Chapter Six
Alexei
I lean back in my chair, soaking in the familiar smell of coffee and gun oil clinging faintly to the air.
Papers are spread across my desk: shipping logs, ledgers, reports from the docks.
I'd asked for them all the moment I returned. My men think I’m obsessed, but I don’t leave things to chance. I can’t afford to.
I hear the door open and look up to see my brother, Dmitri, stroll in like he owns the damn place. He doesn’t bother knocking. He never does.
“Where's Anya?” He asks, looking around like he actually expects her to materialize from thin air. “You know…everyone’s in a much better mood lately. Almost like having Anya home has softened our fearless pakhan.”
I glance up from the file I’m reading to arch my brows at him. “Careful, Dmitri. You sound almost sentimental.”
He grins, dropping into the chair across from me. “Don’t deny it. The whole house feels different. I swear, even the dog stopped growling at me.”
“We don't have a dog.”
“Exactly.” He smirks. “That’s how bad it was before.”
I shake my head, but the corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “Anya went out to see old friends. She’ll be home later.”
“Good,” Dmitri says, folding his hands over his knee. “Means you won’t be completely insufferable while we talk business.”
I close the file, my focus sharpening. “What’s happened?”
He sobers quickly. “We’ve had two more hits on our shipments this week. One at the harbor, another outside Newark. Minor losses so far, but whoever’s behind them is testing our defenses. Seeing how far they can push.”
The muscles in my jaw tighten. “Let them test. I’ll make sure the next attempt is their last.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say,” Dmitri mutters. “Still, the timing is bad. I got word from the council this morning.”
He pauses, waiting until I meet his eyes. “They’re calling for a skhodka. It starts in less than an hour. They want to discuss Father’s death.”
For a long moment, silence fills the room, except for the slow tick of the clock on the wall. I'm not even surprised. I saw this coming. In fact, I’d expected it to happen sooner.
“Of course they are,” I say quietly. “They finally decided to question what everyone knows needed to be done.”
“You’ll have to go,” Dmitri says. “Refusal isn’t an option.”
I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers. “No. It isn’t.”
He studies me. “You still think you can convince them?”
“I don’t need to convince them.” I stand, cross to the window, and stare out at the city below. Gray sky. Cold light. “I’ll show them the proof. Every record. Every file. What he did to his wives. To Mother. To Ivan.”
My throat tightens around the name, but I keep my voice even. “They’ll see what kind of monster he was.”
Dmitri’s reflection appears beside mine in the glass, his expression darkening. “He was more than a monster, Alexei. He was rabid. If you hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve taken us all down with him.”
“He almost did.” I turn back toward the desk, the memory flickering in my head like a match.
Yuri drunk, raving, confessing every crime like it was a badge of honor.
“He killed our mother because she threatened to leave. Killed Ivan because he found out too much. Every woman he ever touched eventually became a target. Including Anya’s mother. ”
Dmitri exhales slowly. “That’s what I came to ask you about. Have you told her? About her parents?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You plan to?”
“Eventually.” My tone is clipped, but the thought claws at me. “She’s been through enough. All those years under his roof nearly broke her, Dmitri. What good would it do to tell her that the man she thought of as a stepfather murdered both her parents?”
“She deserves the truth.”
“She deserves peace,” I snap before I can stop myself. The words echo in the silence between us. I drag a hand over my face and drop back into my chair. “If I tell her now, it’ll destroy what we’re building. She finally looks at me without fear. I can’t take that from her. From myself.”
Dmitri studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “You always did carry more guilt than necessary.”
“It’s not guilt,” I murmur. “It’s responsibility.” Or maybe selfishness.
He leans forward. “You love her, don’t you?”
The question sits there, heavy and unspoken, but we both know it’s true. I don’t bother denying it.
“She’s the one thing I got right,” I say finally. “The only thing our father didn’t ruin.”
Dmitri nods once, then pushes to his feet. “We need to leave soon. I’ll have the car brought around.”
“Make sure our security detail doubles while I’m gone,” I say as he reaches the door. “Anya stays under watch at all times.”
He glances over his shoulder, dark brow arched in ill-concealed amusement. “Still protecting her from ghosts?”
“From men who think like my father,” I correct quietly. “And from anyone who thinks they can touch what’s mine.”
