Chapter 40
JULIAN
Dobrov’s gun is pointed at my chest.
The silver of his pistol catches the low industrial light, throwing a streaked reflection across the wall. He looks confident, cocky.
Because he believes he’s already won.
He hasn’t. Not yet.
“Kostin,” I say, keeping my voice calm and level.
I don’t look at the gun. I look around the room, knowing that some of these men are on my side—men who watch as a pistol gets drawn, making recalculations about where they stand.
“Before you do something you can’t undo,” I say to Dobrov, “let me ask the council a question.”
“You’re not in a position to ask questions, my friend,” Dobrov says.
“I’m asking anyway.” I shift my gaze to Baranov. “Baranov, you knew my father for decades. You sat at this very table with Dmitri Volkov when Mrs. Lee was still in secondary school. I want you to consider something.”
I know I’m taking a risk, but I also know that Dobrov won’t silence me with a shot to the head mid-sentence.
Baranov flicks his eyes to me for a moment before returning them to Dobrov and the gun. I can sense that he’s trying to determine if his best play is to side with me, or to side with the man with the gun.
“We asked Mrs. Lee a simple question tonight regarding Mr. Yang’s whereabouts, yet she refused to answer. She refused to call him or video chat, instead giving us an ultimatum that contradicts the terms I negotiated with Yang in person.”
I pause, letting it land.
“Do not listen to him,” Mrs. Lee says. “The deal is done. He is desperate, saying whatever he thinks will save his life.”
I ignore her, keeping my attention on Baranov.
“Dobrov has drawn a gun at the council table in complete violation of protocol. And that’s to say nothing of the upheaval that my brother is attempting.”
“There is no upheaval, brother,” Alexander finally says. “Leadership is shifting. Deals have been made. You being cut out isn’t a crime.”
“It is when your partner here,” I nod to Mrs. Lee, “is misrepresenting herself and the will of her boss.”
“There is no such misrepresentation,” she says, the contempt returning. “I have been empowered to make decisions as I see fit. How many times must I say that?”
“I don’t believe that’s true,” I reply. “You claim to speak for Yang. But Yang signed the deal with me, not Alexander, a man whom he has never met. If Yang wanted to change terms, he would do it himself, because Chen Yang, despite what you’re saying, would never delegate such a decision to an intermediary.
“And now a gun has been drawn at this council table, against all protocol. Tell me, who benefits from this chaos?”
There’s a shift in the room, the men around the table are thinking, reconsidering their alliances.
“None of this makes any sense. Yang completely shifted the deal yet made no effort to be present to confirm. Either he’s completely detached from a deal worth millions of dollars, or Mrs. Lee is acting on her own authority.”
“Mr. Volkov. This monologuing is a waste of everyone’s—”
Lee attempts to respond but I’m in no mood. I slam my fist on the table, silencing her.
“Someone at this table made a deal with Lee, not with the Triads—with Lee, personally.”
I turn my attention to Dobrov. His cocky smile wavers.
“It would be a simple plan,” I continue.
“Dobrov contacts Lee, telling her that they want to push both me and Yang out—a double coup. Lee stages hits with Triad resources. I’m either killed or made to look incompetent.
It wouldn’t be enough to simply kill me, though—that would create an unpredictable power vacuum.
You’d need someone to fill the role immediately, someone with legitimacy. ”
I turn my attention to Alexander. He shifts in his seat.
“My brother.” I gaze at him full bore. He’s trying to stay calm and look neutral, like nothing is amiss.
But I can see the cracks showing. “My brother came into my office and told me he was tired of fighting. He mentioned our father, feigned nostalgia. Yet here he sits, most definitely not supporting me.”
“Julian—” Alexander tries.
I cut him off. “When did you make the deal? Before or after our little heart-to-heart?” I shake my head. “Such moving words, and all for the purpose of getting me to let my guard down.”
I look back at Dobrov, his gun still trained on me. Murdering me in the middle of the council would ruin his attempt at legitimacy.
“This council was a setup from the beginning, the intention being to play everyone here for fools. Alexander would take power while Dobrov and Lee pulled the strings behind the scenes. But it’s not going to happen.”
I turn to Alexander. “Did this plan suit you, Alex? Being the empty suit in the throne, so smarter people could work through you? I suppose as long as you’ve got your party yachts and OnlyFans girls on speed-dial you’re happy.”
“Careful, brother.”
I turn to the rest of the council, to the other men who have been blindsided by this treachery.
“This council was a farce. Had their plan worked they wouldn’t have stopped there. I don’t need to tell you that, once I’m out of the way, Dobrov and Lee won’t stop with just my position. They’ll come for all of you, one by one.”
My words hang in the air as the council members exchange cautious glances.
Lee clears her throat. “There is no need for speeches, Julian. Call it unfair, but these men are not interested in you having power for your sake. They want money, and this partnership with the Triads will provide it for them. May I recommend that you cease the theatrics and step down?”
“No, because this isn’t a matter of merely transferring power—this is a matter of life and death.
There’s a jammer on this room, if the rest of you haven’t noticed.
And my pregnant girlfriend is out there with a security detail that can’t reach me.
I’m telling you, and my brother, that if something has happened to her during this meeting, there will be a tremendous price to pay. ”
I sweep my gaze over the council.
“And that’s to say nothing of the danger the rest of you are in. If they’re willing to come after a pregnant woman in order to gain power, what do you think they’ll do to your families once you’re in the way?”
