44. Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Four
Nikolai Volkov
I stepped into my father’s office a few days later, trepidation curling down my spine.
He’d called an impromptu family meeting.
Very unlike him. He was a meticulous planner and scheduled any kind of meeting in advance.
Whenever he’d call us all together to his office out of the blue like this, it usually meant something was going on.
Aleksandr and Lukyan were already seated when I arrived, Aleksandr spread out on the three-seater couch (his usual spot) and Lukyan in one of the two armchairs in front of Father’s desk.
“Father not here yet?” I asked, taking a seat in the chair beside Lukyan.
“No,” Aleksandr grunted.
Lukyan looked at me. “Tatiana make it to New York okay?”
“Safe and sound.” It killed me not being able to go with her yet.
I had every intention of going. There was no way I could handle being apart from her, even if she wasn’t pregnant.
The fact that she was just intensified all of those protective, possessive feelings I already had towards her. Times a billion.
I just had to talk to my father first and let him know I was leaving. He hadn’t been in the best of moods since returning. You’d think he’d be happy, having been rescued and freed from Talon’s stupid gladiator games. But he’d been the exact opposite: moody, withdrawn, downright fucking sullen.
Part of it, I suspected, was because he’d been searching for Talon and hadn’t had any luck in finding him. The man was hell-bent on revenge, and I honestly didn’t think he was going to rest until he got it.
The other part, I’m sure (though, he’d deny it), had something to do with the red-haired woman.
Autumn. His mood had turned even more sour after her departure, to the point that the soldiers and the staff were afraid to talk in his presence, in case he snapped and bit their heads off (something he’d been doing a lot of lately).
If someone even breathed around him, he threw a fucking tantrum.
Father was already short-tempered, but this? This was something entirely different.
“Do you know what this is about?” I pulled my phone out, double-checking it was on loud just in case Tatiana called me. If she needed me, I didn’t want to miss the call.
“Not a single clue,” Lukyan responded. “You, Zander?”
“No idea.”
That didn’t bode well.
Father stomped into the room a few minutes later, that dark, angry cloud that had been following him around for the last few days hanging over his head.
He looked around the room. “Where’s your wife?”
Considering only one of us was married (for now), it was easy to guess he was talking to Aleksandr.
My brother frowned, getting to his feet. “She’s upstairs.”
“Get her here,” he snapped. “What part of ‘family meeting’ did you not understand? She’s family, isn’t she?”
Aleksandr hid his surprise well. Just a slight crinkle at the edge of his eyes showed that he was startled by Father’s order, but he did as he commanded, leaving and reappearing a moment later with Drea in tow.
His little cartel wife looked a little nervous as she stepped into the room.
Surprising, considering how sure of herself she was, the confidence she’d always displayed.
Was she nervous…scared of my father? A lot of people were, so it wouldn’t be entirely surprising, I guess.
She cleared her throat awkwardly and came to stand in front of my father.
“Hello, Mr Butcher—I mean, Mr Volkov—it’s nice to meet you.
Well, I guess we’ve met before. Not sure if you remember.
You probably don’t, it was a long time ago.
Well, not a long, long time ago, but it was before you were kidnapped and everything—” she winced and shook her head.
“Sorry, uhm, Aleksandr said you wanted to see me? Maybe? Or was he wrong? I can go.”
Her rambling put the first bit of amusement on my father’s face I’d seen in days. There it was—that tiny, little twinkle in his eyes that showed he found the whole thing utterly humorous.
“I remember you,” was all he replied with.
“Okay. Cool. Well, I remember you. Obviously.” Aleksandr frowned down at her as she continued to ramble.
“I mean, who wouldn’t remember you, you know, ‘cause of the whole ‘kkkkkkkkkk’.” She swiped a finger across her throat.
“You’ve killed a lot of people. How many people have you killed anyway?
Do you know? Do you keep count? I keep count—” Aleksandr slapped a hand over her mouth to get her to finally stop talking.
Lukyan snickered.
“Right.” My father cleared his throat with an awkward cough and moved to his chair behind his desk. But he didn’t sit down. He just held it open, staring pointedly at Aleksandr. Lukyan and I shared a look with one another, our faces mirrored in shock.
“Father?” Aleksandr questioned, confusion in his eyes.
Drea forcibly removed his hand that was still covering her mouth. “He wants you to sit down,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.
