Reclaimed Crown (Crown of the Bratva #2)

Chapter 1

Dimitri

SONG: LET THE WORLD BURN BY CHRIS GREY

The blood on my desk had dried hours ago.

I stared at the brown stain, shaped vaguely like the Italian boot, and wondered if I should take it as an omen. Probably not. Reading tea leaves and looking for signs was something my father would have done right before he shot someone for breathing wrong.

I wasn't my father. That was the problem.

"They're waiting," Maxim said from the doorway.

I glanced up at my oldest friend. He stood with his arms crossed, filling the frame like he'd been carved from the same Siberian granite that made up his personality. Twenty years of friendship, and the man still had the emotional range of a particularly stoic rock.

"Let them wait." I leaned back in my chair, which creaked in protest. My father's chair. His desk. His office. Everything in this room still smelled like his cologne and gun oil, a combination that made my stomach turn. "How many showed?"

"All of them."

"That's either very good or very bad."

"It's both." Maxim shifted his weight. He only did that when he was worried, which meant I should probably be terrified. "Yuri brought six men."

"Six? To a meeting?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Subtle as a brick through a window."

"He doesn't trust you."

"Nobody trusts me, Max. I'm thirty-five years old, I've been Pakhan for three weeks, and my sister murdered our father." I stood, buttoning my suit jacket. Tom Ford, because if I was going to get shot today, I'd do it in style. "They think I'm weak."

"Are you?"

I looked at him. Really looked at him. Maxim had been there, he'd stood beside me when word came through that Sofiya and Daniil had killed my father.

He hadn't flinched, hadn't questioned, hadn't wavered.

He had jumped into action, supporting me as I consolidated power.

If anyone had earned the right to ask that question, it was him.

"Ask me again after the meeting."

We walked through the corridors of the estate, past portraits of dead men who'd held this position before me. My grandfather. His brother. My father. All of them had died violently. Most of them had trusted the wrong person at the wrong time.

I didn't plan on joining them.

The conference room fell silent when I entered. Twelve men sat around the table, each one a Brigidir in their own right, each one commanding loyalty from soldiers who'd bled for this organization. They looked at me like I was an interesting science experiment. Or a dead man walking.

Hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"Gentlemen." I took my seat at the head of the table. Maxim stood behind me, a silent promise of violence if anyone felt jumpy. "Thank you for coming."

Yuri spoke first. Of course he did. The man had all the patience of a hungry wolf.

"We've lost three shipments in two weeks, Dimitri." He didn't use my title. Noted. "The Chechens are moving in on our territory in the west. The Italians are making noise about expanding their operations into our routes."

"I'm aware."

"Are you?" Yuri leaned forward. He was in his fifties, built like a bear, with a scar that ran from his eye to his jaw. A relic from some war I was too young to remember. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're too busy playing at being a leader to notice the walls closing in."

The room tensed. Maxim's hand moved slightly toward his jacket. I raised one finger, and he froze.

"Playing," I repeated, tasting the word.

"That's an interesting way to describe consolidating power and fixing the cluster fuck this organization is after everything that’s gone down.

" I met Yuri's eyes. "Or did you forget that my father ran this organization into the ground?

That he started wars we couldn't win and made enemies we didn't need? "

"Your father was Pakhan for twenty years."

"And he died choking on his own blood hiding in a safe room like a coward." The words came out flat, emotionless. I'd practiced that tone. "My sister killed him because he'd become a madman, bent on destruction. You all know it. You were all relieved when it happened."

No one spoke. Good. They were listening.

"The Chechens are testing us because they think we're weak during the transition.

The Italians are posturing for the same reason.

" I pulled out a folder and slid it across the table.

"I've already dealt with the Chechens. Maxim and his crew made a few examples last night.

As for the Italians..." I paused, letting them sweat. "I'm handling it."

Yuri opened the folder. His expression didn't change, but I saw his jaw tighten. Photos of dead Chechens. A lot of dead Chechens.

"You did this without consulting us?" he questioned.

"I did this without wasting your time." I stood. "Here's how this works, gentlemen. I'm Pakhan. You're captains. You bring me problems, I solve them. You follow orders, I keep you rich and breathing. It's a simple arrangement."

"Your father always consulted the council."

"My father isn’t here." I smiled, and I knew it didn't reach my eyes. "Any other concerns?"