The men shift in their seats. I can sense that my words got to them. Dobrov’s smile is gone, his gun slightly lowered. The room has turned, pulling away from him, Lee, and Alexander.
Baranov clears his throat and speaks. “Put the gun down, Dobrov. Such behavior is highly inappropriate for a council meeting.”
The subtext is simple—if you want to live to see another day, dispense with the bullshit—now.
But Dobrov doesn’t put down the gun.
“The council has been compromised,” he says. I can hear the anxiety in his tone, his bravado cracking. He didn’t plan for this.
Baranov narrows his eyes.
“Put. The gun. Down.”
Dobrov’s gaze sweeps the room as he tries to determine which of the council is still on his side. He finds fewer than he hoped for.
Lee steps over to the side door and knocks on it quickly. It opens and four men enter, all of them Triad, all of them armed.
Shit.
Lee turns her attention back to me.
“Mr. Volkov, that will be enough. Relinquish your position, allow the council to vote for your brother, and we will end this meeting. Otherwise—”
Between her words and the armed men, the threat is clear. Lee, Dobrov, and Alexander are all but taking the Bratva by force.
“Brother,” Alexander says. “Think about what you’re doing, what’s at stake.”
Another clear threat.
“Let us vote,” Lee says, “and be done with it.”
“There isn’t going to be a vote,” Federov says, standing. “Not like this, not with guns and jammed phones and—”
Lee nods to her men.
The first shot gets Federov in the throat.
The room erupts in violence. Lee’s men open fire in concentrated bursts. Dobrov starts shooting—not at me, but at the syndicate heads, popping off rounds one by one.
Bodies jerk and fall, chairs topple over. The concrete room becomes an echo chamber of gunfire and shouting.
I turn to Evan, who’s already firing back. He catches one of Lee’s men in the chest. Another takes aim at Evan and fires a burst of shots, hitting him in the chest. Evan falls back against the wall and drops in a heap.
Fuck!
I crouch down and move low, focusing on a discarded rifle belonging to one of the fallen. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Alexander moving, weapon in hand. I turn just in time to see something I never thought I’d see in my life.
My own brother, raising a gun at me.
I dive just as the shot cracks through the air. It hits the concrete wall behind me, dust flying everywhere. I take aim and fire back. But unlike my brother, I’m not shooting to kill. I fire at the space above Alexander, and he dives for cover under the table.
I fire again, hitting one of the light fixtures above him. It explodes in a shower of sparks that flash brilliantly for an instant before that portion of the room goes dark.
“Alex!”
Still under the table, he regards me with wide eyes, then scurries farther away from me. He rounds the other side and bursts into a full run, rushing toward the side door that Lee entered from.
Dobrov is still standing. He pops in a fresh magazine and keeps firing. The door opens behind me, men that I recognize as Baranov’s bodyguards rush in and open fire. Two more of Lee’s men drop.
Dobrov spots me, grins, and points his gun straight at me.
But he’s not fast enough.
I fire a quick triplet, each round hitting him in the chest.
His pistol drops from his hand, landing on the cement floor with a clatter.
He drops into a nearby chair.
The gunfire ends.
It’s over.
Dobrov looks down at his chest with an expression of mild confusion as red blooms across his white shirt. Then he tips forward, his forehead hitting the table with a heavy thud.
Kostin Dobrov is no longer a problem.
More bodyguards pour into the room. I turn just in time to watch as Lee’s only remaining man slips through the side door, locking it behind him.
I stand and look around.
The room is destroyed, the table splintered and bullet-scarred. Three syndicate heads are on the floor—Federov face-down in a spreading pool of red. Morozov is slumped against the wall with his eyes open and empty, and a third whom I can’t identify is face-down on the floor.
Baranov, Kuznetsov, and Semenov are shaken and bloody but alive.
Alexander is gone, and so is Lee.
“The door,” I say to one of the nearest guards as I nod at the side door. “Open it.”
They rush over, and with a little force and a few kicks, they have it open.
Gone—there’s no one on the other side in the small waiting room.
Rage boils inside me for a moment, but I force it down. I pull out my phone and see that it’s working. It erupts with missed calls and texts from Misha and Lyra.
There’s a text from Misha that catches my eye; it’s fifteen minutes old.
On FDR, being followed.
Just then, I hear a disruption on the other side of the room where Ethan had been hit. I look over to see multiple guards surrounding him, helping him to his feet.
Shocked, I rush over.
“I thought you were dead,” I tell him as tears sting my eyes. I’m relieved beyond belief.
“So did I,” he replies with a raspy voice and a chuckle that turns into a cough. The bodyguards hold him up by his arms, and I can see he is relying on their strength to stay upright.
He grins at me, then pulls down his shirt. “I remembered the Kevlar,” he says.
“You son of a bitch,” I reply with a wide grin of my own.
After making sure he is stable, I leave him with the bodyguards, giving them instructions to take him to the hospital to get checked out.
I step over debris and shell casings, moving through the narrow front corridor with caution until I’m outside.
The rain is coming down in sheets now. The Brighton Beach street is devoid of life. The Bratva is in pieces, half of the syndicate wiped out in mere moments.
But I don’t give a damn about any of it right now.
Lyra. The baby. Misha’s silence. That’s all I care about.
I’ve never been more afraid in my life.
I get in my car and drive.