Chapter 1
ARTYOM
FIVE YEARS LATER…
The invite may have said birthday celebration, but we all know this is a coronation — and coronations cannot start without the king.
The jammed snake of traffic illuminates the dark car interior with red light.
My driver Karol is apologizing for the delay every five seconds, but I shrug him off. Not his fault that the fall weather has turned ice-cold sooner than expected, leading every asshole and his dog to jam up the roads.
Normally, I might be more tense. Not tonight.
I relax into the leather seat and run through my speech once again. It’s a big night. My turn to define the strategy for the Petrovs and our seat on the Bratva Council for the next decade. Or five decades, if Babushka Vanya’s track record is anything to go by.
I sweep into the Estate, on the outskirts of the city, shrugging off my coat at the entrance.
My cousin Valentin is by my side as soon as I enter the ballroom, talking my ear off with excitement.
“Relax, cousin. We’ve got this. Tonight, it all comes together.” I clap him on the shoulder and take my seat next to him, right at the front of the venue.
All tables face the stage, which has been set up for Vanya’s big speech. She begins exactly how we knew she would: with family history.
Legacy, tradition, and honor are everything for our babushka.
When you’ve heard the same story for thirty-eight years, it gets a little tired.
“The Petrov name lies at the root of the tree that is the Bratva. Without us Petrovs, there is no money. Without the money, what is the empire?”
Vanya mimes a disappearing motion with her hand.
“It is nothing. Cut away the roots and the tree crumbles. We are stability, we are support, we nourish this empire. Take away the Petrovs, and the Bratva will vanish. When my father came to this city, after the war…”
Her voice trembles a little, but it’s the only sign of her diminishing strength. If not for that, and the way she was leaning more heavily on her cane these days, I could pretend it wasn’t her ninetieth birthday.
The Bratva’s future rests on my shoulders. Or, it will, in approximately five minutes, when Vanya gets done with her history lesson and makes the announcement everyone is waiting for.
The foundation. The crumbling empire. And I am the one who is going to bear that responsibility on my shoulders, to ensure that there are nutrients to feed this tree, to continue producing fruit for our entire community.
It’s controversial for the leadership to skip a generation, but I’m more than ready. Each year of my life has been spent preparing for this moment. Ever since I was a baby bouncing on my babushka’s knee, because my mother saw me as a rival the minute I could breathe alone.
Vanya has instilled this in me. The power, the spite, the satisfaction of watching my mother and my uncle have to grovel for favors, it’s what I’ve dedicated my life to.
I’m always at ease in a roomful of people. But tonight, there are so many eyes on me, that I can’t make a single movement without heads turning.
That’s power.
For a second, I toy with the idea of saying no. Of walking up to my babushka, where she stands on that stage, and causing an upset. My family’s backstabbing would reach world-war levels if there was a vacuum of power at the top. New York would be razed to the ground in months.
No, refusal is not an option. There is no alternative. This is my life.
“Don’t look worried,” remarks my cousin, Valentin, slinging an arm over the back of my chair with a yawn. “We all know it’s going to be you, Tyoma. And thank God. I don’t want to be up there.”
I nod, but I can’t stop my jaw from tensing.
I know it’s me, in my bones, even though I’ve never been told directly.
It’s the reason my mother hates me. It’s the reason my cousin Boris is glaring at me like I’ve stolen his slice of cake.
He’ll try to fight me later, as he always does at family gatherings.
He spends a lot of time in the boxing ring, practicing for these fights.
It does him no good. I’m taller, stronger and most importantly, smarter than he is.
He’ll walk out of this room with a black eye, nursing his wounded pride.
And I will walk out with the Petrov family seat on the Council of the Bratva.
I’m ripped back to the present by the sound of gasps.
Valentin’s mouth hangs open.
Boris is clinging to his wife’s hand with a shit-eating grin across his face like he’s just won the lottery.
No one’s looking at me. The eyes in the room are all fixed on Vanya.
“My love for Vassily was the only reason I learned the business of the Council. The Bratva is a family, and whoever leads it needs to set an example for everyone else. The next leader of our family needs to know not just how to lead, but how to love.” She turns her pale blue eyes to me, boring into me with laser-like certainty as she makes her final point.
