while she patted herself on the back for having previously thought to flip the sofa cushions around, and one more cup of coffee was poured.
She had the sense that they recognized the smell of change in the air.
She sincerely hoped she hadn’t overestimated their flexibility.
Evelina took one more swallow from her own cup before setting it down and shifted her focus to Artem. “Thank you for emailing over that list.” He’d sent it at five-something in the morning, of course. “I hope you slept.”
He chuckled. “Too much, I assure you.”
No stalling. “I know you were left out of the last rounds of chaos, but I assume you’ve heard some of it?”
Artem’s lightly amused expression vanished and he tipped his head in a tight nod. “Yeah.”
Kirill’s expression also tightened, but with more of a grief-stricken edge. He had worked closely with several of the men Grigoriy’s ambush had left slaughtered—and were it not for his injuries, he might have been among them. “It’s still a little hard to swallow.”
“Forgive me, ma’am,” Artem said, “but Grigoriy is dead, yes? We’re sure about that?”
Evelina nodded. “Grigoriy is dead. His second is dead. A good portion of his crew is dead.” She paused just for a moment.
“Pavel is dead.” Both men’s eyes widened, but she wasn’t surprised.
She hadn’t spread that story. “He stole the emergency funds from the family safe during the fire and was found trying to flee the city. He confessed to knowing he was leaving me to die at Grigoriy’s hands that day.
And he also confessed to being the one who’d ransacked my personal suite while I was away.
” She held Artem’s stunned stare. “I am sorry you didn’t get to partake in that, but for what it’s worth, he suffered before he died. ”
Artem’s hands fisted over his knees, his jaw tightened, and he blew out a breath. “If he suffered enough for you, then he suffered enough for me.” He grabbed the mug Otto had set in front of him and gulped probably half the beverage down.
Evelina had a fleeting moment of wondering if she should have offered them vodka. But she wanted everyone stone-cold sober for this, and they were still on pain meds, so she dismissed the idea. She’d invite them for drinks at a later time.
When Artem had composed himself, she continued, “For confirmation’s sake, I will reiterate that Pyotr is also dead. And Grisha Morozov, along with a good number of Morozov men, are now dead. Grisha put up a fight, as you can imagine, and he did not have the pleasure of a quick bullet to the head.”
Otto huffed quietly.
“Morozov scum,” Kirill muttered.
“Incidentally,” Evelina said, fighting a smile, “the distillery burned to the studs Monday night. You may have seen the news report. They’ll eventually find some human remains and a fair amount of heavy artillery, but nothing that truly links back to us.”
Both men blinked at her and Artem leaned back into the corner of the sofa, pulling his mug to his chest, as if he were thinking.
Kirill sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Apologies for the question,” he said, “but didn’t Pyotr inherit the distillery?
” His gaze flicked briefly between her and Otto, but ultimately returned to hers.
“And with it having belonged to Pakhan Mikhail before him, won’t that alone risk the carnage linking back to the Nikolaev clan? ”
Evelina let herself smile at the perfect opportunity.
“I’m sure I will be questioned, due to the name on my birth certificate, but that’s a separate issue.
The question you asked, Kirill, brings me to why I wanted to speak with you both so urgently.
” She looked between them for emphasis. “In case the slew of recent events hasn’t made this blatantly obvious, the Nikolaev Bratva is dead. ”
Kirill sat back, the earlier color draining from his face.
Artem lowered his coffee.
Evelina continued. “I am starting anew, rebuilding from the ground up, and I’m going to build something stronger.
Something better. We’ll be small at first, by necessity, but Iouri has agreed to stand with me as my advisor and liaison—to offer me his local connections—and as long as we are diligent, we can grow quickly.
” She held out her hand toward the room, palm up, angled like an invitation.
“I want both of you on board with foundation of the Voronin Bratva.”
Romeo’s words from Tuesday morning echoed through her again.
“Believe it or not, none of this works without trust. Sure, there’re other things.
We need the masses to fear us so bad they tremble at the sound of our names, all that shit.
But the first thing you need is a tight-knit foundation of people you can trust, no hesitation.
Because without that, sooner or later, it all falls apart. ”
It had sounded so simple as soon as he said the words. And so much had made sense.
Her father’s bratva had been held together by old-fashioned stubbornness, fear, and greed, all blended into one living thing. With her father out of the way, the foundation he’d held intact for so long had cracked irreparably.
If she was going to build better, she was going to start by pulling together a core unit that functioned well without threats and subterfuge. She believed in her gut she could accomplish that with these men, but it wouldn’t work if she had to force them.
“Voronin…?” Kirill finally repeated.
Evelina felt her smile twist just a little.
“Oh, did I leave that out?” She reached over and Otto took her hand as if they’d rehearsed the move.
“Otto and I are getting married. We’re thinking early summer.
” She wanted to do it as soon as possible, but she also didn’t want to do it in such a rush that their only memory was some off-center, blurry, courthouse photo of her in a tunic and leggings.
Even if Otto said he loved those outfits.