“I know that,” he hissed back. That was what was confusing him.
It was Father’s chair. It’s where he sat. Where the Pakhan sat. Offering the seat to him held a significant meaning, one we all understood.
When Father was kidnapped, the role of Pakhan had gone to Aleksandr by default.
Now that he was back, though, his previous position was now his once again, and Aleksandr returned to being his second-in-command.
Everything had gone back to normal, the status quo restored.
At least, so we thought. Until now, because it wasn’t just his seat that Father was offering. It was his position.
Before, Aleksandr had no choice but to fill the role. With Father gone, someone had to step up. We all assumed that when he returned, he would take back the role permanently, but what he was doing now suggested otherwise.
Father said nothing, staring Aleksandr down. Waiting. We all waited to see what he would do. He was still young in terms of leading the Bratva. At fifty-four, he still had a good ten or so years before he even needed to think about stepping down.
So why was he offering it to Aleksandr now? Over a decade early?
Determination and pride shone in my brother’s eyes. With his shoulders back, head held high, posture perfect, he marched over and took the seat that was offered, conditions and all.
The shutter of a photo being snapped rang out into the air. We all looked at Lukyan, his phone in his hand. He bared his teeth in an innocent smile.
“What? We have to document this. It’s a special moment.”
I rolled my eyes.
Father moved to the corner of the room, grabbed another chair and wheeled it over, placing it right beside Aleksandr’s. He looked pointedly at Drea, waiting again.
Drea glanced behind her. “Is he looking at me?” she whispered.
“Duh,” Lukyan whispered back, and Aleksandr cut him a scathing glare that had him snapping his spine straight.
Despite the initial nervousness she’d had upon first entering the room, Aleksandr’s little cartel wife walked over with perfect confidence and took her rightful place beside the new Pakhan .
Father nodded, satisfied. He sauntered over and stood in front of Lukyan. He arched an eyebrow.
“I’ll just go sit over there,” Lukyan said, getting up and moving to the couch.
“Father—”
He raised a hand, silencing Aleksandr from saying another word as he sat down gallantly. “During my absence, both you and your wife proved that you have what it takes to not only fill the role of Pakhan , but fill it well .” He stressed the last word, pride ringing in his voice.
Aleksandr swallowed thickly.
“I see no reason why that has to change just because I’m back.
I’ve spoken with the soldiers, with Ivan and Vladimir, and they did nothing but sing your praises.
You held strong in the face of overwhelming uncertainty.
Didn’t crumble under the pressure, but thrived.
And your wife”—his gaze shifted to Drea—“managed to pull off one of the biggest infiltrations I’ve ever witnessed.
She showed where her true loyalties lay, and that she would go above and beyond for you.
Which, my son, is one of the greatest gifts men like us can ever hope to get.
It’s my time to step aside and your time to shine. Both of you. ”
Aleksandr’s mouth dropped open. He looked at me, back to father. He seemed to struggle to know what to say back. I couldn’t blame him.
To say that I was completely and utterly shocked would be the understatement of the fucking century. Based on the looks on Aleksandr and Drea’s faces, they clearly thought the same thing.
“What…uh,” Aleksandr licked his lips. “What will you do now, then?”
“Usually, there’s a transition period when new leadership is underway, but based on what I’ve heard, you don’t need it. I’ll still be here, though, in case you need me or need any advice. But ultimately, you’ll be in charge.”
“Oooo,” Lukyan perked up. “Does that mean he gets to boss you around for once?”
A very interesting question.
Aleksandr arched an eyebrow, waiting for Father to respond.
He gave the tiniest hint of a smirk. “I’m nothing if not respectful of the proper chain of command,” was all he said on that matter. “The meeting is yours, son.”
Aleksandr sat up a little straighter, determination stiffening his spine, and cleared his throat. “First order of business, the Cosa Nostra. I’ve coordinated with Arturo and a strike is underway against all of Franco’s establishments to try and draw him out of hiding.”
“Interesting,” Father commented. He’d been brought up to speed on everything that had happened since his disappearance. There was a lot to go over.
“With our combined forces, it will be easy to beat the men he’s left behind,” Aleksandr continued. “The only problem will be who gets to kill him once he’s found.”
“I will,” I growled. “After what he did to Tatiana, that kill is mine .”