Chapter 22 Dimitri
DIMITRI
Isit at the long table in my brother's war room with my uncle on one side, my brother across from me, and a few more of our men seated in chairs around me.
A map of Moscow spreads between us, marked with a potential location for where the Morozov empire may have retreated.
Rolan taps his finger against the eastern district where the Radiches have been consolidating power for the past six months.
"So the girl is Morozov's daughter," Rolan says.
He doesn't look at me when he speaks, his eyes fixed on the map as if the answer to our current problem might be hidden in the streets and districts we control.
"Yes."
I keep my voice level and my hands relaxed on the table.
I've learned over the years that showing tension in these meetings only invites more questions.
"Ekaterina Morozova. She's been living under false names since her father died. Her mother kept her hidden."
"Smart woman."
Maxim leans back in his chair, the middle child who often gets overlooked.
But my brothers are wise men, and I trust them.
"If the families had known Lyovik had an heir, they would've come for her years ago."
"They're coming for her now."
I pull out my phone and slide it across the table.
The screen shows surveillance photos my men took of the Radich compound after the warehouse raid.
"Oleg knew exactly who she was. He used her real name. That information came from somewhere, which means someone in Moscow has been tracking the Morozov family."
Rolan picks up the phone and studies the photos.
His expression doesn't change, but I see the calculation happening behind his eyes.
He's measuring risk against reward, weighing what Katya represents against what it will cost to protect her.
"The pact Batya made with Lyovik was comprehensive. Protection for his family in exchange for weapons and intelligence. When Lyovik died, the agreement should've been passed down."
"But no heir came forward," Misha, my uncle, points out.
"The pact died with Lyovik. We don't owe his daughter anything."
"Legally, no."
Rolan sets the phone down and looks at me directly.
"But in our world, these agreements carry weight beyond the people who sign them. If we honor the pact, we strengthen our reputation. Other families will know that the Vetrovs keep their word even when it's inconvenient."
He sits back and drums his fingers on the table.
"And securing the pact means bringing what remains of the Morozovs into our fold, and the Volkovs will follow, along with many of Morozov's former allies."
"And if we don't?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
Rolan spreads his hands on the table.
"They'll take the girl anyway, probably kill her to send a message, and we'll have shown weakness."
The thought of anyone touching Katya makes something violent rise in my chest.
I force it down and keep my expression neutral.
"So we honor the pact."
"We honor the pact." Rolan nods slowly.
"But that means accepting the terms Batya agreed to. Lyovik supplied intelligence and weapons. In exchange, we gave him protection and twenty percent of the profits from the eastern territories."
Misha makes a sound of protest.
"Twenty percent is a massive cut, Ro. We've been operating those territories at full profit for twenty years. Giving up that share now will hurt."
"It'll hurt more if we start a war over a broken pact."
Maxim crosses his arms over his chest.
"The Radiches are already looking for excuses to move against us. This gives them one on a silver platter."
I lean forward, my hands splayed flat on the table.
"Katya doesn't know anything about her father's business. She can't provide intelligence or weapons. She's not an asset in the way Lyovik was."
"She's an asset because of who she is."
Rolan's eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes the air in the room feel heavier.
As much as I don't like what he's saying, he's my Pakhan, my leader.
Challenging him out of an eruption of emotion could have consequences.
"Her name carries legitimacy. If we announce that we're honoring the pact with the Morozov family, it sends a message to every other family in Moscow."
"You want to use her as a symbol." The words taste bitter in my mouth.
"I want to use her as exactly what the pact says she is—a member of an allied family under our protection."
I can see the conflicted look in his eye as he makes his declaration.
He understands what she means to the family as a whole.
"Unless you have another suggestion."
The tension in the room thickens.
Everyone at this table knows what Katya means to me, even if I haven't said it out loud.
They saw me storm a warehouse with minimal backup.
They heard about the bodies I left behind.
They know I'm not thinking like a soldier right now, and in our world, that's a dangerous risk.
"I won't hand her over to be used as a bargaining chip," I say carefully.
"She didn't ask for any of this. She doesn't deserve to be trapped in agreements made before she was born."
