Chapter 10
ROMAN
It’s eight fifty-five. The meeting starts at nine.
There’s no council room tonight. This one’s at a storage facility with reinforced steel doors, concrete floors and a history of meetings that don’t end well.
Two men stand guard outside the entrance.
One of them I recognize, he’s Bratva, part of my father's personal security for almost a decade. The other I don't.
He’s huge, a few inches taller than me, built like a mountain with a scar starting at his temple, slicing clean across to his other ear.
Chechen. Has to be.
“Over there,” he snarls, his thick accent a dead giveaway.
He jerks his head toward a metal box bolted to the wall.
I know the drill, my SIG P226 goes into the box.
Next comes the pat-down before they let me through.
I pass two more guards outside the main room, not recognizing either of them. More mercenaries.
Fucking joke.
Most of the chairs around the long table are already filled by the time I step inside. The only ones standing are the guards, their eyes moving constantly, tracking every movement.
Across from me, Dimitri is already pissed off but trying to hide it. He needs to try harder.
Alexei sits beside him, confusion written all over his face as he keeps glancing at the unfamiliar men lining the room. Further down the table, Pasha stares at the vodka bottles like he wants to drown in them. Yuri sits near Sergei, my father's longtime advisor, both of them quiet, just watching.
The door swings open and the Pakhan enters. He takes his seat at the head of the table, flanked by two more mercenaries. If his paranoia wasn’t bleeding Volchya dry, it’d be almost funny.
The second he sits, he leans back, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes locked on me.
Nothing new. The room goes dead silent. Everyone knows better than to make a sound before my father speaks.
But he doesn't speak, he studies me, my face, my posture, the way my hand rests on the table, hunting for tells.
He needs a sign of guilt, something he can build a case on.
My face stays blank, my breathing steady. The silence stretches for minutes. Dimitri shifts in his seat. Alexei clears his throat while Pasha reaches for a bottle, then thinks better of it.
Still, my father says nothing, just stares at me. Finally, he speaks, "I see you all showed up. I’m pleased." His voice is calm, never a good sign. "I’m sure you’ve all heard what happened.”
No one answers.
"Let me refresh your memories. Three days ago, there was a fire." He pauses, letting the words settle in the room. "My brothel. Mine. Not Volchya’s. My personal motherfucking brothel."
Dimitri’s the first to speak. "Fires happen all the time, it’s an old building. Why call a meeting for this?"
"You think I give a fuck about that building?” My father’s gaze sweeps the table, cold and measured, watching for reactions. “Someone took something that belongs to me during that fire. Something valuable."
"What was taken?" Pasha asks, suddenly interested. "There have been talks. Was it money? Product?”
“A girl was taken."
The room goes silent.
Volchya doesn’t deal in human trafficking. I don’t know what my father expected the reaction to be.
Yuri frowns. "A girl from the brothel? I don't understand. They’re free to come and go. If a girl was kidnapped, how does this concern us?”
"The girl was mine,” My father rages. “Someone stole from me. Took her.”
"Took her,” Sergei asks, cocking his head to the side. “Or she ran?"
My father whips his head toward him. “Are you deaf? I said she was taken.”
"How can you be sure?" I ask, cutting in, my voice even.
As expected, the Pakhan swings his gaze to me, fire blazing in his eyes. I'm in his crosshairs now. I had to do it. My silence would’ve been worse.
"Because I know.”
"That's not an answer,” I press.
"It's the only one you're getting.”
Dimitri scratches his jaw. "I don't understand why we're here discussing a missing prostitute when we have more important matters to discuss.”
“Ohhh, you want to discuss matters, Dimitri?” My father’s fingers tighten around the edge of the table. “You really want to discuss matters with me right now? Would those matters be your territory, which I, your goddamn boss, decided you no longer need?”
No one moves a muscle, cough or make a sound.
“That’s what you want to discuss instead of what I lost in that fire?”
Dimitri presses his lips together. “Apologies, Pakhan. My problems don’t matter.”
“How valuable is this girl?” Alexei asks, shifting the focus.
“More valuable than you. That’s all you need to know.”
"If you’re not willing to give us any information,” I say, “why tell us about it?”
"Ah yes,” he drawls, “Leave it to my son to ask the tough questions.”
He slams his fist on the table. “I know someone inside this organization took her. Someone who knew exactly where to find her and not be noticed doing so."
