Chapter 30 Voronin Bratva #2
Artem started laughing.
Kirill choked. “Did you?” He leapt to his feet as if he’d suddenly forgotten the weight and formality of the conversation they’d been having, swinging all his attention to his supposed best friend. “What the hell? Since when did you even— I thought— Is this for real?”
Evelina couldn’t hold in her laughter, so she left it to Otto to answer.
Otto moved his grip to her nape. “The weekend wasn’t all bad. Calm down before you tear something.”
“The … weekend,” Kirill repeated, still clearly in shock.
Artem’s laughter turned into a full-tilt belly laugh.
“Shit. It’s never a dull moment with you two, is it?
” He wiped at his eyes shamelessly as he sucked in hard breaths.
“I thought you were already a thing when we met, the way you were all over her. Did no one tell you bodyguards aren’t usually so handsy? ”
Kirill snorted and finally dropped back into his chair. “My man’s been struggling for years, he steals what he can.”
Evelina felt her face heat.
“Ah,” Iouri piped up, “the Voronin way. Although … Otto was definitely slower about it.”
Otto grunted. “I think we’ve gotten off-track here.”
Artem wore a merciless grin as he blatantly ignored Otto’s suggestion. “So now he’s stealing the whole woman, is that what you’re saying?”
Bozhe moy.
Kirill barked out a laugh.
Evelina was pretty sure she heard Iouri’s chuckle underneath it somewhere.
She definitely felt Otto’s fingers flex against the back of her neck.
And while a part of her wanted to join in the laughter, she had also asked a bunch of guys to gather at one of the nighttime properties that was closed during early daylight hours.
Which meant they had to wrap things up, however that went, kind of soon.
She thought about clapping her hands to cut through the good-natured ribbing, then decided to try a more subtle approach and cleared her throat instead.
Artem clamped his mouth shut and sat back on the sofa.
Kirill coughed into his fist and resettled on his chair.
Iouri chuckled again.
Evelina let the smile linger on her face, not wanting anyone to think she was angry. “Yes, the Voronin Bratva. Obviously, my name is still Nikolaev right now, but only in a legal sense. I’m not going to establish an organization under a name I have no desire to keep.”
“Sensible,” Artem said.
“Shit.” Kirill scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I mean, congratulations. Seriously. I know I gave you hell about it, but I always was rooting for you.” He aimed his smile at both of them. “But, ah, I don’t fully understand what the larger message has to do with me?”
“Obviously, I’ll be switching things up a bit,” Evelina said.
“And that’s assuming that the people I’m hoping will stay choose to stay.
” She hoped Kirill could see in her eyes that she was including him in that statement, but instead of overemphasizing, she shifted her focus to Artem.
“Before you agree or refuse, will you hear my offer?”
A smile lit his yes as he finished his coffee. He set the mug down on the table and leaned back. “Doesn’t really feel like it’s been all that long since we had a conversation like this, does it?” An amused chuckle tipped his lips. “I’ll listen.”
“There are two things you should both know, before I get to your specific offers,” Evelina said.
She raised a hand out of reflex to count off her points.
“First, we might be starting fresh, but I’m not so proud as to snub what I’ve got.
What I mean is, I still currently have the income producing businesses Otets left to me, for better or worse.
I might make some adjustments to them once I have my feet under me, but in the meantime, it’s income we can use to hit the ground running.
Income most start-up crews are scrounging for. ”
She saw both men’s focuses sharpen with her words. They understood her point.
She popped up her second finger. “Second”—a sly smile lifted her lips—“I have a very useful resource my father not only never did, but in fact chose to reject. I wasn’t overly forthcoming with this while I was still trying to figure it out, but I learned recently I have other family, other cousins, on my mother’s side. ”
A flicker of realization sparked in Artem’s eyes. He’d been in the office with her when Dante’s call had come, so he’d heard her side of that conversation.