“There he is…” Dmitri says, his lips curving in a smirk. “The Alexei I remember. I know—”
He suddenly trails off, his expression instantly alert at the same time I jerk my head toward the door. The sound had been soft, but loud enough to be picked up by our trained ears.
Someone was eavesdropping. And only one person comes to mind…
“Anya?” I call quietly.
The name barely leaves my lips before I hear footsteps hurrying down the corridor, heels clicking against the marble, fast and uneven.
I spring to my feet, my chest tightening with an unfamiliar pain. “Anya!”
I stride to the door and pull it open just in time to see the back of her black dress disappearing around the corner.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, and start to follow her.
But Dmitri steps into my path, palm flat against my chest. “Don’t.”
I push his hand away, my muscles coiled tight. “She heard.”
“I know,” he says calmly, though there’s a trace of sympathy in his eyes. “But you can’t fix it right now.”
“She thinks I lied to her.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean for it to. “That I’ve been hiding it from her all this time—”
“You have been hiding it,” he cuts in, not unkindly. “And she deserves to be angry. But this…” He gestures to the desk, to the files and the gun holstered at my side. “You've got to clear the air first.”
I stare past him, toward the empty doorway. Every instinct in me screams to go after her, to catch her before the hurt takes root. To explain. To beg if I have to.
Dmitri’s next words land like a blow.
“You can’t go after her, Alexei. Not tonight. The vory are already gathering. The skhodka starts within the hour. If you ignore the summons—”
“I know the consequences,” I snap.
Dmitri doesn’t flinch, though. “Then you also know they won’t just punish you. They’ll come for your men. Our family. Everything we’ve built.” He holds my gaze, his eyes burning meaningfully into mine as he hits the nail on the head. “Anya won't be spared.”
Rage burns through me, sharp and suffocating. I drag a hand through my hair, staring at the empty space where Anya stood a moment ago.
I can still hear the faint echo of her steps on the stairs. I can imagine her face—the shock, betrayal, pain…
It guts me.
For a long moment, I don’t move. The silence between us stretches, broken only by the ticking of the clock. Then finally, I give him a stiff nod.
“You’ll make sure she’s safe while I’m gone.” It's not a request, but of course, Dmitri knows that.
“Of course.”
I turn back toward the window, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
“I’ll deal with the council,” I mutter. “Then I’ll find her and explain everything.”
There’s no point pretending otherwise.
When I get back, there won’t be anywhere she can run that I won’t find her.
And when I do…she’ll get the truth.
All of it.
***
The skhodka takes place at a Russian restaurant in Brighton Beach.
It’s one of the old ones with dark wood paneling, heavy velvet drapes, and the faint smell of dill and smoke soaked into every surface.
The place has been cleared for the night.
No customers. No staff. Just the men who decide the fate of others with a single word.
Neutral ground.
The vory don’t believe in chance. Every chair, every glass, every line of sight has a purpose. Power demands control, even in the smallest details.
And tonight, all of it feels aimed at me.
Mikhail, Viktor, and Dmitri are already seated when I enter with Sergei. Dmitri’s expression is steady, watchful. Mikhail’s jaw is set tight. Viktor sits motionless, his face a mask, though I can see the tension coiled in his shoulders.
I give them a nod and take my place at the center table, Sergei positioning himself directly behind my chair.
The air is heavy with silence until an older vor, Voronin, a man with a gray beard and pale eyes, lifts his glass.
“To the code,” he calls out in a loud voice. “And to the truth.”
The rest of us echo, “And to the truth,” then down the contents of our glasses. The sharp sting of vodka burns its way down my throat, cool and clean.
The oath follows, when we accept the council’s decision, whatever it may be. The words hang in the air like a noose.
When Boris Popov stands, the tension thickens.
He’s a big man—wide shoulders, slick hair, and a mouth too quick with smiles that never reach his eyes. He’s been circling since Yuri’s death, waiting for his moment.
“It is clear,” Boris begins, his voice deceptively smooth, “that Alexei Balshov believes himself above our laws. He killed his father, his pakhan, without council approval. Such an act cannot go unpunished. The code is clear: betrayal of the brotherhood demands death.”
A murmur ripples through the room. I don’t flinch.
Boris keeps going, voice swelling with fake indignation. “The Balshov name has long weighed heavily over the bratva. It is time for a change. I propose that leadership be transferred to one who respects our traditions.” He pauses dramatically, letting the silence stretch before adding, “To me.”