His eyes sweep the table, stopping on each man. "One of you. Or someone working for one of you did it. Whoever knows what happened needs to think wisely about how long you expect to maintain your silence."
Pasha’s eyes widen. "You think one of us set fire to your brothel to steal a girl? A whore? There's no logic to that."
"Isn't there?” My father bites out. “A fire on the same night the girl disappears. That's not a coincidence."
"Why would the fire be convenient?" Sergei asks. "Was she being held there against her will?"
My father's eyes narrow. Sergei’s getting too close to the truth.
"Do not question me."
He draws in a breath, grinding his teeth. "The girl was under my protection. She did not wish to leave, and she did not leave on her own. I know this, because she couldn’t have run away.”
Pasha scratches his head. "Did she have no legs? She could have gotten tired of working at the brothel and left town.”
"Not this one."
"Why not?"
My father rises. Planting both hands flat on the table, he leans forward, looming over it.
"She just couldn't."
"You're asking us to help you find someone, but you won't tell us what’s special about her. You won't tell us anything except that you want her back. That’s not a lot of information, Pakhan."
"I don't need to explain myself to anyone,” he snarls. “Much less you."
"Then don't expect much help.”
His eyes narrow to slits. "Are you refusing to help me?"
"That’s not what I’m saying. It’s hard for any of us to help you if we don't know what we're looking for. We need to know what makes this girl different, why we need to find her.”
"That's not your concern."
"Then I don't know what you want from us."
"Do not question me!" My father's voice cracks through the room like a whip. "One of you took something that belongs to me, and I want it back."
The mercenaries at his side, edge closer to the table, hands sliding to their pistols. I hear the click of a safety going off.
The men around the table go still, all eyes swinging to the guns, to the Pakhan then to each other.
We’ve all seen this play out before, even inside this room. Bodies going into bags and business continuing as normal.
"What if we don't know who took her?" Dimitri asks, his gaze snapping back to the guns.
"I'll assume you're all guilty until someone proves otherwise."
Yuri, who’s been quiet all this time, shifts in his seat. "Pakhan, that's—" He stops, choosing his words carefully. "That’s not reasonable."
"I decide what’s reasonable and what isn’t.” My father sits back down, calmer now and settling into his chair like a czar reclaiming his throne. "I'm the Pakhan. What I say is law."
He adjusts his collar, smoothing his tie, burying his rage under a disguise of control.
"Now. I'm going to go around this table. Each of you will tell me where you were the night of the fire. If I'm not satisfied with your answers, there will be consequences."
He looks at Sergei first.
"You."
"I was visiting my sister in Zamoskvorechye and stayed the entire night. We went to a restaurant. I can even show you the receipt if you want.”
My father nods, his expression unreadable. He tilts his head toward Pasha.
"I was home with my wife. She can confirm."
My father snorts. "Blyad. Your wife would lie for you as long as you give her money."
Pasha’s face burns red. "That might be true, but I was still at home all night."
Yuri speaks up before my father can ask. "I was going over paperwork at the gas station on Vostochniy. You can check the security footage.”
"What about you?" He points to Alexei.
"I was home sleeping.”
“Alone?”
Alexei chuckles. “It’s good to sleep alone sometimes.”
My father glares at him. “Convenient.”
I wait for his gaze to land on me.
"Roman. Where were you?"
"Zarechny district. I had business to handle."
"What kind of business?"
"I was on Stromynka. The electronics shop there wanted another location. I gave him permission, then I stopped by the restaurant down the block and reminded the manager what happens if he changes his mind.”
"Alone?"
"Who else would be with me?” I shrug. “If you don’t believe me, you can call them
yourself."
"What time were you at each place?"
"The electronics shop around nine. The restaurant around ten-thirty, maybe eleven."
"And after?"
"I was tired. I went home."
"Who can confirm that?”
“You know I live alone.”
“Right,” my father says, lips curling. “No relationships. No woman to tie down Roman Ivanov.” His eyes narrow. “Pity. I did the same, except your slut mother still managed to try and trap me with you”
I grit my teeth, showing no reaction. None of this is new information. I don’t know why he thinks this is supposed to hurt me.
"The fire started around two. You could’ve left your apartment at any time to drive to Trudovaya.”
"I could have,” I admit. So could anyone else at this table." I fold my arms. "The real question is, why would I risk burning down your property, putting myself at risk, for someone I didn’t even know existed? For a whore.”