"None of us asked for the lives we have."
Rolan's tone softens slightly, and I see a flash of sympathy in his eyes.
"But we play the hand we're dealt, Dimitri. You know this better than anyone."
His hands fold in front of himself carefully.
I do know it. I've spent my entire life navigating the obligations and expectations that come with being a Vetrov, with being Sergei Vetrov's son.
I've made choices that kept me awake at night and killed men whose faces I still see when I close my eyes.
But this is different.
This isn't about me or my obligations.
It's about Katya, who wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life away from all of this violence.
"What if she doesn't want the protection?" I ask.
"What if she'd rather disappear again, go somewhere the families can't find her?"
"Then she'll be dead within a month."
Maxim's only being honest but it feels like a knife in the chest.
"The Radiches already know who she is. Others will know soon if they don't already. She can't hide anymore, Dimitri. Her only chance is to stand under our protection and hope it's enough."
The truth of it settles over me like a heavy blanket I can't shake off.
I brought Katya into this world by refusing to let her go.
Now she's trapped in the same web of obligations and violence that's defined my entire existence, and I'm the one who put her there.
"We need to locate the rest of the Morozov family."
Rolan pulls the conversation back to practical matters.
"If Katya's the heir, there might be others with claims to the pact. We need to know who we're dealing with."
"Her mother's in Perm," I say.
"Anzhela Volsky, remarried and living under a false name. Katya hasn't spoken to her in years."
"Anyone else?"
"Her mother kept her isolated from the family."
I pull up the notes I made after questioning Katya last night.
"But I did some questioning too. I dug up a bit of intel about a cousin named Artemy Morozov."
Misha leans forward with interest sharpening his features.
"If there's a male heir, he might contest Katya's claim to the family. That could work in our favor if he's willing to negotiate different terms. Lyovik didn't specify who'd take the family over when he died, and things fell apart on the heels of his death."
"Or it could complicate everything if he decides to align with the Radiches instead."
Maxim shakes his head.
"We need more information before we make contact."
"I'll send men to Perm to locate the mother."
Rolan makes a note on the pad in front of him.
"We'll find this cousin and figure out what he knows. In the meantime, Katya stays under guard. No one touches her without going through us first."
"I'm handling her security personally," I say.
It's not a request, and Rolan knows it.
She belongs to me now.
Not a single hair on her head will be touched.
He studies me for a long moment, and I can see him weighing whether to push back or let it go.
Finally, he nods.
"Fine. But you need backup. Take Gavriil and at least two others with you at all times. If the Radiches are already watching us, they'll move fast."
"Understood."
"We're going to lose money on this," Misha says, still clearly bothered by the financial implications.
"Twenty percent of the eastern territories is more than we should be giving up for a girl who can't prove her paternity."
He rubs the bridge of his nose and scowls.
"Then we'll find other ways to make up the loss."
Rolan's stern tone ends the discussion.
"We honor the pact because that's what maintains our reputation. We protect the girl because that's what the pact requires. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me directly."
No one speaks.
Rolan's word is law in the Vetrov organization, and challenging him openly is a good way to end up in the river.
I feel a surge of gratitude toward my brother despite the tension between us.
He's choosing to stand by me even when it costs him, and that kind of loyalty is rare in our world.
The meeting breaks up with assignments being distributed.
Maxim will coordinate the search for the cousin.
Misha will handle the financial restructuring to accommodate the profit sharing.
Rolan will reach out to the other families to announce that we're honoring the Morozov pact, framing it as a show of strength rather than weakness.
I stand to leave, but Rolan catches my arm.
"Walk with me."
We stride out of the command room and into the main hallway of his house.
It's a sprawling estate on the outskirts of Moscow, surrounded by walls and guards and enough security to withstand a small army.
Rolan leads me to his study and closes the door behind us.
"Loving her makes you vulnerable."
He moves to the bar and pours two glasses of vodka, sliding one across the desk to me.
"Vulnerable men make mistakes, and mistakes in our business get people killed."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?"
He takes a drink and studies me over the rim of his glass.