Chapter 10
Tigran
The oak-paneled conference room has hosted three generations of Belsky family business, and today it will determine whether I can command the same respect my father earned through thirty years of ruthless leadership.
All of them are here to assess whether Nicky Belsky’s son can fill the void left by his death.
I clear my throat and all eyes are on me.
“Attention. Thank you all for coming today. I know many of you couldn’t make the first meeting days after Papa’s death.
” That had been a powerplay move I had allowed only because I was still tying up all the loose ends of taking over for Papa and preparing to marry Zita.
My leniency is over now. “Today marks the first formal leadership council under my authority. There are some very important matters to address this time.”
I pause to look around, letting the room settle into silence before continuing.
“The Federoff situation requires immediate attention.” I open the folder containing Viktor’s latest intelligence reports.
“We’ve confirmed Avgar tried to infiltrate the wedding venue, but my men stopped his people before they could get inside.
The guests were never aware of the danger, but he’ll try again.
Our sources suggest he’s preparing for escalated action rather than retreating. ”
Alexei Russov, who manages our legitimate business interests, leans forward with obvious concern. “What kind of escalated action? Are we talking about territorial expansion or direct assault on our operations?”
“Both.” Viktor spreads surveillance photographs across the table surface. “Intelligence indicates coordination with out-of-state organizations and acquisition of military-grade equipment. This isn’t street-level competition anymore. This is the real deal.”
The photographs show weapons caches, meeting locations, and personnel movements that confirm what I’ve been dreading since the wedding. Avgar isn’t content to challenge us through traditional territorial disputes. He’s preparing for war that could destabilize our entire organization.
“Recommendations?” I scan the faces around the table, noting how each man’s response will reveal something about his confidence in my leadership.
“Blow them to space.” The answer comes from Georgi Petrov, Viktor’s younger brother, who controls our construction operations. “Hit them hard and fast. Eliminate the leadership and scatter the foot soldiers.”
Dmitri nods his agreement. “Your father would’ve done this already.”
Several other men voice support for immediate violence, their eagerness suggesting they view aggressive response as a test of my willingness to follow Nicky’s methods. They want to see whether I’ll demonstrate the ruthless decisiveness that built our current position.
Alexei raises his hand for attention. “But military action carries significant risks in the current political climate. Federal investigations, media attention, and civilian casualties could undermine our legitimate business relationships. Blowing them to space, as you put it, isn’t an option.”
“Legitimate business relationships don’t matter if we’re dead,” Georgi counters with the impatience of someone who’s spent decades solving problems through force. “Politics don’t matter if our organization collapses under pressure from enemies who think we’ve gone soft. We can’t tolerate that.”
This conversation quickly devolves to argument, as it did last time. There are some serious flaws in the organization in front of me, and this isn’t going to be something that gets fixed quickly. It’ll take time to get everyone on the same page.
I’m about to reveal my position when the conference room door opens without warning. Zita enters with a confident stride, wearing a business suit that makes her look like an executive attending a board meeting rather than a wife interrupting her husband’s criminal enterprise planning session.
The conversation stops completely. Twelve dangerous men turn to stare at the woman who just walked uninvited into the most sensitive discussion our organization has conducted since my father’s death.
“Mrs. Belsky.” Viktor’s voice carries carefully controlled shock. “This is a private meeting.”
“I’m aware of that.” Zita settles into the empty chair at the foot of the table, directly opposite my position. “I’m also aware that the matters being discussed affect my safety and my future as much as anyone’s in this room.”
Whispers ripple around the table in multiple languages, none of them complimentary. I see outrage building in several expressions, confusion in others, and something that might be amusement in Alexei’s features.
This is a disaster. In thirty years of leading this organization, my father never allowed wives to participate in strategic planning.
His father never allowed my grandmother to be present, and no Bratva leader would do so.
The separation between family business and domestic concerns is absolute and designed to protect everyone involved.
Now, my wife has violated that separation in front of every important lieutenant in our organization, and my response will determine whether they view me as a leader who can maintain discipline or someone whose authority can be challenged by his own household.
“Zita?” I keep my voice level despite the anger building in my chest. “Perhaps we could discuss your concerns privately after this meeting concludes.”
“My concerns are directly relevant to the discussion you’re having.” She opens a leather portfolio and pulls out what appear to be newspaper clippings and printed research materials. “Particularly the debate about military action versus patience.”
Dmitri’s face flushes red with obvious fury. “Mrs. Belsky, with respect, you don’t understand the complexities involved in organizational security decisions.”
“I understand military action against the Federoffs could expose us all.” Zita’s response is delivered with confident analysis that suggests she’s done substantial research.
I’m not sure where she got her information, but it appears she’s good at covert extraction.
“Media attention from gang warfare could undermine political relationships that took years to build.”
The accuracy of her assessment startles everyone else at the table, including me. She’s not just interrupting our meeting out of curiosity or defiance. She’s prepared substantive arguments based on genuine understanding of our operational challenges.
“Where did you acquire this information?” Viktor’s tone suggests professional respect despite obvious discomfort with the situation.
“Public records, newspaper archives, and federal court documents that are available through standard legal research.” She spreads her materials across the table like she’s making a business presentation.
“It’s amazing what you can learn about criminal enterprises when you have a Northwestern business degree, an iota of common sense to make connections, and access to comprehensive databases. ”
She’s been conducting her own intelligence analysis of our organization’s vulnerabilities.
While I’ve been focused on immediate threats from the Federoffs, my wife has been studying the broader political and legal environment that affects our long-term survival.
She must have picked up some conversations around her to know where to search, but she’s implemented business management into Bratva operations.
“What conclusions have you reached?” I ask, genuinely curious about her perspective despite the inappropriate circumstances of this discussion.
“I’ve concluded your father’s methods were effective for building power but counterproductive for maintaining it.” She stands and walks to the whiteboard mounted on the far wall, picking up a marker with confidence. “Escalating violence will create more problems than it solves.”
She begins drawing a timeline that shows the correlation between major Bratva conflicts and subsequent federal investigations over the past two decades.
The pattern is clear and troubling. Every time our organization has engaged in high-profile warfare, law enforcement attention has intensified significantly.
“Your father survived thirty years by being more ruthless than his enemies,” Zita continues, adding data points that support her analysis. “Survival isn’t the same as prosperity, and prosperity requires stability that constant warfare makes impossible.”
The presentation is impressive despite being completely uninvited. She’s identified patterns that I’ve noticed but haven’t yet had a chance to address at the first official meeting, and her analysis suggests strategic thinking that could contribute meaningfully to our decision-making process.
She’s also just humiliated me in front of every important member of my organization by demonstrating my wife doesn’t respect the boundaries that separate business from domestic concerns.
I stand and move toward the whiteboard, signaling her presentation needs to end. “Your research is thorough and your analysis is insightful. However, this isn’t the appropriate forum for these discussions.”
“Why not?” She turns to face the room directly. “If these decisions affect my life and my safety, why shouldn’t I have input into how they’re made?”
“Because you don’t understand the full context of our operational constraints.” Georgi speaks with barely controlled anger. “This organization has operated successfully for decades without input from wives who think academic theory trumps practical experience.”
“Academic theory backed by comprehensive data analysis,” Zita corrects smoothly. “Which suggests that practical experience without planning leads to short-term success and long-term disaster.” The insult is subtle but unmistakable.