PROLOGUE
Roman Petrov
Russia
The dimly litRussian Orthodox church was heavy with the scent of incense and the weight of grief. Mourners dressed in black crowded the pews, their heads bowed in solemn reverence for the late Bratva Pakhan, Viktor’s father.
Fuck that; the dude was a literal lunatic. Who forced kids to kill their mothers? That was next level awful, and that was coming from someone whose parents sold them for crack. It was clear that the late Pakhan had no idea what he was talking about, when it came to the importance of a mother’s role. Children thrived with their mothers, and that fact couldn’t be ignored.
As the mourners filed into the church during the procession, my eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the crowd. Among the sea of somber faces stood a young woman who caught my attention, not due to her attire or her demeanor, but simply because of her age. She appeared significantly younger than most of the attendees, her presence at a Bratva funeral raising questions in my mind.
What was she doing? I watched with narrowed eyes, concerned. I realized she had gone out of her way to not draw any attention to herself, which was suspicious. Everything about her skulking set my senses tingling. A woman like that shouldn’t be sneaking around.
She moved with a fluid grace, slipping out during the ceremony like a shadow. Her ninja-like behavior intrigued me. Her dark skin should have stood out, but she must’ve belonged here, because no one glanced twice at her. Otherwise, how did she manage to navigate the tight security, and elude the watchful eyes of the adults? My curiosity was piqued.
Throughout the service, I couldn’t help but look for her, even though my gaze hadn’t found her again. My mind wouldn’t let go of her presence. She seemed out of place, a puzzle I couldn’t decipher. At one point, I thought I saw her. As she lifted her hand to smooth her hair, my attention was captured by a brand, peeking out from underneath her dress on her neck. It was a mark of darkness, one that hinted at a life steeped in the secrets and shadows of the Bratva. Perhaps she really did fit in here.
I turned my attention back to the ceremony as the next step began.
The church was hushed, and all eyes were fixed on Viktor, as he stepped forward to deliver his eulogy for his father. I leaned forward in anticipation, my sharp eyes locked on him.
Viktor cleared his throat, his voice steady and measured, betraying little emotion. “Ladies and gentlemen, comrades and allies, today we gather to bid farewell to a man who held the reins of our family, the Bratva, for many years. My father, a man of unwavering dedication and discipline, has left behind a legacy that cannot be denied.”
I couldn’t help but admire Viktor’s composure, the way he held himself with the same stoic resolve that defined his father.It was a testament to the strength of the Bratva, a strength that ran in their blood, and I was a part of that.
The pain in my neck intensified as I gulped. My heart rate picked up speed, and I could feel sweat beading on my upper lip. Panic disorder was the official diagnosis. The attack stole my voice from me.
Wasn’t that ridiculous? A made man who couldn’t speak. I’d yet to come across that anomaly, but I would still rule with fear in America. I had Alexie’s backing. Underneath his rule, I could become anything. Even if I could no longer speak. Maybe I’d grow out of it. I could only hope. If I found my voice again, I could rule even more ruthlessly.
According to my father, Alexie, that was.
I pushed aside any concerns about my condition, knowing they would trigger my body’s involuntary shaking. Instead, I focused on our newly appointed leader.
“As the new Pakhan, I stand before you with a heavy heart, burdened by the weight of the responsibilities that now fall upon my shoulders,” Viktor continued. My father was a man of tradition, a man who believed in the code of the Bratva, and it is my solemn duty to uphold that code, to lead our family into a future filled with challenges and opportunities.”
I observed Viktor’s gaze shift to the casket, a flicker of emotion appearing in his eyes before he regained his composure. “My father’s teachings have prepared me for this moment, and I will honor his memory by ensuring that the Bratva remains strong, united, and unyielding in the face of adversity.”
The gravity of Viktor’s words hung in the air, a reminder of the legacy they carried, and the future they were bound to shape. It was a speech that struck a chord with every member of the Bratva, including myself, recognizing the weight of the responsibility that Viktor now bore.
As Viktor concluded his eulogy, I couldn’t help but feel respect for the man who had become the new Bratva Pakhan. The mantle of leadership had been passed, and the challenges that lay ahead would test Viktor’s resolve and strength.
As the funeral drew to a close, I observed the graceful but enigmatic woman as she disappeared from sight, her actions precise and intentional. She stood against a wall, her dark clothes blending in with the shadows. I wanted to follow her, but couldn’t get away from my Brotherhood duties. Before too long, I’d lost track of her.
I needed to know more about her, because she had me intrigued.
I made a silent vow to myself as I left the church; I would find her, discover the truth behind her presence, and unravel the mysteries that surrounded her. In a world where darkness and danger were our constant companions, I couldn’t afford to ignore a potential threat or ally, especially one as unusual as that young woman.
At the wake,I stood on the outskirts of the grand hall, surrounded by the hushed whispers of mourners dressed in black. The air hung heavy with sorrow, a palpable reminder that the late Pakhan’s reign came to a tragic end. At thirteen, my world was already steeped in shadows, and this funeral only deepened the darkness within me.
I witnessed the mourners paying their respects, their faces showing signs of grief. I, however, remained quiet, unable to voice the turmoil churning inside me. The recent act I committed still echoed in the silence of my mind, the weight of taking a man’s life heavy on my young shoulders.
As my gaze swept around the room, it found her. She was concealed in the shadows, unseen by most people. I made my way closer to her, discreetly, listening intently in case anyone talked to, or about, her. I learned a little, enough to keep my interest high. Quiet, but scandalized voices whispered, and gave me a name - Valentina - and an age, twenty-two. Clearly, there was a scandal, but despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find out more.
I kept a cautious distance between us as we navigated through the crowded party. We had cameras posted everywhere to learn the secrets our enemies may not want us to know. My eyes were fixed on her as I headed to the security room, wondering what her intentions were for the night. She seemed consumed with someone else I didn’t recognize – a tall man in a sharp black suit, with shifty eyes and a smirk on his face. He wasn’t on the guest list from what I could remember. I couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right about him.
Valentina approached the man while he was engrossed in conversation, a devilish glint in her eye. Taking advantage of a break in the discussion, she leaned in and murmured something to him. Without hesitation, he followed as she walked away, throwing a sensual smile over her shoulder. I absentmindedly rubbed my hand over the center of my chest - something made me feel uncomfortable. With shock, I realized I was concerned for her.
I quickly accessed the feed from my phone that was keeping track of this woman. What was she up to?