Chapter 7 #2
Yuri nods. “Okay, item one on our list is concluded. Next, I believe Abram wanted to—”
“Yeah, if we’re done with the theatrics, can we please get down to actual business?”
My jaw ticks as my eyes swivel across the table to Abram Diduch.
Until just a couple of years ago, Abram’s uncle, Olek Domitrovich, had been the head of the Diduch Bratva family for close to forty years.
Olek was calm, honorable, and magnanimous—in fact, he was a firm ally of Lizbet’s when she was trying to wrest control of her inheritance after the death of her piece of shit father Semyon Belsky, the man whose rape of my mother resulted in me.
Olek, however, stepped down three years ago for health reasons, and passed less than six months later. Unfortunately, his nephew seems to be cut from the exact opposite cloth.
Abram is only a year or so older than me. He’s a hothead, power-hungry, impulsive, and quite vocal about his dislike that the High Council even exists. Ironically, it’s because of temperaments like his that the Council was formed in the first place.
Next to me, Viktor and Lukas scowl at the same time—and, amusingly, in the same way , despite not being biologically related.
“How about we keep this civil, Abram,” Ilya snarls from behind Yuri.
Abram looks like he’s about to do anything but when Yuri holds up a hand.
“Simmer down, both of you. Yes, Abram, we can now address the issue you wished to bring up at this meeting. Unless anyone else has anything else to add concerning the change in Reznikov leadership?”
Viktor and Yuri are both silent. Going around the circle, Marko Kalishnik, the head of the Kalishnik Bratva, is next, and he shakes his head no.
“ Nyet . Welcome to the table, Gavan.” Anastasia Javanovi?, the head of the Javanovi? family, which is a relatively new addition to the Bratva High Council, nods cooly at me.
Anastasia’s just a few years older than me.
She’s also the first female head of a High Council family since its inception fifty years ago.
The Javanovi? family is also on decently good terms with the Kashenko, Volkov, and my own organization.
Which is good, because Anastasia is a person I would not wish to be enemies with.
I mean the woman killed her own father—who was a shithead on par with Semyon Belsky—by disemboweling him and hanging him by his own fucking guts from the walls of the actual Tower of fucking London.
I’ve got family issues myself, but Christ .
Next to her, Abram drums his fingers on the table impatiently, glancing to his left at the last of the family heads around the table. Demyan Ozerov is another newly-elected High Council member—a gruff, scowly former soldier who now leads the Ozerov family. He also happens to be Abram’s cousin.
“Could we just stop wasting time and proceed with my cousin’s concerns, please.”
Yuri nods. “Very well. Abram, the floor is yours.”
The young king takes a second to level a hard, steely glare around the table before he clears his throat.
“We’ve been putting this off for much too long.” His eyes narrow. “We need to address the Drazen situation.”
A dark cloud instantly forms over the whole table.
The “Drazen situation” refers to Drazen Krylov, a Serbian-Russian warlord of sorts who now fancies himself a rising Bratva power.
I’ve never met him—in fact, nobody here has.
No one even knows what the guy looks like.
But his reputation as a bloodthirsty psychopath is more than well known.
Normally, I and everyone here would be supremely happy to leave Drazen the fuck alone. Except, he’s been making that an impossibility lately. In the last few months, there’ve been attacks made on foreign assets belonging to just about every family at this table.
One of Yuri’s warehouses in Moscow was burned to the ground.
A Javanovi? freighter ship was blown up in port in Greece.
Hell, there was even a weapons shipment belonging to my organization worth somewhere north of a hundred million dollars that was suddenly seized by Interpol in Austria, despite us having paid off all the appropriate bureaucrats.
So yes, someone is definitely stirring shit up. Drazen Krylov hasn’t made any official statement claiming responsibility. But he has made it more than a little well known that he would like to be voted onto the High Council.
“This is only a ‘situation’,” Viktor grunts, “because you’re making it one, Abram. We don’t actually know that Drazen has anything to do with the attacks. We don’t even know if they’re all related.”
“Of course we do!”
Yuri shakes his head. “We don’t . Abram, I don’t mean this as an insult, but you’ll learn with time that there will always be fires starting on the edges of your empire. Where your power is weakest, that’s where your enemies will always—”
“There is no weakness in my fucking empire, Yuri,” Abram snaps. “And I am quite insulted by the insinuation.”
“Take it easy, Abram,” I growl. “No one’s trying to insult you.”
“He wants onto this table,” Abram continues insistently. “It’s the one thing he’s reached out to this Council about.”