“I cannot in good conscience pass the council seat to someone unmarried. This is not a job that can be done alone.”
As Vanya wraps up her speech with a reflection on her long life, the sour taste of disappointment settles on my tongue.
It’s not something I’m used to and I don’t care for it.
Years of work, preparations made, deals struck.
I’d clinched the council seat. I had people on my side, I had good will, I had the political influence.
And now none of it is enough, because Vanya’s decided to toy with us all for another year.
“To another year,” my uncle Denis toasts when Vanya finishes her speech.
“Another year,” the room echoes.
I go through the motions of raising my glass and joining in, but I leave my champagne untouched. Even in this moment, I’m not going to break that promise to myself.
I think this hot feeling spreading in my chest is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to embarrassment.
I don’t make mistakes. My predictions are never wrong. Things just work out for me.
But Vanya Petrova has a mind of her own.
“That is some old-fashioned bullshit from Babushka,” Valentin reassures me, nudging my shoulder with his elbow.
That might be true.
Unfortunately, I know that my babushka is not changing her mind, not once she’s set on a particular course. She is not just a stick in the mud, she’s a steel bar set in concrete.
No budging, no excuses.
Vanya descends the stairs on her shaky legs, her cane taking her weight, then pulls me into a firm hug.
I can feel her bones. It pains me to see her like this.
She’d cuff me if I did try to help, though. Despite everything, despite her visible frailty, she never wants to be seen as weak.
“I must disagree with your speech, Babushka,” I say while she’s still crushing me in a hug.
She lets go and pats my cheek. “I would expect nothing less, Tyoma.”
“You know I could do it on my own.”
“This is a den of vipers and they would eat you alive.”
“They haven’t so far.”
“Because you had your scary old babushka to protect you.” She sinks into one of the red velvet chairs with a groan. “I won’t be around forever, dear boy. I can’t protect you from her or him.”
She looks over to where my mother and uncle are talking, their heads close together. They don’t bother trying to hide their relationship anymore. After Vanya’s announcement, I’m sure they’ll schedule a wedding within a week.
“I’m your child, Babushka. Raised by wolves,” I give her a cheeky smile that hides the sinking feeling growing in my chest. “I can give it out just as good as they can.”
Vanya jabs a finger at my chest. “There’s a soft heart beating in that chest. It’s why everyone likes you, Artyom. It’s why you should be next. But it makes you vulnerable too. Especially when it’s as broken as it has been lately.”
I put up my defenses and flash Vanya a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, babushka. I could get married tonight if I needed to. Mariana has always liked me.”
“But you won’t,” Vanya replies, tugging me into the chair next to hers and placing a papery hand to my cheek. “You won’t. Because she’s not here. That nice girl.”
Leave it to Vanya to identify exactly what’s tearing me apart.
I shake my head and push my hair back from my forehead. This was supposed to be my night.
“I’m over it.” I set my jaw.
“Your lies work on anyone but me. I couldn’t watch you take the Council seat, all the while knowing that you would never be happy. You’ve been pining after that girl for years.” As always, Vanya is the only one who knows what’s on my mind.
But it feels like an ice bath when she says: “You need to move on, Tyoma. It’s not healthy for you. This isn’t love, it’s obsession.”
“I said, I’m over it.”
Vanya raises her palms. “This job will tear you apart. It will make you question what you know, who your friends are, whether the floor is under your feet or up on the roof. You need one person who you can trust to the ends of the earth.”
I plan for everything, but I never planned for the fact that my babushka could be such a romantic.
The rest of the night, I pretend. I act like I expected this, like I know what I’m doing.
Like my mind isn’t already casting around for options.
I flirt. I dance. I smile.
I take the number of Mariana Vontov, a blonde ice-queen who I’ve never seen show an emotion in her life. She taps away at my phone with her shiny acrylic nails, and every whiff of her sugary perfume solidifies what I already know.
There’s only one person I can stomach the thought of marrying.
My plan hasn’t changed since she walked into my office.
The problem is, we haven’t spoken in five years.