Page 3 of Merciless Queen

I shake my head into his chest. “Thing is, I’m not sad about Papa’s death. In some ways, I’m free from his demands, and you know that’s all I wanted. To not be under his control. But now, I’m worried. When Ivan is Pakhan, what happens?” I pull back to look him in his face. “Papa was cruel, but he still wanted a suitable husband for me; someone he felt worthy to rule the Bratva after him. Your father won’t be concerned about that since leadership will fall to him, and eventually you as his heir, which means I’ll be wedded off to the highest bidder like some common whore to whoever fills his pockets. Youknowthat.”

Again.That’s the silent word I don’t tack on but we’re both aware of existing. Being auctioned off isn’t exactly a new event for me.

His lips press together and dark eyes flick to the door and back, silently agreeing with me. His hair, black like mine, is ruffled, unbrushed as it often is. My cousin’s worn a shadow of darkness as a cape since he was eighteen. I remember it well because I was sixteen at the time, and whatever happened—presumably relating to his father—it changed him. Altered him. Made him deadly. Like a switch was flicked and he went from being a morally corrupt angel to a viciously evil devil.

It’s one of many reasons why I love having him on my side. I’ve heard of him gutting traitors, slicing limbs, and draining blood all in the name of the organization. He’s gained a lot of respect from the soldiers, but beneath the killer, he’s family.

“No,” he finally replies. “It’s not my father’s right to be Pakhan.”

“He’s his brother. The next highest rank in the Bratva. Papa’s ultimate confidant.” The facts come from my listless tone, my argument buried in my voice. That there’s no reason—other than me being Ursin Volkov’s daughter—that Ivanshouldn’tbe Pakhan.

Dimitri shakes his head again. “Vanessa, it’s your legacy, and even your father wanted you to have it. His methods were fucked, sure, but when he could have very easily named me his successor, he didn’t. Instead, he searched for a husband foryou.”

Scoffing, I tell him, “Doubt it had anything to do with me and more to keep it in the Volkov name. Which, in case you forget how family works, is also your last name. As is your father’s. So he wins either way.”

My cousin bends down, hands landing heavy on my shoulders and looks me right in the eyes. “Answer me one thing: doyouwant to be Pakhan?”

“I want revenge on the Rossis for what they did to Papa,” I answer immediately, choosing the easy response for wanting it, and not the complete truth.“Da,”I admit after another beat, knowing out of everyone, Dimitri won’t judge me. “Yes, I want to be Pakhan for every plausible reason. But it’s only a dream. I can’t get wed in the next hour all to convince the leadership that my husband can run instead.”

“You won’t need to.” His lips curl in the corner and he drops his hands from my shoulders until reaching my right wrist. Then he drags me to the door. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll be Pakhan of the Bratva, Vanessa, if you’re willing to fight for it.”

Fight for my legacy? It’s one of Papa’s most important lessons. Fight for what you want.

“I am.”

“Signore,word recently came in from our Russian spies.”

“Sì?”

“Ursin Volkov is dead. Erico Rossi from the New YorkFamigliakilled him.”

“Merda!He was my kill. My vengeance. Years of hunting him…all gone.” Sigh. “Either way, the job’s done. We should send Rossi a reward.” Pause. “Very well. Thank you. This is intriguing news. One down.”

The hallway isempty when Dimitri drags me from my room and through our castle-like home. Papa had a weird decorating style, meaning I’m pretty sure he hadn’t changed anything since it was initially built, which would explain the old-style woven tapestries draped on the walls, the random statues in every hall, and the frosty air that no heater seems quite good enough to combat.

I don’t ask where he’s leading me to because I already know. Papa always used a specific meeting room when the Bratva heads were here. When we approach the heavy, wooden door, voices are already yelling from inside.

Dimitri turns to face me. “Ready?”

I nod, wondering if I am at all. What he’s suggesting I do—go in there and fight for a position that should be mine by name alone, but isn’t due to gender—I’ll be shattering centuries of customs. Of how itjust is.

Dimitri opens the door, the shouting coming to a near-halt as the dozen of men, Brigadiers and their sons-in-training, all vicious killers and criminals, immediately go silent whenspotting me in the entrance. Ivan’s sharp, questioning gaze darts from me to his son, flickering in clear rage that his tone does little to mask.

“This isn’t your place, Vanessa. Leave.”

Breathe in and out.One, two, three. I stare straight, finding a spot on the wall right above my uncle’s balding head as I step toward the long, cracked table running down the centre of the room. Everyone’s standing behind the chairs that are tucked into the table, the electrified energy keeping them all tense and on their feet.

“Thisismy place,dyadya.” Uncle. “Considering this organization is my father’s legacy.”Oh thank fuck, my voice didn’t shake.

Despite everyone but two staring me down with hostility, my breaths become easier and less painful with the realization of what’s occurring. A week ago, I was prancing through a party, forced to taunt Ariella Rossi while my father tried to convince Erico I was a better option to be hisFamigliaqueen, and now, I’m here. Doing what Dimitri asked me to trust him about, but managing just fine on my own too. As though my nerves are slowly waning with the feeling of aptness, that I’m rightfully claiming what I was born to be.

Across the room, a singular guy winks. Another show of support, and the only one I expected outside Dimitri.

Lev is the son of one of the Brigadiers—the very man standing to his right with his mouth gaped open. Although he and his family were stationed in various parts of Russia for his father’s work, Lev and his twin sister, Anastasia, were often dragged to our mansion when my father had business to discuss with their own. Dimitri and I grew close to both of them, much to Papa’s dismay. Despite the Brigadier status of their father, Papa felt I could “do better” in choosing my social circle.

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