“The Voronin Bratva has the support of the De Salvo mafia. Or, more specifically, I have the support and protection of my newly discovered cousins, the De Salvos themselves.” It felt like an odd namedrop, but the purpose of this moment was to lay all her cards out and demonstrate fully that she had the ability—the resources, the know-how, the drive—to pull off her crazy idea of rebuilding.
And that required tossing in the apparently weighty name of her family.
Kirill muttered a curse and lifted his knuckles to his mouth. “The Dragon is your cousin?”
“So that’s why you were poking into the De Salvos before,” Artem said.
Evelina nodded, looked between them, and said, “Yes.”
Kirill blew out a breath.
Artem’s face lifted in something akin to a feral grin. “Ma’am … you should lead with that next time.”
Evelina smiled. “I’ll take that under advisement.
” And since neither had yet run screaming out the door, she pressed ahead while her focus was aimed at Artem.
“Artem, I will be honest. I don’t know if you’re interested in what I have to offer.
But I’m going to ask it anyway.” She hoped he’d at least push for negotiations, but she wasn’t going to weaken her starting stance by opening herself up to that before she’d played her hand.
“I want you to be my premiere brigadier. You’d be my voice if for some reason I’m unavailable, and the one brigadier with short-term authority to issue demands of the others.
I would make it clear to all of them that they’re welcome to come to me with concerns, questions, or even complaints after the fact, so long as they comply with expectations in the moment. ”
Artem’s expression sobered into a thoughtful neutral. “And you think that would work?”
“I need those at the top of my bratva to know how to communicate as well as they know how to shoot,” Evelina replied. “And I need them to trust me, as much as I need to be able to trust them. So, if it doesn’t work, I don’t have the right people in place.”
Artem watched her for another moment, then slid his stare around the room to each of the other men. Finally, he released an audible breath. “I could probably sleep a little better in a work environment like that.” He smirked again. “I would be honored to join the Voronin Bratva.”
She offered him a quiet smile and shifted her attention to Kirill. “I know you’re used to working in a house, and I’m afraid that’s not what I’m offering you, Kirill.”
His lips twitched. “I mean, the last one burned down.”
Evelina held her expression steady despite his quip. “You may have done the math, but I’m a lot short on men I trust to run any crews.” She snuck her hand out again and patted Otto’s thigh. “This one’s staying close to me, so he’s a non-option, of course. And that brings me to you.”
Kirill’s eyes widened.
“Would you be interested in being one of my brigadiers? It might actually end up being just the two of you at first, depending on how many men give me their faith in the beginning. You should know that.” She clamped her lips shut before her useful information turned into ramblings.
He’d been sitting there the whole time, so he’d heard her speech about brigadier structuring.
Kirill swallowed hard, flexed his fists over his lap, and turned his head toward Artem. “You can be top brigadier, but I’m Best Man at the wedding. Don’t take it personally.”
Evelina blinked.
Otto snorted. “Who says you get to decide that?”
Kirill’s head snapped around again even as Artem laughed. “I do, obviously. You can’t leave your best bro on the sidelines for every-fucking-thing after all the times I had to watch you stare at her like some dopey-eyed, lovesick moron!”
Evelina choked on a laugh, one hand flying up to her mouth too late to catch the sound. She pulled in a breath to compose herself. “So, that’s a yes?”
Kirill straightened, his expression settling into a steadier smile. “That’s a hell yes.”
Evelina let her smile bloom, and Otto bent down and pressed a kiss to her head. She let the quiet congratulations settle inside her and released a breath.
“Ma’am,” Artem said as he also settled, “I actually do have one question.”
Evelina cocked her head. “What is it?”
“What did you need that list for?”
She felt a tendril of mischief creep into her smile.
“Well, I’ll need to meet them, and they’ll need to swear to me, of course.
But if they do, I was going to offer them the next brigadier spots—assuming or as we accumulate enough men.
” She realized there was a possibility that she might acquire someone from Ivan’s crew with comparable skills, but as she had no reliable way to vet those men yet, this was the best preparation she’d thought of.
