Page 42 of Under Control

“That doesn’t sound Russian,” Konstantin says.

“Karine is the niece of the leader of the Armenian Brotherhood. She’s a Sarkissian by blood.”

The room is stunned to total silence. At least until Yegor speaks up. “This is treason,” he says.

Then there’s an uproar. Half the men are shouting at Yegor, and the other half are shouting about how this is outrageous, I should be marrying a Russian, I can’t just go take an Armenian bride like this, especially not one related to the Brotherhood. I let the chaos shake out for a minute, but eventually Konstantin and Artemy end up shouting in each other’s faces and have to be pulled apart by Pavel and Yegor.

I hold up my hands for quiet. It takes a moment, but these men aren’t stupid. They understand the stakes here.

I watch them very carefully as I speak.

“The Zaitsev Bratva and the Brotherhood have a long and bloody history, but my marriage to Karine is going to end all of that. She is going to help bring our powerful organizations together, andthere won’t be a single crime family left standing that can match our strength. This will be good for us, gentlemen, whether you personally agree with it or not.” My gaze lingers on Yegor and Artemy.

“You know what the Armenians did,” Yegor says. He’s one of the oldest men in the room. His beard is gray and his blue eyes are sunken behind wrinkles, but he’s been around since the beginning. He was my father’s top brigadier, back then the Zaitsev was first forming in Philadelphia. Now he’s well past his prime, but he still commands a lot of respect.

“I know what they did,” I confirm, not backing down from his challenge. “And it isn’t your place to question my motives.”

“They butchered him.” Yegor’s voice shakes with emotion. He throws back some vodka and slams the glass down, a sharp crack in the silence room. “He was my friend, Valentin. I loved your father like nobody else did, and they butchered him. Now you’re married to one of their whores?”

Rage hits me, hard and fast. How dare he speak of her like that? Of mywife, and to my face? “Anton, hold him.”

Anton moves fast. Yegor doesn’t even try to struggle as I come around the table and draw a knife from my belt. The men all stare, their expression hard but unsurprised. To insult the wife of thePakhanis to commit treason, and Yegor deserves to die.

“Hand on the table,” I command the old brigadier.

He looks up at me and does as instructed. He knows what’s coming, and he’ll accept it.

“You will never speak of my wife that way again,” I tell him, but I’m speaking to the table at large. “I’m sparing your life out ofrespect for my father and for your long service, but it will not happen again. Do you understand?”

“The Armenians,” he rasps, staring at me with a hard look. “They will kill you before they will work with you.”

I slam the tip of the knife down into the tip of his pointer finger and wrench back. The top knuckle slices off in a spray of blood and lands on the floor. Yegor groans in pain as he clutches his wound to his chest.

I wipe the knife on my pants and shove it back into my belt.

“Does anyone else wish to say anything about my wife?” I ask, staring around at the men. My jaw works, and I hate that I had to resort to violence. But it’s also not entirely unexpected.

I prefer to run my Bratva with respect. I find my men are more productive if they’re happy and well compensated.

But they will respect me, and if they don’t like a decision, they will alsofearme.

Yegor’s face is white with pain. Blood stains his shirt.

Nobody moves to help him.

“I understand this is a surprise to all of you,” I say to the assembled group. “But my wife will not be insulted and she will not be criticized. The direction of this Brava is my decision and mine alone. I will not be second-guessed. Am I clear?”

“Yes,Pakhan,” Konstantin says immediately, and the others follow suit.

Even Pavel and Yegor. They might not be happy, but they understand how these things work. Yegor deserved much worsethan what he got, and I will not be merciful a second time around. They’ll stay in line, at least for now.

“Very good. That is all I gathered you here to say. Please, enjoy my hospitality, and my vodka. Don’t insult me by leaving here sober.”

I turn and walk out of the room. The mood is no longer light and festive, but the men will linger for a while longer, eat Nikkita’s cooking, drink the alcohol and speak quietly about what they just learned.

“That went well,” Anton says, appearing by my side as I head up the stairs toward my room.

“I don’t need your sarcasm right now.”

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