Chapter Twenty-Three
Maro n
"You fucking disappointed me, Korolev. We had an arrangement and you fucking disappointed me."
I’m sitting across from Leonid Shirkov, the powerful Russian media mogul. The air in the lavish conference room feels heavy and suffocating, and the tension between us almost is tangible. I can practically feel his calculating gaze burning me as we engage in a high-stakes game of negotiation. Every word he speaks feels like a loaded gun pointed directly at me.
My mind flashes back to the first time I met Shirkov. We were at a Bratva gathering, over a decade ago. I was still green, barely out of my father's shadow, when he approached me with that same calculating gaze he wears now.
"So, you're Korolev’s boy," he'd said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Let's hope you're smarter than your old man was."
I didn't fully understand what he meant back then.
Now I do.
It doesn't help that he's right. I'd promised him a delivery, a kidney to save her daughter’s life, hoping it would end the conflict brewing between our families since my father’s time. Then, my ship hit a fucking iceberg, and the kidney ended up in the bottom of the ocean along with my Tramoxine samples. And in the midst of the fuckery that is called my life, I haven't been able to find a solution yet. I've been juggling too many things at once: training Maurice to take over the organ business, running Global Media, preparing for the launch of Tramoxine, and dealing with my mother's illness.
And then, being preoccupied with Mindy.
The power of pussy , my father would say.
I lean back in my seat, leaving my expression cold and neutral, "It was Vis Maior, Leonid. Our ship hit an iceberg. I'm arranging for a new kidney for your daughter as we speak. And," I add, "you'll get a discount. I’m covering thirty percent of the cost. Best I can do."
I feel a flicker of sympathy for the man's plight, but I quickly smother it. In this world, sympathy is a weakness, and weakness is a luxury no one in the Bratva can afford.
Shirkov doesn’t seem too pleased with my offer. He slams his fist on the table, causing the glasses to rattle on the hard, wooden desk stretching between us. "I don't give a shit about your excuses, or your discount, Korolev. My daughter is fucking dying, you understand? She needs that kidney!"
My daughter is dying.
Hearing this triggers something deep within me. My mind immediately drifts back to my own late daughter, Cordelia. It guts me to even think about the moment I lost her. Even as I sit here with a man as rich and powerful as Shirkov, I can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him. He's a heartless motherfucker, a cold-blooded murderer who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in my head if that served his purpose. And yet, I can understand his pain, his fear of losing his daughter.
"I get why you’re frustrated, Shirkov,” I tell him, keeping my voice calm and even. “We both want the same thing. Get that kidney to your daughter. But we need time. Suitable organs don't just magically appear."
Shirkov scoffs and leans in closer, locking eyes with mine. "Well, guess what, Korolev. Jennifer doesn't have the luxury of time. And neither do you." He emphasizes each word with a sharp nod.
I raise an eyebrow, keeping my expression impassive. "Is that a threat?"
He bares his teeth in a humorless smirk. "Call it a promise." He rises from his seat, looming over me. "You and I both know that this goes beyond a mere organ." His voice isthreateningly calm. I remain silent, knowing well that he is right, and fucking hating it. But there's no escaping the situation. My cargo sunk, and now, I have to face the music. “Let's get one thing straight,” he continues. “This is your one chance to settle the conflict between our families. Fuck this up, and there will be no peace.” He slams his fist on the table. "If my daughter dies because of your fucking incompetence, I will tear your family to shreds until there is no one left."
I inhale a deep breath through my nose in an attempt to control my rising anger. I could kill the old fucker where he stands if I wanted. Slice his throat or put a bullet in his skull. But where would that get me? Fucking nowhere. His other family members would come after my family and we’d end up in a fucking war all over again where all bets are off. I can’t allow that to happen. Not when I have a sick mother to take care of.
"Let me guess," I say, my voice deceptively soft. "You’ll start by putting a bullet in my head first?"
"No, I won’t.” Shirkov chuckles, a dark, mirthless sound. “First, I’ll make you watch as I destroy everything you hold dear. Your businesses, and your loved ones."
