Chapter 3
Artem
My office is thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of vodka while my most trusted men, the ten brigadiers of the organization, discuss my plan for tonight.
They are Тёмныё птицы ( Tyomnye ptitsy), the Birds of Darkness, led by my brothers and me.
Tonight’s operation isn’t much different from the ones before it, so everyone already knows his place and his role.
They have been by my side for almost ten years. We grew up, trained, and fought together, so it did not surprise me when, three years ago, after I decided to come to London, all of them chose to follow me.
Since then, we have changed the map of the mafia organizations in this city, much to the displeasure of many already established here.
When we left Moscow, my father was angry with us for allowing the Solntsevskaya Bratva to gain complete control of the area.
We had begun to build a reputation stronger than his, one known even in Saint Petersburg, where we were at war with the great rivals who controlled that territory, the Tambovskaya Bratva.
The name of our organization began as a cold whisper.
Mother always used to tell us we were beautiful as angels, but Father and his men knew exactly what the three of us were capable of. That is why they always completed her words by calling us the Angels of Death.
Ангёлы смёрти (Angely smerti).
Although Yaroslav is two years older than me, he chose to be the man who executes orders, the one who solves everything with the power of his heavy fists and thick arms. He never wanted to stand out, and the shadows seem to be part of him, hiding among them with lethal precision.
At the opposite end is Aleksandr, or Sasha, as we call him. The boy with golden hair, often dyed almost white, always ready with a joke and a smile that melts girls’ hearts. But for all the angelic beauty of his face, this boy is just as dangerous.
Right now, he is playing with a knife, tossing it into the air only to catch it by the sharp blade with the tips of his fingers.
His favorite toy.
“Pakhan, everyone understands what they have to do. We leave in two hours?”
Dimitri’s deep voice makes me slowly shift my gaze toward him. He is one of our most essential men, the one who slips among enemies like a shadow, just as his nickname suggests.
Ten.5
Shadow.
I nod, keeping the same cold indifference on my face, and take a deep drag from my cigarette.
Pakhan.
Although this title is usually given to mafia leaders with far more experience in the Bratva, it seems that my early initiation and the bloody missions I successfully completed over the years propelled me into this position much faster than many expected.
I expected it.
I always knew I would become a feared Pakhan, and I planned everything from the moment I tasted the blood of the first man I killed. That had not been my goal at first, but my father told me even back then that I was already on that path, and that I was destined to become one.
5(ru.) - shadow
Neither of my brothers ever had such aspirations.
What he did not expect, however, was for me to leave Russia and lay the foundation for a new empire in the middle of London, spreading my network across Europe like an octopus.
Or better said, like a flock of ravens flying over the continent.
And across the ocean.
Everyone clears out of my office, but suddenly my phone begins to ring, and my father’s name appears on the screen.
I frown.
We spoke only a few days ago in a cordial conversation, because we always avoid discussing business over the phone. You never know who might be listening. That is precisely why his call, so soon after the last one, makes me suspect something has happened.
“Father,” I answer with a cold voice, in my native language, the one I always use when speaking to him.
“Voron. We have problems.”
On the outside, I allow no emotion to alter my stone mask. Inside, I am tense, and my eyes move silently toward my brothers, the only ones who have remained in the office, and the only ones who immediately understand my look.
“Konstantin Borislov was killed last night.” This time, I allow one eyebrow to rise.
We are talking about one of the most respected men in the Bratva, a Vor who was a good friend of my father’s. Through him, I met his son, Mikhail Borislov, whom I have not seen since the Christmas party.
The organization subjected us to many brutal tests, but the dangerous, tense situations we endured together forged a close friendship that still exists today, even though he conducts his business in the Middle East.
He is my connection to that part of the continent, and the man who will help the Birds of Darkness to fly even there.
And farther.
“Who did it?”
“We don’t know yet. It looks like it was someone from the inside, which makes it even more dangerous.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone. The Solntsevskaya Bratva says they had nothing to do with it.”
“And the ones in Saint Petersburg?”
“Neither did they. I spoke directly to their Pakhan.”
The crease between my brows deepens.
“Are you sure they’re not lying to you?”
“Very sure,” he says with conviction, his deep voice carrying something I have not heard in a long time.
Concern. Grief.
“We are oldmen now.We have nothingleftexcept respect and the title that still makes us powerful. We don’t have armies. We don’t have territories. If someone kills one of us, it means respect, the very thing that makes the Bratva shine, no longer exists for someone in our world.
We are not lowborn hooligans.”
The anger in his final words can be felt in every syllable he speaks with revulsion.
They are kings.
Every Vor is respected for everything he has done in the Bratva before earning a privileged position, one that grants him peace and comfort.
But reasons to kill one of them can always appear, because a Vor’s greatest power is the influence he carries.
“Could it be revenge?”
My brothers gesture for me to put the phone on speaker so they can hear the conversation too, realizing it is important. So, I indulge them and place the phone on the desk.
“God knows. His adviser says that over the past month, he did nothing but handle preparations for his daughter’s wedding. A profitable arrangement for the organization, one that must be completed.”
A familiar thought moves through my body.
Something that comes with a memory shaped like a black pearl, but it disappears just as quickly when I realize his statement is decisive, meant to convey the importance of his message.
“When is the funeral?”
“Do not come.”
Yar and Sasha frown as hard as I do.
“Why?”
“The family wants something very private.”
“But we are family too,” Sasha says, like a child whose candy has been stolen. “Mikhail is like a brother to us.”
I am certain Father is not surprised by my brother’s presence in the conversation. He knows we are always together, and that there will never be secrets between us.
“It isbetterfor everyoneif you stay away. Until we know who did this, everyone is on guard.”
My instinct tells me Father is hiding something, but knowing him, he won’t tell me until he is certain I need to know.
I sigh, and I think he hears it, because his voice drops an octave, filling with grief again.
He has every reason.
He and Konstantin had been close friends since childhood.
“I hope we catch the bastards quickly.”
“Can we help?” I ask out of politeness, but his answer takes me by surprise.
“Yes.”
All three of us become suddenly interested.
More than that, we are hungry for the feeling of revenge Father gives us when he tells us we can help.
“Give us a name and we’ll handle it,” Yar offers immediately, thinking of the thing we do best.
Killing.
The corner of Sasha’s mouth lifts in a cruel way, his eyes gleaming with the desire to bury his knife in a traitor’s heart.
“That is what we’re best at,” the youngest adds.
“In the current situation, you will have to do the exact opposite. You will protect someone.”
I don’t even blink.
Yar goes as still as I do, while Sasha grimaces.
“Do what?”
My younger brother’s shocked question passes right by Father, who continues with the same determination.
“Voron, you are responsible for Ekaterina Borislova’s safety. Recently, suspicious people have been seen near her house, and we consider them threats. After the funeral, I want her to stay in your house until the wedding.
It is the safest place for her until we find out where the threat is coming from.”
His voice hardens.
“Do not forget: this wedding must happen.”