Page 77 of Carved in Ruin

Stefan’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I want to make one thing clear,” he begins. “I had no part in Milos’s actions. I left the Serbian mafia years ago. My brother… he was unhinged, and I wanted no part of his madness.”

“And yet, here you are. Head of the Serbian mafia, just like your brother.”

Stefan’s son shifts uncomfortably, and Stefan shoots him a look to stay quiet. “I had no choice,” he says. “When Milos fell, they needed leadership, and I was the only one left. But I swear to you, I have no intention of continuing Milos’s legacy. I took the position to stabilize things.”

“Stabilize things,” I repeat, my tone mocking. “Tell me, Stefan, how does one ‘stabilize’ a cesspool?”

“By ensuring there’s no more unnecessary bloodshed. By keeping order. I don’t want war with the Bratva, Pakhan. I want peace.”

I step closer, the space between us shrinking, and I see the fear flicker in his eyes. “Peace?” I echo. “Your brother put Mila in a hospital bed. Do you think I care about peace right now?”

Stefan’s face pales. “I had no part in any of this. I swear to you—”

“You swear like your word means anything to me? Let me make this simple for you. Mila is mine. The Bratva is mine. If you or anyone under your command so much as thinks about them, I’ll do to you what I did to Milos. Only slower.”

Stefan’s son steps forward. “We didn’t know—”

“Quiet,” I snap, and the boy freezes.

Anatoly, standing just behind me, speaks up. “Stefan, the Pakhan isn’t asking. He’s telling you how this will work.”

Stefan raises his hands in a placating gesture. “I understand. You have my word. Mila and the Bratva will be untouched. I’ll personally ensure it.”

“And what about your son?” I ask, my gaze shifting to the boy. “Will he be able to keep himself in check?”

The boy stiffens, his jaw clenching. “I won’t dishonor my father,” he says.

I smirk, turning back to Stefan. “Teach him well, Stefan. Because if he steps out of line, I’ll make him watch while I dismantle everything you’ll built.”

Stefan nods, sweat beading on his forehead. “Understood.”

He clears his throat. “Your Mila… she must take her inheritance. It’s what—”

“She’s not taking a damn thing from that bastard,” I cut in. “Milos’s money stays buried with him.”

“Of course. I’ll ensure it’s handled appropriately.”

“You’ll ensure it doesn’t touch her name,” I growl. “She’s not a Jovanovich. She’s mine.”

“Yes, Pakhan,” Stefan says.

“This is your only warning, Stefan. Don’t make me come back here.”

I turn and walk out, my men following close behind. As we step into the night, Anatoly looks at me, his expression unreadable.

“Do you believe him?” he asks.

I light another cigar, the flame briefly illuminating my face. “Doesn’t matter,” I say, taking a drag. “If he crosses me, he’ll end up like his brother. Hanging from a ceiling, but only this time, he will be begging for death.”

Thirty Three

Sinking, Drowning, Rising

Mila

Iwake up to the world finally making sense. For the first time in what feels like forever, my thoughts are clear. The fog that clung to me for days has finally lifted. My body is still heavy, sluggish, but it’s mine again. I’m here.

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the silence. Heavy, suffocating. The kind that sinks into your skin and makes you question if you’re really alive. The room smells like flowers. Pink, purple, and white petals everywhere. I can tell the Bratva women sent them. How sweet.

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