I give him a cold stare, meeting his gaze. Not sure what else I expected of a motherfucker like Shirkov but what he’s saying still gets to me. I can see the malice in his eyes and I know well that he’s not someone who makes empty threats. But then again, I am no stranger to being threatened. However, the mere mention of my family ignites a fiery rage within me, boiling and bubbling like molten lava in my veins. My hands tremble with the urge to launch myself at him and rip his head off, but I force myself to stay composed. Giving in to my anger would only lead to the destruction I’m trying to avoid.
"You do what you have to do, Shirkov," I say, my voice like steel. "But know this - you can come for me. But if you have the balls to come for my family, I will come for yours. I will burn them alive and make you watch. Think about that before you threaten my family again." I don’t take my eyes off his. "Your daughter will get the kidney. We both know, that she is very far from dying. She has time. So have some patience. If I say I deliver, I will deliver."
Shirkov's eyes bulge with rage and his body tenses. "Two weeks, Korolev. That’s how long you have," he snarls, voice low and deadly. "Disappoint me again, and I'll carve out your fucking kidney with my bare hands." With a final glare, he turns, and storms out of the room, the heavy thud of his boots echoing in my ears.
Leaning back in my chair I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face. Blyad. What a fucking shitshow. It will be a hell of a mission to get that kidney in two weeks, but failure is not an option. The last thing I want right now is to go to war with the old motherfucker.
I turn to Pavel, who's been sitting silently in the corner all this time, his face a mask of stoic calm. But I can see the tension in his shoulders.
"Can we arrange a matching kidney in two weeks, Pavel?" I growl.
Pavel leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "If we know what’s good for us, we will, boss."
***
In less than thirty minutes, Pavel and I are back at the hotel, lounging in one of the conference rooms. My second-in-command is sipping vodka, watching me impassively as I mull things over. Fucking Shirkov. He is the last fucking problem I want to be dealing with right now. I’d rather be upstairs in my suite, balls deep in Mindy. Instead, I’m down here, thinking about how to get a kidney for Jennifer Shirkova, and then ship it halfway across the world.
A snap decision has me reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone. I speed dial Maurice’s number. The line rings once, twice.
Come on, Maurice, pick up the fucking phone .
A groggy voice answers, thick with sleep and irritation. "Jesus, Maron, do you know what time it is here? It's the middle of the night!"
My grip tightens on the phone, my jaw clenching. "Listen up, Maurice. We've got a situation."
I hear a rustle of sheets and a muffled curse. "What's going on?"
"We need the Shirkov kidney. ASAP."
"What? Shirkov?"
"Yes. The buyer’s got me by the balls."
"Maron, that shipment isn't due for another week at least. These things take time and-"
I slam my hand against the oak table, my patience snapping. "Damn it, Maurice! We do not have another week. We need that fucking kidney, yesterday."
There’s a tense pause on his end of the line. I can practically hear his mind racing.
"Maron,you know I've never done this before. I'm still learning, and if something goes to shit-"
"Nothing will go to shit, Maurice. Because you're going to make sure of it." My words are clipped, leaving no room for argument. "This is your chance to prove yourself, brother. Show me you have what it takes. Find me a kidney and get it shipped. We have two weeks to get it to the buyer."
Maurice exhales heavily. When he speaks again, his voice is tight but resolute. "Fine. I'll get to the compound in the morning and see what I can do."
"You have forty-eight hours to get this underway. Not a minute more."
"Jesus, Maron, forty-eight hours? That's not even possible!"
"The clock is ticking, brother. And the price of failure..." I let the unspoken threat hang in the air. "It’s not a price either of us want to pay."
There is a long, heavy silence on my brother's end. "Fine. I won't let you down this time."
"You better not, Maurice. Sleep tight."
I hang up the phone abruptly and turn to look out the window. The lights of Moscow shine brightly through the tinted glass.
After a brief pause, Pavel speaks up. "Everything alright with Maurice, boss?"
"I fucking hope so," I say. "He’s been doing okay so far. He’s not going to fuck up this one. But I’ll be watching his every move, just to be sure."
"Can I be honest with you, boss?" Pavel says.