"Maybe you did know she existed."
"How would I?"
"Maybe you found out."
"Maybe.” I lift one shoulder. “But I’ve seen the girls at your brothel. Let’s just say, none of them put me in the mood.”
Beside me, Alexei grins, quickly hiding it with a cough.
“I wouldn’t touch those sluts either,” my father growls. “That’s beside the point and you fucking know it.”
“I don’t,” I reply, keeping my tone respectful. “All I’m saying is, you need to accept that this girl ran off. For whatever reason.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, relaxing into his chair, rubbing his chin. “Tell me, Roman. What have you been up to lately?"
"Managing my territory. Business. Dealing with brokers. Same as always. You should know. Your tribute was higher this month than the last.”
"I’ve seen the money. That’s not what I’m asking. I’m curious about your free time. What do you do? What do you plan?”
"Free time?” I chuckle. “I fuck and I sleep. Plans? I don’t know. Seems like you know more about what I’m up to than I do.”
“Funny.” He bares his teeth. “Listen to me, you son of a bitch. If you’re planning something, know this—I am not the one to fuck with.”
I ignore his insults. They mean nothing to me. If anything, I like them. Every word out of his mouth feeds my hatred and confirms exactly why I’m going to kill him the first chance I get.
I push back even more. Not enough to have his mercenaries on me, but enough to sow seeds of doubt about his capabilities.
"If I was planning something, do you think I'd be stupid enough to draw attention to myself by taking something important to you?” I spread my hands. “That makes no sense, Pakhan."
"With this girl it does," he snaps.
Frustrated breaths ripple around the table. I smile to myself. “Then tell us why,” I insist. “Everyone here wants to know why she’s important enough that you're turning on your own men with nothing to back it up."
"No."
"Then what’s the point of all of this? You're accusing people without proof. We don’t even know why you think it happened.” I glance around the table. “You're wasting everyone's time."
He pushes out of his chair, pounding his on the table. "Watch your mouth and remember who you’re talking to."
This is it.
“If you want to accuse me, do it. If you have proof, show it. Otherwise, I have real work to do. We all do."
The mercenaries move fast. Three rifles and a pistol aim straight at my chest. I don't move or flinch. I look over at my father, fully aware of how this looks to everyone in the room.
"You're going to have me killed? Here? In front of everyone, for saying what every man in this room’s thinking?"
I see the calculation in his eyes. He wants to give the order so badly, but he can’t. He won’t. Grigori Ivanov didn't survive this long by being hot-headed. He knows killing a brigadier in front of the others, without proof or reason, would fracture the organization. Maybe tear it apart.
He needs their support and their loyalty. Without them, he's just an old man with paranoia and hired foreign guns who'll disappear the moment the money dries up.
He waves his hand and the barrels lower, the safeties clicking back into place.
"Get out," he orders. "All of you."
The men stand, moving fast, eager to put distance between themselves and this room. Yuri pauses for half a second, his eyes on my father, like he wants to say something. He thinks better of it and leaves. I head for the door and right on cue…
“Roman,” my father's voice booms. “You stay."
The door shuts behind the others, leaving me alone in the room with my father and his mercenaries.
"You're good,” he drawls, shaking his head. “I'll give you that. You didn't crack."
"I didn’t have a reason to."
"We’ll see…”
I stay quiet.
“I don't trust you."
"Then kill me,” I offer. “Or don't. Just stop wasting my time with these games."
"Games? You really think this is a game?"
"I think you're paranoid,” I reply, unfazed. “You’re blaming everyone instead of dealing with the real problem.”
His face darkens. "Real problem? Like your constant bitching about my alliance with the Albanians?"
“If that’s what you want to call it. I call it a mistake. I’m not the only one.”
His features harden. "I don't make mistakes."
"Everyone does. Not everyone admits it.”
He rises from his chair, moving toward me like a predator past his prime, dangerous, only to himself. He stops close enough that I can smell vodka on his breath.
"If I find out you took her—"
"You won't,” I say through my teeth. “Because I didn't."
“I'll make you beg for death before I give it to you."
"I'd expect nothing less."
We stare at each other, neither of us backing down, until he snarls, “Get out.” He waves a hand, dismissing me like a servant.
I’m nearly at the door when, of course…
"Roman."
I stop but don't turn around.
"I'm watching you. One slip and I’ll know.”
"You'll be watching for a long time."