Page 28 of The Lazarov Bratva

“I’m saying we fucked up. Everyone knows the docks are one of the most lucrative territories to hold onto. Half the fucking shipping lanes come through there. It’s a gold mine! And the Irish know that. They’re not going to give up, and we’re not going to beat them back like this when we’ve already proven we weren’t watching closely enough.”

Muscles tighten, and I start to pace, weaving in front of the roaring fireplace, and the heat of the flames fans my anger.

“We waited too long to take the Petrovs out. We let them get close to the Irish, exposed a weakness in our chain, and now we are bleeding men we can’t afford just to hold the damn place.” Sucking in a breath, I finally come to a stop. “We have to do something big.”

“Hold on.” Aleksander raises a hand, and tension ripples down my spine. “We handled the Petrovs exactly as they deserved to be handled.”

“You’re telling me,” I snort. Their blood is on my hands.

“I understand your frustration,” Aleksander continues, and there’s an edge to his voice. A touch of irritation that the Petrov name still swims in our conversations. “But we held back because Mara made an excellent point that the Petrovs were more use to us alive. They held the docks for years, and killing them too quickly would lose us decades of trade routes and more.”

“Mara?” I can’t keep the venom from my voice, and my gaze snaps to her. “We waited that long, gave the Petrovs time to almost make a deal with the Irish because of you? How well did that go, huh? Look at the fucking mess we’re in now!”

“Don’t you fucking dare speak to me like that!” Mara points an elegant finger at me, and a guttural urge rises in me to lunge toward her and snap her fucking finger off. “What would you have proposed, huh? You would have run in there like the headless chicken you are and gotten yourself and others?—”

“Mara!” Aleksander cuts her off with a yell, his booming voice silencing even the crackle of the flames behind me. Several men in the room shift uncomfortably, and Mara’s mouth stutters slightly.

“Aleksander, I?—”

“Out.”

“You can’t?—”

“Out! Get her out of here.” Two guards move from the wall and immediately flank Mara. Hatred burns in her eyes when she looks at me, and I match the intensity as she’s escorted out. When the door closes, Aleksander breathes out deeply and then takes a long puff of his cigar. “Women,” he mutters.

Chuckles born of fear and respect rise around the room, but caution flares in my mind. It’s never a good look for the Pakhan to be talked over by his wife, but his revelation that Mara had influenced family decisions doesn’t sit well with me. I wouldn’t say I’m close to anyone other than my brother and sister, but each man I sent to the docks died for me.

Died for a loyalty I bred into them.

They’re my responsibility, and their deaths weigh on my shoulders regardless. It sours their sacrifice to learn they’ve died because Aleksander took advice from Mara rather than the experienced lieutenants sitting in this room.

Alexei stands in the corner of the room with his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on me.

“I get it,” Aleksander says around his cigar. “You’re sour about the Petrovs and the men we have lost as a result. I understand that. But it is done, do you understand me?” He fixes me with a steady stare. “We find a way forward, understand?”

“And what way forward is that?” I want to know his plan rather than agreeing to put it all to bed and forget about it. How does he plan to claw us back from the brink?

“The Nikolaevs.” He taps his cigar over the side of the chair and lifts a bushy brow. “We’ve held the territory. We need them here as soon as possible.”

“You’re putting a lot of stock in this family.” I snort. “I’ve spent time with them. They have a good deal going in Russia, but like all our business interests back home, the impact on the shipyards has affected us across the board. Things are tight over there, and in some ways, that does make integrating over here more appealing to them.” It starts hopeful, and eyes light up around me.

“But?” Aleksander prompts. “There’s always a but.”

“They’re a strong family, and I’ve sat down with August many times. He already has some roots down here in America, a few branches of his family that may step up when we need them. But he needs a guarantee.”

Aleksander snorts and all eyes snap to him. “A guarantee? Serving his Pakhan should be guarantee enough.”

My gaze narrows, biting back the frustration that rises like venom. “They are a strong family and require a guarantee that they won’t be swallowed. They seek partnership, not integration.”

He doesn’t like my reply, judging by how his brow furrows. We’re so close, so fucking close to getting the men and the power we need from the Nikolaevs, and yet here Aleksander sits, seemingly debating his answer.

“I’ll think on it,” he says, and the flare of his cigar reflects in his eyes.

My anger boils over, and something snaps deep inside me.

“Bullshit,” I snap. “You’re not fucking serious?”

All eyes are on me. I’m the only one here who can get away with speaking to the Pakhan in such a way, but I’m past caring whether Aleksander wants to punish me or not. I’ve worked too hard, I’ve spilled too much blood for this entire meeting to end on thought.

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