Chapter Six #2
Mikhail’s hand curls into a fist on the table, but Viktor’s reaction is more subtle. His jaw tightens, his hands ball into fists beneath the table, and he shifts as if to rise.
Dmitri grips his arm before he can rise. “Not here,” he mutters under his breath. “Not now.”
Boris doesn’t even look at them. He’s enjoying himself too much. “To seal peace between our families,” he says grandly, “I would see my daughter wed to Dmitri Balshov. A union to strengthen ties between our bloodlines.”
I see Viktor’s jaw tighten until the vein in his neck throbs. He doesn’t speak, but the fury in his eyes is enough to make the air crackle. Dmitri squeezes his shoulder again, warning him to hold his ground.
When Boris sits, I rise.
“Yuri Balshov was not executed out of ambition,” I say, keeping my voice low but steady. “He was executed because he lost control. Because he murdered our own. Because his actions endangered every man in this room.”
I slide a folder across the table. “Inside are photos, documents, recordings—proof of Yuri’s crimes.
These include the deaths of Ivan, my mother, and his wives.
” I pause to look around, to be sure every man in the room is listening to me.
“And the kidnapping of Elena Marino, sister-in-law of Matteo Rossi. A crime that would have sparked a war between our families and spilled blood across the city. I acted to prevent destruction,” I say.
“But I will not lie. I should have brought the evidence to the council sooner. That was my mistake.”
There’s a murmur of assent, but also of unease.
One of the vory, Sokolov, leans forward. “You know the rules, Alexei. A man who takes justice into his own hands must answer for it before the council.”
“I do,” I say. “And I accept that.”
But Boris is smiling again, too calm. “Then we are agreed. The code is clear—”
He doesn’t finish because the quiet man beside him stands up, abruptly cutting him off. He's young, with broad shoulders and the same sharp blue eyes as Boris….his son, Andrei Popov.
“Sit down, boy,” Boris growls under his breath.
Andrei doesn’t. His voice cuts clean through the room.
“I have something to say.”
Every head turns.
Andrei’s hand trembles only slightly as he pulls a flash drive from his jacket pocket and places it on the table. “I found this in my father’s safe,” he says. “Proof of Yuri Balshov’s crimes. But also proof of my father’s involvement.”
The room goes still. You could hear the hum of the fridge in the next room.
“What the hell are you doing?” Boris hisses, his face red with indignation as he tries to stare his son down.
Andrei’s gaze doesn’t waver. “The truth,” he says simply. “That’s what this meeting is supposed to be about, isn’t it?”
He nods toward the council members, and one signals for the data to be projected onto the screen behind the bar.
Images flash on the screen—scans of ledgers, transcripts, bank statements.
One recording plays of Yuri and Boris arguing about Ivan’s death.
About Natasha. About how Yuri’s power would ensure Boris’s rise after the death of my grandfather…
My blood runs cold, even though I already knew the gist of it.
The gasps from the table confirm what I suspected: the others didn’t.
Boris lunges at his son, roaring, “You ungrateful little—”
But Viktor moves first, slamming his arm against Boris’s chest. Mikhail is already there, stepping between them, his voice a warning growl. “Touch him, and you’ll lose that hand.”
Andrei doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. “I stand by the bratva code,” he says, his voice dangerously calm. “Even if my father does not.”
The silence that follows is heavier than before. It's time for reckoning…
The council murmurs among themselves, voices a low buzz of Russian that bleeds through the silence. I can feel every eye on me, waiting for the verdict that will decide whether I leave here breathing or in a box.
Voronin raises a hand, silencing the room. “Before judgment is passed,” he says, “you should know that this council was not convened solely on Boris Popov’s request.”
A ripple of confusion runs through the table.
Voronin continues, his pale eyes sliding toward me. “We were contacted directly by Matteo Rossi.”
The name lands like a gunshot. Every man here knows the weight of it.
“He informed us,” the old man goes on, “that Alexei Balshov prevented a war between the Rossis and our brotherhood. That you risked your own life to retrieve Elena Marino from your late father’s custody. Matteo Rossi commended this act…and he made something very clear.”
He lets the words hang before delivering the blow.
“He said that any harm brought to Alexei Balshov would be seen as an offense against the Rossis.”
The air thickens. No one speaks. The meaning is clear. The Rossi don has drawn a line of protection around me. A powerful one.
Boris’s face drains of color, and I have the satisfaction of watching the fear seep into his eyes.
Greedy bastard.
Voronin nods toward him, slow and deliberate. “It appears, Boris, that your ambition has outpaced your sense.”
Sokolov folds his hands. “The council acknowledges Alexei Balshov’s failure to notify us in due course. But given the circumstances and Rossi’s statement…it is clear his actions served the bratva’s best interest.”
His voice hardens. “What cannot be ignored are your crimes, Boris Popov. The murder of innocents. The child Ivan Balshov. The women—Natasha, Katarina, and the others. Each one a violation of the code. Crimes against your own.”
Boris tries to speak, but Voronin cuts him off. “Enough! The council’s decision is unanimous.”
He turns to look at me. “Alexei Balshov is absolved of wrongdoing and endorsed as pakhan of the Balshov Bratva.” He pauses, returning his attention to Boris. “Boris Popov is to be executed for his crimes. The punishment will be carried out by Alexei Balshov himself, in accordance with tradition.”
Boris surges to his feet, shouting protests that no one listens to. His men don’t move to defend him—they know better. Mikhail, Dmitri, and Viktor join Sergei to stand behind me, all on guard.
I bow my head slightly. “Spasibo,” I murmur to the council.
Then I turn to Boris, meeting his wild, desperate eyes. “You took too much from my family. Now I’ll take your life in return.”
The guards seize him, dragging him from the room. His shouts echo down the narrow hall.
The skhodka breaks apart slowly after that, with murmurs, clinking glasses, and a mix of respect and fear following me out. The moment the door closes behind me, the night air hits cold against my face, but it does nothing to ease the heat burning under my skin.
Andrei Popov is waiting near the curb, smoking a cigarette. The glow of it lights the edge of his sharp features. Mikhail stands with him, talking quietly. When they see me, Mikhail steps aside.
“Thank you,” I tell Andrei. “For what you did.”
He exhales smoke through his nose, eyes steady. “I didn’t do it for you.”
Mikhail gives him a look. Andrei smirks faintly. “Alright, maybe a little for him,” he admits, nodding toward Mikhail. “But mostly for my sister. She’s not a pawn to be bartered off in my father’s games.”
My gaze flicks to Viktor, who’s standing a few paces away, hands in his pockets, watching us.
Andrei’s eyes shift to him too…for just a moment longer than necessary. There’s something there I can’t read.
But I file it away for later. Right now, I have other priorities.
I clap Andrei on the shoulder. “Whatever your reasons, you did the right thing tonight. That’s rare.”
He nods once, the corner of his mouth lifting wryly. “Just don’t waste it, Balshov.”
I turn toward my car, already pulling out my phone. There’s only one thought running through my head, sharp as a blade…Anya.
I should’ve told her the truth long ago. I should’ve trusted her to handle it. But I didn’t. And now, the one person who matters most in this world probably thinks I’m just another liar becoming my father. I won’t let her believe that for long.
I slide into the car and rap my knuckle against the glass partition. “Take me home, Sergei.”
As the lights of Brighton Beach blur past the window, one truth settles deep in my chest.
I might have survived the council…but facing Anya will be the real reckoning.