"Tell me."
"The kidney situation is the least of my worries," he says."I have other things on my mind."
I frown. "Like what?"
"Look, boss.” Pavel clears his throat. “We've been in some pretty shitty situations in the past and we always found a way out, right?” he shoots me a look. “We'll get that kidney to Shirkov in time, I’m sure of it."
"Yes, bratok , but it’s not every day we sink an entire fucking cargo ship," I scoff. “We don’t have the luxury of handling this casually.”
"And I’m not suggesting that we should," Pavel says. "We’ll leave nothing to chance, boss. I’ll contact some people in Bangladesh as a backup plan, in case Maurice fucks up. We’re gonna be fine, boss, I promise.”
“Right.” I glance at my second in command. “What’s bothering you then?”
“Right now… I'm more concerned about your position.” Pavel hesitates, giving me a side-eye. “You’re a single man with no strong alliances. It makes you vulnerable. Shirkov knows this too."
I frown, not entirely following his train of thought. "What does that have to do with the kidney situation?"
Pavel sighs, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. "Shirkov is allied with his wife's family, boss. The Sokolovs. A very powerful clan, with deep ties to the government and the criminal underworld. If they decide to make a move against you, we are under a bigger pile of shit than we’ve ever been."
I wave a hand dismissively, even as a cold knot of unease settles in my gut. "It won’t get there, Pavel. I can handle Shirkov and his in-laws." But even as the words leave my mouth, I know I'm being naive. Fucking Pavel has a point as usual. The Bratva is an ancient organization, steeped in tradition and rigid hierarchies. A man without a wife, without an heir to carry on his legacy is seen as weak, unmoored. An easy target for ambitious rivals and hungry wolves.
I lean back in my seat, rubbing a hand over my face. " Blyad … you're right," I admit grudgingly. "I am in a vulnerable position. If Shirkov decides to use this kidney situation as an excuse to come after me, we’ll be fighting a war on two fronts."
Pavel nods, his expression grim. "Exactly, boss. And with all due respect, you're not getting any younger. You need to think about the future of the organization, about securing your legacy."
I feel a flicker of annoyance at the implied criticism, but I know it’s just my ego. My second in command is only speaking the truth. As the Pakhan , it's my responsibility to ensure the continuity and strength of the Bratva. And right now, I'm failing in that duty.
I stand up abruptly, pacing the room like a caged tiger. My mind is racing, weighing options and discarding them just as quickly.
Yes, I need to secure that kidney for Shirkov, and hopefully bury the hatchet with him for good. But what good is a truce if I’m seen as a weakling? It’s not like Shirkov or any of these Bratva-fuckers can be trusted. If they think I’m vulnerable, they will find an alibi to come after me and my empire. I must start thinking long-term, shore up my alliances, and strengthen my position within the underworld.
And I know exactly what I need to do to make that happen.
I stop in my tracks as something dawns on me. There's only one way to kill two birds with one stone, solve both my immediate problems, and my long-term vulnerability.
I must get married. I just need to do it sooner than I had planned.
I turn back to Pavel, my eyes glinting with a new sense of purpose. "I’m going to get married, Pavel. And I think I know just the woman for the job."
Pavel frowns at me. "Not your chief accountant, right?"
I level him with a steady gaze. "Not that it's any of your fucking business, but yes. That's why I brought her here."
Pavel shakes his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and apprehension. "Boss... she is a nice girl and everything... but she’s from another world. You can't form an alliance with her family. In your position, you need-"
I cut him off, my tone brooking no argument. "I don't care about the Bratva's old-school ways, Pavel. That woman is mine, and I will marry her. It may not lead to an alliance, but it will be a solution to our problems. Just wait and see."
Pavel stares at me, his head still shaking in disapproval. "Boss, you know I'm loyal to you. Have always been. But allow me to disagree with you on this one. You are about to make the mistake of your life."
A smirk tugs at the corners of my lips, one that holds both certainty and determination. "No, Pavel," I say, my voice unwavering. "I'm about to make the best fucking decision of my life. And it’s you who has to trust me on that."