Page 70 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Artur cuts in. “Somebody sent hitmen after us. The other families wouldn’t do that unless it was sanctioned by a vote. And we all know who stands to benefit the most from our premature departure.”

Rudy gives him a troubled look. “The local Feds? Seriously?”

“Rudy, your father made a deal. It’s obvious. The Irish would never turn against us, not without some kind of incentive.”

“How do you know it was our guys?”

Ivan takes out his phone, showing him photos of the shamrock tattoos on our dead hitmen’s necks.

“Oh, God,” Rudy mumbles, drool trickling from the corner of his bruised mouth. He got quite the beating even before my brother decided to kick things up a notch. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense if your father decided to stick to the old ways despite our advocacy and our efforts to steer everybody in a better, safer, and equally profitable direction,” I retort. “I’m going to ask you one last time, Rudy, though I hate having to repeat myself. Who did your father meet with this morning?”

“This morning?”

Artur rolls his eyes. “Come on man, even the busboys at Dalton’s pizzeria knew about the big boss meetup this morning. You’re going to take over for your father one day. You can’t tell me you didn’t know anything about it.”

“Oh, he knows,” Ivan mutters. “His knee is going numb, though, so he’s probably thinking he can withstand more of what I’m about to deliver.”

Rudy gives him a terrified look. “Wait, what?”

CRACK!

The bat meets his other knee with the same sickening sound, followed by more howls and wails. I roll my eyes, lacking any sympathy for those who actively chose to betray us. I have no mercy for traitors and spineless sacks of shit, especially when their treachery threatens not just our lives, but the lives of countless others who have nothing to do with our business.

“Who was at the meeting?” I ask, keeping my tone low and calm.

“Oh, God.” Rudy coughs and gags, dangerously close to puking his guts out. Artur splashes some cold water over his face, then slaps him around a couple of times, just to keep him alert and talking. “Dad was there. I asked him what it was about, he said… he said it wasn’t for me to know yet. That he’d tell me when it’s over.”

“When it’s over,” Ivan repeats after him, looking at me.

“Who else?” I reply.

“They got the Chinese and the Japanese on board. Shin and Mizuma,” Rudy says. “Pretty sure the Mexicans had a delegate. One of yours too.”

“One of ours?” Artur raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Who’d they send to represent the Bratva?”

Rudy shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know.”

“I hate that answer,” Ivan says.

“The old… the old man, I think. I heard my dad talking to him over the phone. Oh, God, I forgot his fucking name.”

Ivan readies his bat. “What should I swing on next?”

“Larionov. For fuck’s sake. Old man Larionov!” Rudy cries out.

Artur curses under his breath. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Old man Larionov is making a power move, making backdoor deals with the families we’ve known to be resistant to our shift in the organization.

“Were the Feds involved?” I ask Rudy.

He nods once. “Bowman. He called the meeting through about a dozen proxies.”

“Where did the meeting take place?”

“Houston Grill. The VIP lounge. They closed it off for the rest of the day.”

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