20. Aria
ARIA
The Bratva council meeting takes place in Brighton Beach, in a building I used to drive past a hundred times and never really paid attention to.
From the outside, it looks like any other commercial property. It’s a two-story brick building wedged between a Russian grocery store and a travel agency. There’s no sign or indication of what happens inside. There’s just a plain black door with a security camera above it.
But inside, it’s something else entirely.
Maksim’s hand is steady on my lower back as we walk through the entrance, and I feel so damn uncomfortable. My bump is unmistakable under my dress, making me feel exposed and vulnerable in a way I haven’t felt since Philadelphia.
Walking into a room full of the most dangerous men in the organization while pregnant sounds profoundly stupid. But here I am anyway.
Because Alexander Morozov tried to kill my son and love of my life. And I’m going to watch him answer for it.
The building’s interior is surprisingly elegant. There are gleaming dark hardwood floors, cream-colored walls, and expensive artwork. We’re led down a hallway by two silent and armed guards to a set of double doors at the end.
“It’s going to be fine,” Maksim murmurs near my ear. His hand tightens slightly on my back. “Just tell the truth. That’s all you need to do.”
I nod, but my throat is too tight to speak.
The doors open, and we step into what can only be described as a courtroom.
It’s a large rectangular room with high ceilings and more of that dark hardwood. At the far end is a raised platform with a long table where twelve men sit—the council members, all of them in expensive suits and watching our entrance with expressions ranging from curiosity to hostility.
Nikolai sits in the center, elevated slightly above the others.
He’s wearing his signature dark suit, his hair perfectly styled, and his cold gray eyes assessing everything.
On either side of him are the other council members.
My heart beats faster. These are men who’ve spent decades in this world, who’ve killed and ordered kills.
They hold the power of life and death over everyone in the organization.
I glance around the room and try to steady my breathing. The room itself feels like it’s designed to intimidate. There are no windows—just walls covered in dark wood paneling and more expensive artwork. The recessed lights in the ceiling cast everything in harsh clarity. There’s nowhere to hide.
In the center of the room is a single, empty chair.
I blanch. That’s where I’ll testify.
My legs threaten to give out.
Along the walls stand more guards. I count at least twenty of them and they’re all armed. This is more security than I’ve ever seen in one place.
“Miss Delano.” Nikolai’s voice carries across the room, formal and commanding. “Please take a seat. We’ll begin shortly.”
Maksim guides me to a bench along the side wall, away from the center. We sit and his hand finds mine immediately. His palm is warm and steady while mine is cold and trembling.
“Breathe,” he whispers. “Just breathe.”
I try. My heart is racing so fast I can feel it in my throat.
More people file in. Dmitri, Pavel, other men I recognize from the compound. They’re witnesses, I realize, who investigated Alexander’s network, and found evidence. They can corroborate what we’re claiming.
Then the doors open again, and Alexander is brought in.
He’s shackled with hands cuffed in front of him and his ankles chained together. He’s flanked by four guards. I noticed he’s wearing the same clothes from the raid, now rumpled and stained with dried blood. His left leg is bandaged where Maksim shot him, and he limps as he walks.
Even though he’s been captured and brought before the council, Alexander Morozov still carries himself with arrogance. His blue eyes sweep the room, but when his gaze lands on me I see recognition flash across his face before his face transforms into pure, undiluted hatred.
I force myself to hold his stare even though my instincts are screaming at me to run. I force myself not to look away or show fear, even though my heart is hammering and I want to jump out of my skin.
This man tried to kill my son. This man poisoned Daniel, tried to murder Maksim, and threatened my unborn child.
I will not be afraid of him.
Alexander’s lips curve into a cold smile before he’s forced into a chair in the center of the room, directly facing the council. The guards chain his ankle shackles to a ring in the floor.
Nikolai rises, and the room falls silent. When he speaks, his voice is formal and ceremonial. Maksim and Nikolai gave me a crash course on how this would go so I know this is way the Bratva has conducted business for generations.
“We are convened today to hear charges against Alexander Mikhailovich Morozov, formerly of this brotherhood,” Nikolai says with authority.
“The charges are as follows: embezzlement of brotherhood funds, conspiracy with enemy organizations, sharing of classified intelligence with foreign operatives, murder of a brotherhood soldier, attempted murder of brotherhood leadership, attempted murder of an innocent child, and treason against the brotherhood.”
