25. Sofia
SOFIA
In the aftermath of Ivan’s death, the Kuznetsov syndicate fractures like glass under extreme pressure.
The first few days are filled with leadership struggles while the Iron Pact moves quickly to stabilize the situation, preventing outside syndicates from exploiting the sudden vacuum left in the wake of my uncle’s untimely death.
Rowan stays close to me through it all, a constant shadow at my side.
His presence is the only thing keeping me grounded.
Without him, I think I might have shattered a long time ago.
He is my anchor in a sea of shifting loyalties and rumored betrayals.
But even his strength can’t shield me from the truth that slowly unravels shortly after Nikolai Malyshko’s network uncovers some unsettling information.
After weeks of tracking, his records reveal my father’s encrypted communications hidden in secured servers in Germany, revealing a devastating new layer to what I thought was a man wrongly accused of a crime he never committed.
Apparently, my father has been working for a German intelligence agency for many years, even while married to my mother.
Documents and call logs recovered all showed a years-long plan to allow the Iron Pact to destroy the Kuznetsov Bratva after exposing Ivan’s government takeover project to Artym Malyshko.
Once done, my father had plans to sell the remnants of the syndicate’s power to foreign interests for an incredible sum.
He had always intended to profit from the collapse of his own wife’s family.
But before any of that could happen, Ivan struck first, killing my mother and forcing my father to flee back to Germany before the plan could fully unfold.
Now after Ivan’s death, my father has vanished yet again.
To where, no one knows exactly. The private investigators Nikolai had hired have all come back empty-handed.
He is a ghost once more, slipping through cracks he knows better than anyone.
And now I am forced to grapple with the fact that my father’s re-entry into my life had not been as organic as I once believed it to be.
My father never planned on sticking around to reunify our family.
He had plans to betray me just as he did my mother and sell what remained of our family in the aftermath.
Rowan stands behind me as I stare down at the intelligence report for the nth time, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “He’s a coward, Sofia. And a traitor to your family. You are Sofia Kuznetsov. You don’t need him to help define who you are.”
His words wrap around the fractures in my heart like a bandage, soothing the deep ache there until it is only a tender bruise. I turn and pull him into a kiss, melting when he kisses me back with the same quiet intensity. His hands frame my face, holding me as if I’m something precious.
In that moment, I feel the first real spark of purpose since Ivan’s death. I won’t let my father’s betrayal define me. I won’t let Ivan’s ambition destroy what’s left of this Bratva.
I will take what remains and shape it into something new.
Weeks later, I meet privately with Nikolai Malyshko.
The meeting takes place in a neutral location, or at least as neutral as anything can be in this world. A discreet safehouse on the outskirts of Moscow, heavily guarded but unassuming from the outside.
From the street, it looks like the kind of place no one would glance at twice.
But the illusion falls apart the second the car pulls through the courtyard and I spot the men stationed in the shadows, their movements too controlled, their hands too close to the weapons hidden under dark coats to mistake them as anything other than mercenaries.
I arrive with Rowan at my side.
He doesn’t speak much during the drive. That in itself isn’t unusual lately. Since everything with Ivan, silence has settled into him differently. He spends most of the ride staring out the windshield as he drives.
The moment the car turns off the main road, his fingers slide over mine, then lock with them tightly.
The contact is instinct now, something his body reaches for without conscious thought.
He lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles as if reminding himself I’m still here, still his.
The gesture makes my chest ache with love so fierce it borders on pain.
The safehouse interior is sparsely decorated. There is none of the polished grandeur I’ve come to find typical in each of the Pakhan’s estates I’ve visited over the past month. Just narrow hallways with reinforced doors on either side and men who watch us with barely contained suspicion.
Nikolai waits for us in a simply furnished room.
He sits in a dark leather chair that is cracked and worn from years of use, one leg crossed neatly over the other, posture loose in a way that somehow makes him look bored.
His ice-gray eyes roam over me when I take the chair across from him, darting up only for a moment to take in Rowan positioning himself right next to me before returning.