He’s not wrong. Again, no one’s met Drazen, or even knows anything about him beyond his reputation.
No one’s ever seen him: he’s notoriously secretive about his identity, and refuses to have his picture taken, I suppose for security reasons.
But six months ago, he sent a simple message to this Council stating his desire to be voted onto the table.
It was a ten-word message: “Vote me to the table. Or live with the ashes.”
Yeah, “diplomacy” doesn’t seem to be his strong suit.
“What we need to do is make a preemptive strike,” Abram barks loudly, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop. “Find this rabid dog, and put him down.”
Yuri’s brow furrows. “That isn’t how we do things, Abram. I share your concerns. We all do. But this Council is not about going out there and preemptively starting wars. It’s about keeping the peace and the status quo that benefits all of us, yourself as much as I—”
“The point of this council ,” Abram hisses, “seems to be more about acting like soft, privileged businessmen, not the warrior kings you all once were. Or at least, the kings your fathers were.”
“Times have changed,” Viktor says quietly.
“No, it’s you who have changed!” Abram shouts. “I say we put this to a vote.”
I frown, perplexed. “Put what to a vote? Openly declaring war on a psycho warlord who might or might not have started some fires? Hell no. Count Reznikov out.”
“Count Kashenko out too,” Viktor mutters.
Yuri holds up a hand. “Hang on, we’re not officially voting on anything yet—”
“Then let’s vote on this ,” Abram snarls. “I have a motion to bring before the table.” His jaw tightens as his eyes dart to the side, glancing first at his cousin Demyan, then to Anastasia. He takes a slow breath as his lips curl. “I would like invoke Okhrana Soveta .”
What ? My brow furrows, and when I glance at Korol, he looks equally confused. So do Lukas and Viktor next to me. Yuri’s face, however, darkens.
“That’s…a big decision to make, Abram,” he says out of the side of his mouth.
He clears his throat, his voice raising to address the full table.
“For those who aren’t aware, Okhrana Soveta is an archaic provision within the Bratva High Council bylaws, granting a founding table family total authority over every family at the table in the event of an existential threat on all.
” His eyes go around the table. “It can only be invoked by a founding family, so currently only the Diduch or the Kalishnik family,” he growls, turning to glance at Marko.
“It does require a majority vote to pass.”
Yuri glances at Viktor and I before turning to Abram. “I’m only the chairman of this table. I can’t stop you from invoking this, but I need to caution everyone here that this is an extreme measure. Abram, I’m assuming your vote is for the Diduch family and yourself to assume full control?”
“It is,” Abram says tersely.
“Just to be clear,” Yuri growls. “This means that if passed, every family at the table would be beholden by High Council law to give Abram full control of their security forces, without question. I hope everyone is aware of the full implications of that.”
“You’re being overly diplomatic, Yuri,” Viktor hisses through his teeth, glaring at Abram. “It means he gets to play dictator with our men.”
“Yes,” Abram sneers back. “To stop Drazen from—”
“To do whatever you want , once you’re in control,” Viktor fires back. “I’m almost twice your age, Abram. Don’t think for a second that I’m unaware of the concept of leveraging fear for power.”
Abram shrugs as he turns to Yuri. “Start the vote.”
Yuri’s mouth tightens, but he nods. “So be it. I vote no.”
“ No ,” Viktor mutters.
I shake my head. “Until we have even a shred of evidence that Drazen is behind any of these attacks, this is impulsive at best. It’s a no from Reznikov.”
Abram glares at me but then turns to smirk at Demyan, who smiles.
“The Ozerov family votes yes to my cousin’s generous offer to save this Council.”
“ Well there’s a shocker ,” Lukas mutters next to me. “ Sanctimonious little boot licker. ”
“Obviously, I vote yes as well,” Abram tosses out.
My gaze swivels to Anastasia. Well, this should be a fast vote.
It’s currently three no to two yes. Marko Kalishnik is old school.
And while he and Olek were friends, it’s pretty clear that friendship hasn’t extended to the nephew with the Napoleon complex.
And Anastasia? I bite back a grin. She’s no idiot, and Abram’s attempt at making himself emperor of this table is so nakedly obvious—
“Javanovi? votes yes to the measure.”
You can almost hear the record scratch. I stare at Anastasia, but she carefully avoids all eye contact.
“These are dangerous times, and they require a firm response. My vote is yes.”
What the fuck?