He pauses, letting the weight of those words settle over the room.
“These are capital offenses. If found guilty, the sentence is death.” Another pause. “Alexander Mikhailovich Morozov, how do you answer these charges?”
“Not guilty, Nikolai Dmitrievich,” Alexander says confidently.
Even though I know this is how these proceedings go, it makes me want to scream that he’s trying to claim he’s innocent.
“These charges are fabricated. A political move by you and your brother to consolidate power and eliminate a rival who knows too much about certain…irregularities in your own operations.”
Murmurs ripple through the council members and Maksim stiffens beside me. This is a bold accusation—claiming that Nikolai and Maksim are the corrupt ones.
“You claim we’re framing you?” Nikolai’s voice remains calm and controlled, but I can see the fury on his face.
“I claim you’re eliminating a threat to your own ambitions.
” Alexander’s blue eyes are hard as he gazes upon his ex-friend.
“I’ve served this brotherhood loyally for fifteen years.
I’ve earned respect, built connections, and made myself valuable.
Perhaps too valuable.” He shrugs. “Perhaps you saw me as competition.”
“Then you deny coordinating with Corsican operatives to undermine this organization?” Nikolai continues.
“Completely.”
“You deny embezzling over sixty million dollars through offshore accounts?”
“Those accounts were used for legitimate international operations. You know that.”
“You deny attempting to assassinate Maksim Sokolov with a car bomb? You deny murdering Len Rodichev?”
Alexander looks puzzled. “Why would I? Maksim is my colleague and friend. The idea is absurd. Len’s death was truly tragic, and I dearly hope the perpetrator is caught soon so Len’s family can get justice.”
“And you deny poisoning Maksim’s seven-year-old son with military-grade neurotoxin?” Nikolai continues as if Alexander hasn’t spoken.
Alexander’s expression shifts to outrage. “I would never harm a child. The accusation is offensive and false. I’m a father of three. Children are precious.”
I grit my teeth. Goddamn, he’s good. His voice rings with wounded dignity. If I didn’t know better, I might believe him.
But I do know better.
Nikolai nods slowly. “We will present evidence. But first, we will hear testimony from the woman who witnessed the beginning of your conspiracy eight years ago.” He looks directly at me. “Ariana Delano, please come forward.”
My stomach drops.
Maksim squeezes my hand. “You can do this,” he whispers, his lips against my ear. “I’m right here.”
I stand on legs that feel like water and walk toward that single chair in the center of the room while twelve pairs of eyes track my every movement.
Alexander’s cold blue gaze burns into me.
I can’t believe this is my life right now.
I’m walking into the center of a room full of killers to testify against one of their own.
The absurdity of it would be funny if I weren’t so terrified.
I gingerly sit in the chair. It’s positioned so I’m facing both the council and Alexander. I swallow hard. I’m either going to look at judgment or hatred.
Nikolai stands. “State your name for the record.”
“Ariana Delano.” My voice is barely above a whisper. I clear my throat and try again. “Ariana Delano.”
“And your relationship to the accused?”
“I have no relationship with Alexander Morozov. But eight years ago, I was in a relationship with his colleague, Maksim Sokolov.”
I’m not going to offer up the information that I’ve currently rekindled that relationship with Maksim.
“Describe for the council what happened on the night of December fifth, eight years ago.”
I take a breath and close my eyes briefly. Then I tell them everything.
“I worked at an art gallery in Brighton Beach as an authentication specialist. I’d been seeing Maksim for three months. He told me he worked in import-export and had business dealings that required discretion. I didn’t know what that actually meant.”
I open my eyes and look at the council members. Some are leaning forward with interest while others remain stone-faced.
“I wanted to surprise him. Maksim. He’d mentioned he had a meeting that night at his office in Red Hook. I thought—” My voice cracks slightly and I pause, collecting myself. “I thought I’d show up early with wine and—it doesn’t matter what I thought.”
No way in hell I’m telling these people that I was planning on jumping Maksim’s bones.
“What happened when you arrived at this office?” Nikolai prompts, seeming to read my thoughts.
I shake my head. “It wasn’t an office. It was a warehouse. I got there around nine-ish. I went in through the unlocked door.” I can see it so clearly. Like it was yesterday instead of eight years ago.