Artem huffed as if he wanted to laugh again. “That might kinda suck, but I like it.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“So,” Kirill said, “we’re talking to more guys today, then?”
This time Evelina did clap her hands. “Da. Shall we head out to greet our soldiers, gentlemen?”
At her suggestion, the men around her found their feet and they filed from the suite.
Artem and Iouri walked ahead of her, spaced slightly apart so each of their outer shoulders nearly grazed a wall.
Behind her, Otto and Kirill followed in a similar manner.
And it struck Evelina as they moved through the hotel, eventually climbing into two separate vehicles, that even though all they’d done was have a short and barely half-professional conversation, she still felt stronger.
She wasn’t consciously thinking about donning some poorly imagined mental construct of a woman in charge in an attempt to convince the people around her of something she only prayed was true. She was in charge, and they knew it.
When they stepped inside the nightclub, the gathered men who’d all been standing around and murmuring in probably mounting confusion parted to let their little entourage through without a single command.
She’d never actually been inside the club, and a flicker of curiosity sparked inside, but she ignored it.
Just as she ignored the immediate desire to see how many faces she might recognize as they passed.
Evelina kept her gaze forward, her head high, and allowed only Otto to help her up onto the stage they’d use as a platform for this moment.
And she made a mental note to prioritize acquiring two new spaces—a home for them to actually live in, and something they could use for large meetings when necessary.
First, though, she needed the manpower to make that space worth its expense.
Artem and Kirill took up mirroring positions on opposite edges of the stage, facing outward with impressively stoic expressions. Iouri found a spot behind the shoulder Otto wasn’t hugging to stand just close enough to be visible. None of the men stood in front of her, or reached to restrain her.
Evelina drew one breath and allowed herself to cast her eyes over the group. She recognized a few faces from surviving house staff and one more of father’s former guard, most of those standing closer to the back. The men she’d met, or at least seen, of Artem’s crew had gathered nearer to the front.
Tolya even smiled up at her like he wasn’t nervous at all.
She identified Pasha and a couple of the other faces from Ivan’s crew, standing among men whose faces she did not know.
More of Ivan’s, she assumed. And that was fine.
If Ivan’s had been loyally following the leader they knew best, she wouldn’t resent them for that.
But this time she would insist they all make a choice.
There were also some men and women gathered in business uniforms, and while she hadn’t mentally prepared to also see their people who held down the businesses, she was glad word had gotten to them. Today’s message was for everyone.
“Thank you all for coming,” she finally said.
“I’ll be frank, and this information will be abrupt for many of you, but please hold your questions until the end.
What you need to know is actually simple.
I am Evelina, daughter of the late Mikhail Nikolaev, cousin of the late Pyotr Nikolaev …
cousin of the Italian De Salvos.” She let those words linger for a beat, watching carefully to see how many men reacted.
At least half. More than one stumbled. Her father’s last guardsman ducked out of sight, and a moment later a door creaked open and shut.
She reached back with her palm up to indicate Otto as though she were presenting him. “And soon-to-be Missus Voronin.”
Otto took her hand and raised her knuckles to his lips.
She never looked away from their audience. “Today, and only today, I am offering you the chance to join me on a new venture. The Nikolaev Bratva has collapsed … but from its ashes, the Voronin Bratva will rise, stronger than any this city has known.”
The room practically burst with sound as murmurs rose and fabric shifted, bodies turning and gesturing as they talked amongst themselves.
Otto moved his hand to her shoulder, squeezing gently, his fingers placed to be mindful of her healing wound.
He wasn’t pulling her away, but reminding her of his steady presence.
As if she could forget. Even in this moment, standing in a crowded club full of surely armed and many agitated people, technically presenting herself as an easy target, all she really wanted to do was tuck herself up against him and forget the world.
There would be time for that—so much time for that—but for the moment, she needed to control herself and her constant need for him. From the way his thumb had begun rubbing over the back of her shoulder blade, he probably needed to remind himself of his self-control, too.
She kind of liked that she had that effect on him, though.