45. Eduard
EDUARD
The satisfying crack of pool balls breaking echoes through the game room as I lean over the table, lining up my next shot. The weight of the past week sits heavy on my shoulders, but for the first time in days, I feel like I can actually breathe.
We did it. We actually fucking did it.
Volkov’s empire is crumbling, and the bastard is on the run with only a handful of loyal men left. The coordinated assault we launched across all three families worked better than I dared hope. Every piece fell into place with brutal efficiency.
I engineered the financial collapse myself, spending sleepless nights tracing Volkov’s shipping routes through shell companies and offshore accounts.
Once I found the weak points, I struck hard and fast. Frozen assets, canceled contracts, and strategic leaks to his competitors that made his business partners scatter like rats from a sinking ship.
The man lost millions in a matter of days.
Artur handled the internal warfare with his usual flair for chaos.
He manipulated rivals within Volkov’s syndicate, feeding information to ambitious lieutenants who saw an opportunity to seize power.
The infighting tore through Volkov’s organization like wildfire, turning allies against each other while we watched from the shadows.
And Rurik orchestrated the killing blow during one of Volkov’s diplomatic meetings. A controlled strike that sent a clear message to everyone in the Bratva world: touch what’s ours and we’ll destroy everything you’ve built.
The messages have been pouring in all morning.
Volkov’s shipping operations are in shambles.
His political connections are severing ties.
His safe houses are being raided by rivals emboldened by his sudden weakness.
The man who tried to put a hit on Emma and Krystal is now scrambling to survive with maybe five trusted men at his side.
The threat isn’t gone completely, but it’s manageable now. Contained.
I sink the seven ball into the corner pocket and straighten, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension. Artur leans against the wall near the window, his dark eyes watching me with that familiar competitive edge. Rurik stands at the bar, pouring vodka into three glasses with methodical precision.
“You’re getting sloppy,” Artur says, his crooked grin firmly in place. “That shot took you twice as long as it should have.”
“Fuck off,” I reply without heat. “I’m still winning.”
“For now.”
Rurik crosses the room and hands us each a glass, his pale blue eyes serious despite the casual setting. “To destroying bastards who threaten what’s ours.”
We drink in silence, the vodka burning pleasantly down my throat. The past week has been brutal, coordinating attacks across multiple fronts while keeping Emma and Krystal safe inside the estate. But it worked. We proved that the three families united are a force no one can stand against.
The door to the game room slams open hard enough to make the bottles on the bar rattle.
Emma storms in with Krystal trailing behind her, and I know immediately that something’s wrong.
Emma’s gray-green eyes are blazing with fury, her jaw set in that stubborn line I’ve come to recognize as trouble.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy braid, and she’s wearing fitted jeans that hug her ass perfectly and a black sweater that shows off her full breasts.
Even pissed off, she’s fucking gorgeous.
But the look on her face tells me I should probably focus on whatever’s about to come out of her mouth instead of how badly I want to strip that sweater off her.
She doesn’t wait for us to set down our pool cues or step away from the table. She just plants herself in the middle of the room, crosses her arms over her chest, and lets us have it.
“What are you doing about the bride auction?” Her voice is sharp, demanding. “You’ve spent the past week dismantling Volkov, which is great. But what about the actual auction network? The one that’s still operating? The one that’s still selling women like property?”
I exchange glances with Rurik and Artur. This is the first time Emma’s brought this up directly. We’ve discussed Volkov’s connection to the auction, but she’s never demanded we take action against the entire operation.
I should have seen this coming.
“Emma,” I start carefully, setting down my cue stick. “The auction network is complicated. It’s not run by one person or organization. It’s a web of connections across multiple criminal enterprises.”
“I don’t care how complicated it is.” She steps closer, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “You three are powerful enough to destroy Volkov in a week. You’re telling me you can’t shut down an auction that traffics women?”
Artur pushes away from the wall, his dark eyes serious for once. “It’s not that simple, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” Emma snaps automatically. “And yes, it is that simple. You either care about stopping it…or you don’t.”