It’s clear Yuri, Ilya, Viktor, and Lukas are all as confused as I am as the attention shifts to Marko—who is suddenly the tiebreaker, and after being so wrong about Anastasia, I’m suddenly not so sure about this vote being such a slam dunk.
Marko frowns, staring at the table in front of him as his fingers drum the surface.
“Marko,” Yuri says gently. “You have the deciding vote.”
“ Vote ,” Abram hisses.
The silver haired Bratva king takes a deep breath, the lines on his face deepening heavily before he finally clears his throat.
“I am afraid…”
Oh shit .
“No.”
The word blurts from his mouth as he shakes his head.
“The Kalishnik family votes no to Okhrana Soveta .”
“You motherfucker— ”
“ Until ,” Marko adds, shooting a cold look at Abram, “such time that it can be proven that Drazen is behind these attacks, or that we need to invoke this to defeat him, my answer is no .”
Viktor exhales slowly, shaking his head. Yuri nods. “Well then, the vote is done. The motion is not passed.”
“ Cowards !” Abram snarls.
“That’s enough,” Yuri mutters back.
“Grow some fucking balls and—”
“I said ENOUGH .”
I almost grin at the way the room goes silent. Yuri’s a master at diplomacy. He can be cool and collected…until he isn’t. And then, when he lets loose, shit gets real really fast.
His eyes narrow at Abram. “It’s over, Abram. The vote is done. There will be no infighting between members of this table over the result of that vote. We can revisit the question in a month. Now, are there any more items to discuss this evening?”
The table is silent.
“Then we’re done here. Meeting adjourned.”
Abram and his second-in-command, Hadeon, storm angrily from the room with Demyan Ozerov close behind. I stand and make a move toward Anastasia, because I’ve got some serious questions about the way she voted. But she avoids me and slips from the room with her imposing number two, Danylo.
Marko at least has the decency to bid goodnight to everyone who is still there before he himself leaves, though he makes no move to speak about what just transpired.
“That was much closer than it should have been,” Ilya growls, leaning against the table and flicking his Zippo open and closed meditatively. He quit cigarettes years ago. The Zippo thing is a lingering stress reliever.
“ Way too close,” Lukas murmurs.
“Anastasia’s vote was…surprising,” I say.
Yuri nods. “I agree. That was very odd. Demyan is obviously in Abram’s pocket, but I wouldn’t have pegged her to side with those two.”
“I’ll reach out to Misha,” Lukas frowns.
As in Misha Tsavakov, another friend from Oxford Hills.
While not officially Bratva, the Tsavakov empire is firmly in bed with families like mine, Ilya’s, and Lukas’.
“Kristoff, Misha’s number two, was once somewhat close to Anastasia.
He might be a better choice to get answers out of her. ”
Viktor nods. “Solid idea, asking him.”
“Until then,” Yuri says quietly, even though we’re the only ones left in the room, “I say we make an effort to look into the Drazen situation. And I think it goes without saying, let’s all keep a close eye on Abram. His ambition might be venturing into dangerous territory.”
When we leave, I end up tagging along with Ilya and Lukas to go grab a drink.
“Welcome to the fucking table, huh?” Ilya smirks, clinking his glass to mine as he rolls his eyes. “Nothing like hitting the ground fucking running.”
Lukas chuckles. “It’ll get sorted out. Abram’s just a hothead. He’ll simmer down.” He glances at me. “Don’t let tonight shake you, man. Everyone’s got the fullest confidence in your ability to wear that crown solo.”
I nod and smile my thanks, and I drink with my friends as we discuss the table business, and other business, and the two of them being fathers now. And I do that all well, because I’m very, very good at wearing this mask.
But on the inside, I have my doubts about exactly how well I’ll be wearing the full weight of the crown. Not just because of the events at the table tonight, or because of anything to do with the possibility that Drazen is basically advancing like he’s Hannibal marching on Rome.
Not even because of the ticking time bomb Svetlana poses to all of us, given that the one bargaining chip I had just got destroyed in dramatic fashion.
No, I’m worried about my ability to wear the crown because even right now, smack dab in the middle of it, I’m not thinking of any of that shit. Not Abram. Not Drazen. Not Svetlana.
I’m only thinking of her, still .
Even when I smile and nod, or scowl if that seems indicated, or shake my head when Ilya and Lukas do, my thoughts are firmly and squarely on Eilish and that kiss I stole from her.
It wasn’t what I expected.
It was more .
Now, we’ll see how far I can push her before she breaks.
Or—let’s be honest—before I do.