“Hello, Sofia. It’s good to see you. How have you been?” His tone is calm and courteous. Almost ordinary.
I don’t waste time with pleasantries. “I need your help finding my father so I can hang him for betraying my family.”
Nikolai doesn’t blink in surprise or lift his brows like a lesser man might at the intensity in my tone. He simply leans back slightly as a slight crease forms around his eyes. A faint flash of amusement crosses his otherwise neutral features.
For some reason, since meeting him officially after my uncle’s death, he has found it entertaining that I don’t bother with bullshit.
Maybe because everyone else around him does it or he’s used to people dressing up violence in diplomacy to sound more civilized.
He knows I have every reason to hate the mind games and nothing left to lose by refusing to play them.
Nikolai studies me for a long moment, that pale gaze moving over my face like he’s reading not just my words but everything underneath them.
Finally, he says, “That is certainly one way to open a conversation. And what do I gain from helping you?”
I roll my shoulders back, lifting my chin while holding it gaze.
“I will be taking full control of the Kuznetsov syndicate within the next week. Once I become Pakhan, the transition of power will rebalance itself. The Iron Pact will not have to worry about trying to find some kind of temporary Band-Aid to fix what has been broken. I’ll do that for you. ”
The words leave me calmer than I’m expecting.
There is no gentler version of this story left.
With Ivan gone, the syndicate is splintering under the weight of grief, fear, and opportunism from all sides.
Men who once stood ramrod straight at the mere sound of his footsteps now glance at one another in the hallways with distrust in their eyes.
Lieutenants who built their entire identities around his rule are suddenly drifting without purpose, some drowning in their loyalty to a dead man while others are already sniffing around the edges like starving dogs circling fresh meat.
The city feels it too. Weakness always has a scent, and Moscow’s underworld has never been shy about following blood in the water.
The Bratva no longer has the luxury of taking its time choosing its new master. If we pause, if we hesitate for any longer and allow this transition to become a mourning period instead of a seizure of power, the cracks will spread too far and too fast to seal shut.
Rivals will start testing borders. Internal factions will form around whatever old grievances Ivan kept buried under force of will alone.
Men who would never have dared to act too boldly before will begin deciding which version of the future serves them best. Trust will become unstable, loyalty will become negotiable.
That type of unrest is exactly how syndicates die. I know that now with the kind of certainty that only comes from being dragged through the ashes of ruin and surviving long enough to study the fallout.
There is no softer path waiting for me. I will have to step into Ivan’s absence before the echo of his voice fully leaves.
I will have to make our syndicate look at me and understand that the Kuznetsov name did not weaken with his death.
Whatever softness they think they see in me will earn them the same rude awakening others have gotten when underestimating me.
I feel Rowan shift slightly beside me and have to fight the urge to reach for him.
We have been discussing this together for weeks now. Not as some pretty fantasy whispered in bed after sex while we’re both still a little high from the comedown, but as the only answer for our mutually assured survival.
Nikolai’s expression remains unreadable. “It seems you are just as relentless as your uncle.” Then he drawls, “Hopefully, without his obsession for world domination.”
I nearly blink in surprise at the lilt in his tone. In another room, from another man, it would have barely qualified as dry humor. But coming from Nikolai Malyshko, it feels almost surreal. I have never, not once, thought him capable of teasing.
For a split second, I just stare at him.
The great, terrifying leader of the Iron Pact has just made a joke.
Alina is going to have a field day when I tell her.
“Well,” I say, recovering just enough to lift one brow, “if that does happen, you already know what to do.”
Next to me, Rowan lets out a barely perceptible snort.
Nikolai’s lips curve with the faintest hint of a smile. It is gone almost as quickly as it appears, but not before I catch it. “Indeed.”
I push up from my chair and lean forward, stretching my hand out in the space separating us. For one brief second, the room goes very still again. Rowan tenses at my side, a silent, watchful force hovering beside me as I offer my hand to one of the most dangerous men in Moscow.