The accusation stings. I move closer to her, keeping my voice calm despite the frustration building in my chest. “We do care. But dismantling the auction means going to war with every family that profits from it. That’s not a fight we can win without massive casualties.”
“So you’re just going to let it continue?” Emma’s voice rises. “You’re going to let more women disappear into that nightmare because it’s inconvenient to stop it?”
Krystal shifts uncomfortably near the door, her hazel eyes wide. She looks like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how to intervene.
Rurik sets down his glass with deliberate care, his pale blue eyes locked on Emma’s face. “Wait here.”
He leaves the room without another word, his broad shoulders disappearing through the doorway. The silence that follows is heavy, charged with Emma’s anger and our collective guilt.
Because she’s right. We’ve known about the auction for years but never participated in it. Not until Emma. It disgusted all of us then, too. It’s never been a part of the Bratva that we paid much attention to.
Rurik returns a few minutes later carrying the old leather-bound ledger I recognize from the study. The one that belonged to our fathers. He sets it on the pool table and opens it carefully, his fingers tracing the yellowed pages.
“The bride auction wasn’t always what it is now,” he says quietly. “Originally, it was a ritual marriage exchange meant to seal alliances between families.”
Emma’s expression shifts from fury to confusion. “What?”
Rurik turns the ledger so we can all see the entries written in our fathers’ handwriting.
“Women involved were daughters of allied houses who agreed to arranged marriages. They weren’t auctioned.
They were presented as part of formal alliance ceremonies.
The families negotiated terms, dowries, and protections.
It was strategic, but it was also consensual. ”
I lean closer, reading the passages Rurik’s pointing to. The entries describe elaborate ceremonies, negotiations between families, and agreements that bound houses together through marriage. It’s all there, documented in careful detail.
“Over time,” Rurik continues, his jaw tight, “outsiders began offering money for participation. A few families saw an opportunity to profit. The ritual turned into the bride auction we know now. Women who weren’t part of Bratva families started appearing.
Consent became optional. It became trafficking dressed up as tradition. ”
Artur moves to stand beside the table, his dark eyes scanning the pages. “Our fathers disagreed about how to handle it.”
“They wanted to dismantle it completely?” Emma asks, her voice softer now.
“Some did,” Rurik says. “Others wanted to restore it to what it used to be. Control it, regulate it, make sure only willing participants were involved. The disagreement created a rift between our fathers.”
I feel something cold settle in my stomach as I read further. “That’s what really started their feud.”
Rurik nods once. “The auction became a symbol of everything wrong between them. They couldn’t agree on whether to destroy it or reform it. The conflict escalated until it cost them their lives.”
Emma’s hands tremble slightly as she reaches for the ledger, her fingers brushing the pages our fathers touched decades ago. “So the auction killed them.”
“Indirectly,” I say quietly. “But yes.”
Krystal steps closer, her delicate frame tense. “Can it be stopped now? With Volkov weakened and the three families united?”
“Maybe,” Artur says, his voice thoughtful. “But it could take years. We’d have to convince every family involved to walk away from a profitable operation. We’d have to offer alternatives, create new alliances, and probably eliminate anyone who refused to cooperate.”
Emma looks up from the ledger, her gray-green eyes meeting mine. “Then start.”
The determination in her voice makes my chest tighten. She’s not asking. She’s demanding we take action, consequences be damned.
And fuck if I don’t admire her for it.
An idea forms in my mind, crazy and impulsive and probably the stupidest thing I’ve thought of in years. But once it’s there, I can’t shake it. The pieces fit together too perfectly.
I open my mouth before I can change my mind or think better of it.
“We can restore it to what it used to be,” I say, the words tumbling out faster than I can stop them. “Make it about alliances again instead of trafficking. Show the other families that the tradition can exist without exploitation.”
Rurik’s pale blue eyes narrow. “How?”
My heart pounds against my ribs as I look at Emma, standing there in her jeans and sweater with fury and hope written across her beautiful face. “The first ceremony would be Emma marrying the three of us.”