53. Octavia
I’m prepared for shocked laughter. For words of condescension.
To my surprise, neither comes.
The man’s only reaction is the tilt of his head, like the quirked interest of a bird of prey. After a long moment of consideration, he rises from his seat. I’m prepared to throw myself to the floor, to plead for another chance before he kicks me out…
But he merely gestures to the chair in front of his desk, inviting me to sit.
I slide into the chair.
You have to say something, Octavia.
Make your case before it’s too late.
“Vasiliy has told me about you,” I say, feigning as much casualness as I can muster.
His brows lift. “Is that so? Tell me, what was the Morozov boy’s opinion on my operations?”
“He said you were a fair leader. A moral shade of grey.”
“Hm,” he responds noncommittally. The man is large and muscular in the way all Bratva men seem to be.
His black hair offsets bright blue eyes that never dim.
He sort of looks like a circling hawk, prepared to sweep down and snap its teeth at the first sign of weakness. I won’t give him that opening.
“So I asked what you were doing, striking business deals with someone as foul as his uncle.”
A soft chuckle. “And what did your husband say?”
“He said you were effective above all else, and that little could dissuade you from striking such a beneficial agreement.”
“I see you have your father’s way with words,” he says softly.
“Ms. Siderov, there’s a desperate glint in people’s eyes when you hold all their cards, and while you’ve done an excellent job maintaining my curiosity thus far, I think we’ve reached the point in the discussion where you tell me what you want. ”
My nails dig into the soft flesh of my palms.
“Very well.” I straighten. “My syndicate is in ruins. My father died defending me less than ten hours ago. My cousin has been kidnapped by the Popov Syndicate, which has declared war on our territory. And my husband has been forced to return to Russia to serve at his uncle’s side.”
The words leave in one panicked breath.
The man blinks, a short respite from the intensity of his gaze. “Regardless of what my wife implied with the term pro bono, I am not in the habit of taking on charity cases.”
“You have yet to kick me out,” I say. “Or send a bullet through my skull. I think you want to hear what I’m offering.”
He laughs, and the sound is more terrifying than his silent observation. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve never had a Pakhan storm into my headquarters and demand a meeting?”
I shift my attention to his wife, still perched on the chair’s arm with a curious expression. It was more of a plea than a demand, but she says nothing.
“Men are prideful. Women are far more efficient.”
Another chuckle. Even the woman’s blue eyes twinkle at my remark.
“I’m inclined to agree,” she says, picking at her manicured nails. My own nails still have a layer of red beneath, and my knuckles are split with nasty scabs. “Besides, she caught your daughter from sprinting onto the street. The least you can do is hear her out.”
I look into the woman’s grey eyes, desperate to convey how much I appreciate her support. The Pakhan looks at her like she’s the only reason he breathes, and for whatever reason, she’s decided to champion me. One day, I will repay her for that silent gift.
Mikhail Solokov leans forward across his desk. “Ms. Siderov, what exactly have you come to ask of me today?”
Here it goes.
My final stand.
“An alliance between the Solokov and Siderov Syndicates. Fifty soldiers to retrieve my cousin and end the Popov reign.”
A soft chuckle. “Is that all?”
“No. A negotiation with Morozov. Twenty-five of his soldiers, plus the immediate return of my husband, no strings attached.”
“Well, you have quite a pair, I’ll give you that,” he says, sitting back in his chair in resignation. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
My heart sinks.
“Mikhail. You will hear her out, and then you’ll decide,” the woman chides beside him, a stern look on her face.
“Menace, this isn’t a favor. This is a full-out war, one we have no business entering,” he responds, voice changing for her alone. When she holds his attention, he almost seems human.
“We’ve been to war before.” She brushes her thumb along his arm.
“Not like this, baby.” His voice lowers. “You’ve never been one to back an analytical unlikelihood. What’s so different now?”
This time, when she looks at me, her gaze feels almost…maternal. It’s strange because she doesn’t seem that much older than I am—maybe mid-to-late twenties?
It rattles me all the same.
“She is alone, Mikhail. Can you not imagine a world where our daughter might be in the same position?” Her voice hardens with emotion. “Ophelia, alone in the wake of our deaths and trying to carry your empire on her shoulders before it crumbles around her…”
The Pakhan and I both freeze at her soft words. Then the mob boss in front of me melts into the form of a man, wrapping his arms around his wife. I become invisible.
“That will never happen. I have safeguards in place—”
“So did we,” I say. “You knew my father. He prepared for every eventuality. Looked at every piece on the board. He didn’t leave me alone in this world. I have a family to fight for. I have a husband to retrieve.”
Both gazes jump my way.
“And I am not asking for charity. I am prepared to hand over the Popov territory once we’ve conquered it, of which I am also the rightful heir by blood.”
That part seems to shock him again. I keep going.
“You may instate an underboss of your choosing to run it. Additionally, I’m prepared to offer tax-free transportation of your arms deals through my port.”
The woman, Cass, I believe, smiles softly.
“And lastly, you’ll have my word that if a child of yours ever needs any form of aid in Vasiliy’s and my power to give, they will have it immediately. No questions asked.”
I sit back, letting my words drop like stones in a pond.
Mikhail Solokov, the Pakhan of the Solokov Bratva, tilts his gaze to the woman on his right. Her only response is a knowing smile.
“I thought you liked to gamble?” she whispers, rising from the chair.
“Alright, Ms. Siderov.” His attention flicks back to me. “It appears you’ll have your war.”