The meeting dissolved into business as usual. Numbers, territories, shipments. The boring machinery of organized crime. I listened, decided, and delegated tasks. By the time everyone filed out, I had a headache building behind my eyes.

Soon, everyone was gone except Maxim.

He closed the door behind the last captain, then turned to face me.

"That was risky."

"Everything is risky." I loosened my tie. "Yuri?"

"He'll fall in line. He's a soldier, even if he doesn't like you."

"And if he doesn't?"

Maxim shrugged. The gesture said everything it needed to.

I walked to the window overlooking the grounds. Spring in Arizona. The scarce trees were budding, in other places of the world, everything was turning green and alive. Here it just went from dead in the cold to dead in the heat. It made the estate look like an apocalyptic wasteland.

"I need you to do something for me."

"Name it."

"Apolena." Just saying my youngest sister's name made my chest tight. She was twenty, smart, kind, and completely unprepared for the world we lived in. "She needs protection."

"She has guards."

"She needs someone I trust." I turned to face him. "Someone who'll die before letting anything happen to her."

Maxim's expression shifted. It was subtle, barely there, but I'd known him long enough to catch it. Something flickered in his eyes when I mentioned Apolena's name.

I quickly shake my head; Maxim has been my best friend since before we could walk. No way would he betray me by being interested in Apolena. Besides, she was too pure, too good for men like us.

"You want me to babysit?" he said.

"I want you to keep her alive." I crossed my arms. "Sofiya has Daniil. And we all know she can handle herself. But Apolena...she's vulnerable. If someone wants to hurt me, really hurt me, they'll go after her."

"What about your other operations?"

"Nikolai can handle them. You're the only person I trust with this. With her."

Maxim was quiet for a long moment. He stared past me, out the window, and I wondered what he was thinking. Usually I could read him. Usually his thoughts were written in simple sentences: yes, no, kill, don't kill.

Now, though, something else was happening behind those gray eyes.

"When do I start?" he asked.

"Today. She's at the townhouse in Scottsdale. I already told her you'd be coming."

"How'd she take it?"

I snorted. "She said she doesn't need a babysitter. That she's not a child."

"She's not wrong."

"She's not right either." I moved back to the desk, started gathering papers. "This life...Max, you and I grew up in it. We know how it works. Apolena still thinks the world is good. That people are basically decent."

"Maybe that's not a bad thing."

I looked up sharply. Maxim met my gaze, unflinching. "It's a dangerous thing," I said quietly. "And I won't let her get hurt because she can't see the wolves."

He nodded once, then headed for the door.

"Max."

He paused.

"Take care of her."

"You know I will."

He left, and I was alone in my father's old office, my office, a room that has seen more blood than some slaughterhouses.

I sat down and pulled out the second folder. The real problem I needed to address today, the one I hadn't shared with the council because some things were too delicate, too dangerous to trust to men like Yuri.

Giuseppe Rossi. The Italian Don, who controlled everything from the docks to the restaurants to the unions on the West Coast. Old school. Traditional. Powerful enough to crush us if he wanted to.

Or powerful enough to save us, if I played this right.

I opened the folder and stared at the surveillance photos. Giuseppe with his wife. Giuseppe with his sons. Giuseppe with his daughter.

Giulia.

Twenty-one years old, according to the report. College educated. No association with the business other than her parentage. She looked uncomfortable in every photo, like she'd rather be anywhere else than standing next to her father at some function.

I understood the feeling.

An alliance with the Italians would solve half my problems. It would shore up our defenses, expand our reach, and send a message that the Bratva was still a force to be reckoned with.

But alliances required trust. And trust required...something more than just a handshake.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Giuseppe Rossi requests a meeting. Tomorrow. His territory.

I stared at the message for a long time. Then I looked back at the photo of Giulia Rossi, caught mid-laugh at some event, her head thrown back, genuinely happy.

Tomorrow, I'd walk into Giuseppe's domain and ask for an alliance. I'd offer whatever he wanted. Money. Territory. Blood. But Giuseppe was old school and I knew what he would expect in return for an alliance. And I would do it.

Whatever it took to keep the walls from closing in.

I deleted the text and closed the folder.

Outside, the sun was setting. The estate's shadows grew longer, darker, swallowing everything in their path.

I sat, staring mindlessly at the setting sun and wondered how long I had before those shadows swallowed me too.

Not long enough, probably.

But I'd always been good at working under pressure.