Chapter Forty-one
Dmitri Konstantinov
Rodion didn’t call meetings to discuss numbers.
I knew that before I even sat down. The financial reports were strong, with every branch performing exactly as it should.
And the discussion about art acquisition as a laundering vehicle, using high-value pieces to move Bratva money, was something Rodion could have handled without dragging us here.
He didn’t travel for things that could be emailed.
Rodion moved when the subject required him to look directly at your face as he delivered it.
I took the single sofa facing the outside, where I’d spent the last several minutes watching Inna and Alessia move through Roman’s farm outside.
The entire situation still looked ridiculous to me.
Roman came wearing mud on his boots and forearms, as if he didn’t belong at the head of organized crime operations.
Thirty minutes passed, and Rodion was still talking.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and split my attention between the screen and whatever point Rodion kept circling toward without landing on.
That was the thing about him. He never spoke without moving toward something beneath the words themselves.
I was in the middle of scrolling through photos of Inna sleeping on the plane, photos she didn’t know I took, when Rodion mentioned Russia. One of us needed to move there.
I looked up. “Russia,” I said. “When exactly did Russia become a problem?”
“Don’t be stupid,” he declared. “That country is our foundation. Smaller organizations are expanding within our territory, and if we don’t cement Konstantinov’s presence there ourselves, they’ll absorb everything this family built and erase our name.
” His eyes moved between us. “We do not sit back and watch that happen.”
I leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.
The irritating part was that he wasn’t wrong.
Russia spent years running under carefully placed eyes and remote control, managed from a distance because distance made things convenient.
But distance also created gaps, and gaps turned into opportunities for ambitious men who wanted more than permission allowed.
Inna once said that a building could never remain stable if its foundation weren’t solid.
“You called this meeting already knowing who you want to send,” I said. “So say it.”
“I don’t care which of you goes. I’m here to discuss how the operation will run there, who needs to be removed, and what the priorities are.”
“You don’t arrive with a decision already made and expect us to rearrange our lives around it. I run an organization too. You know that,” I argued.
“We run Bratva the way I decide it runs.” Rodion’s voice carried that finality that shut doors before anyone reached them. “One of you will move to Russia. That part is not a discussion.”
I let a smirk settle across my face. “Well. You’re the boss. You could always go yourself.”
“We do not leave headquarters without leadership,” he declared.
“Exactly. DK Holdings in Florida is my headquarters, and I don’t leave it unattended.” I held his gaze. “And Grandma is in Florida. She can’t relocate at her age, and she won’t live under anyone else’s roof. You know that as well as I do.”
The room fell silent after that.
Grandma was the one thing nobody in this family used carelessly. The three of us knew she would rather burn an entire property to the ground than move somewhere she didn’t choose herself. And she stayed with me because that arrangement suited her and always had.
Rodion turned toward Roman.
Roman remained exactly where he was, looking like a man attending a meeting conducted in a language he didn’t care enough to learn. He met Rodion’s stare with that same detached patience of his. Roman only responded when he personally decided the conversation deserved it.
“You’ll move to Russia,” Rodion said as he tapped his phone. “I have forwarded a list of people to handle, structures to dismantle, and priorities to establish.”
Roman didn’t move onto the sofa immediately. He looked at Rodion for a long moment, exhaled, then stood up. “No.” He started toward the door. “Send someone else. I have things to do.”
Rodion moved fast, pulled his gun, and fired. The shot cracked through the office and hit the doorknob less than a second before Roman’s hand reached it. Metal burst apart across the floor while Rodion remained seated with the gun still raised, aimed directly at Roman’s back.
Well, this was becoming interesting.
Roman scoffed. He stayed facing the door for a second. I leaned back deeper into the sofa, crossed my arms over my chest, and let the smile settle onto my face. This particular family dynamic never stopped being entertaining, no matter how many times I witnessed it.
Roman turned around slowly.
The two looked at each other across the office. Rodion sat with the gun still aimed while Roman stood there with his hands loose at his sides.
“Go ahead,” Roman said.
I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “This never gets old.”
“Let’s discuss your mess here.” Rodion lowered the gun, though his eyes never left Roman. “You must think I don’t know you brought a blind girl into our territory who is currently working with the police.”
Great.
So there was a police connection.
That was exactly the kind of thing Bratva treated like an active infection. Once the police attached themselves to a name, they built files, and files expanded into places nobody expected until entire operations collapsed under them. Police interest never stayed contained.
Roman’s mouth curved slightly. “You seem well informed. Tell me more.”
“You’re going to Russia. I’ll run New York, clean your mess, and deal with the girl,” Rodion said with complete finality.
Roman stepped closer to him. “Are you planning to marry her?” His eyes narrowed. “The way you married the Italian one?”
Rodion got up fast and crossed the distance between them in seconds. His punch landed hard against Roman’s jaw, turning his head sideways.
Roman stumbled back a step and laughed. He straightened and wiped the blood gathering at the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
“Never mention my wife again.” Rodion’s voice dropped lower, reaching that dangerous calm that usually came right before someone disappeared permanently.
“Why?” Roman stepped closer, directly into his space again. “Wasn’t she originally a lead to your enemies? And then what happened?” he scoffed. “You fell in love with the problem.”
Rodion grabbed Roman’s shirt and slammed him against the wall. Roman went with the impact easily, still smiling with Rodion’s fist twisted in his clothes.
“Does your wife know that your solution to problems is marrying them?” Roman’s eyes stayed fixed on Rodion’s face. “Do you want a second wife like our father?”
Rodion punched him again, and Roman absorbed the hit without losing the smile.
“I’m surprised you haven’t gone after Dmitri’s fake wife yet,” Roman continued. “Why not? Because he’s Luigi?” He tilted his head slightly. “Or because you already knew she comes from mafia blood?”
“That’s enough.” I stood up and adjusted my jacket. “Show some respect to the boss,” I said to Roman before looking at Rodion. “Is the meeting concluded? My schedule is tight.”
Rodion kept Roman pinned against the wall while silence settled across the office.
Then someone knocked. Before anyone answered, the door opened.
“What happened to the door?” Inna asked while looking down at the destroyed knob. “I brought coffee...” Her voice trailed off the moment she noticed Rodion holding Roman against the wall. “Are you fighting?”
“Get out!” Rodion barked, and Inna flinched.
“Watch your tone,” I warned Rodion, and the room went still afterward.
Alessia appeared behind Inna, carrying another tray. She took one look at the scene inside the office, then shifted her attention toward her husband. “Are we interrupting something?”
Rodion released Roman’s shirt and straightened. He walked straight to Alessia and took her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Wait, where are we going?” Alessia didn’t move. “We just arrived, and now we’re leaving?”
“Darling—”
“Don’t darling me.” Alessia turned toward Inna instead. “Let’s go. The food will burn.”
It looked like she had stopped reacting to this family a long time ago and replaced shock with practical decisions. That was a healthy adaptation.
Inna looked between all three of us for a second before she followed Alessia out.
Rodion threw one last glare at Roman, then left as well. His footsteps disappeared down the hallway.
I looked back at Roman. He was still standing there, touching his jaw, checking the damage with that detached focus.
“We don’t bring police into the business. You know how that ends,” I said. “And respect your older brother’s marriage. Including mine.”
“Get the fuck out,” he said through his teeth.
I smiled, picked up my phone, and left the room.
I couldn’t say it out loud, but Rodion deserved Alessia in his life.
If anyone was left to carry too much alone, it was him.
He fought Father’s pressure from every angle and built the Konstantinov Bratva while Roman and I were still being shaped.
He worked through most of it with no one standing beside him.
He built everything while still fighting our father’s hatred towards him.
Father thought he was weak, but Rodion was the rock of Konstantinov Bratva.
No one really acknowledged what that cost him.
In better words, he grew up lonely until Alessia happened. He deserved her.
Scrolling through my phone to call Akim, I slowed when I stepped into the sitting area.
A small gathering was forming near the couches.
Inna stood with Alessia and two other women.
One blonde who spoke while moving her hands, while the brunette beside her listened with a smile, a white cane resting lightly at her side.
I moved closer without interrupting, my attention settling on the group. Rodion wasn’t in sight anywhere nearby.
The girl talking looked comfortable in the space.
But the one holding the cane got my attention.
She followed the conversation, head angled slightly away from everyone, still as if she was using sound to map the room instead of sight.
She couldn’t be the blind girl Rodion mentioned earlier, could she?
“My sister is a pianist,” the blonde said, “and she always comes on Saturdays for her session. She plays for Officer Roman.”
I stopped moving.
Officer Roman?
Alessia tilted her head. “Officer Roman?”
“Yes,” the blonde confirmed, and the girl with the cane turned her face a fraction.
“It looks like the officer has guests today,” she said.
I read the situation, and it was better than anything we had today.
This was Roman’s blind girl. The one connected to the police, we believed, was a threat to the Bratva, except that the law enforcement in question was Roman himself.
Roman Konstantinov, a man who should dismantle police operations, was apparently involved with a blind pianist in a way none of us had accounted for.
Clearly, Roman had this covered.
I pocketed my phone and stayed where I was. Some things deserved full attention.