Page 138 of Vendetta Crown

"Dmitri Rodionovich," I acknowledge. "Welcome."

"Where's Potyomkin?" Balakirev asks, his eyes narrowing. "I would've expected the lord of Las Vegas to attend such a momentous occasion."

By all means, Potyomkinshouldbe here, but Vera had insisted that they return home to Las Vegas. With her so close to her due date, it is an understandable request.

And for all his faults, I cannot fault Potyomkin for giving his wife what she wants.

"Vyacheslav Petrovich has returned to Vegas with his wife," I explain, smoothing down my tie. "She's in the final weeks of her pregnancy and needed to be home. He's already cast his vote in my favor."

Balakirev snorts, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a smile. "A new world where pakhans are ruled by their women. In the old days, we didn't let our cocks lead our decisions."

The words are heavy with meaning. And the three other men on the steps tense, waiting to see how I'll respond.

This is Balakirev's test.

He wants to know which way the new pakhan of pakhans will tip.

Family or theVori?

I step closer, not enough to crowd him but enough that he has to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact.

"Remind me again, Dmitri Rodionovich," I say. "What is the meaning of the wordbratva?"

To his credit, Balakirev doesn't hesitate to answer. "Brotherhood."

I give him a cold smile. "And what is the source of brotherhood, Dmitri Rodionovich?"

"The bonds between men, forged in blood and loyalty."

"No." I shake my head. "No brother exists without a family. And no family exists without a mother."

My thoughts turn to Aurora as I speak. I think about her fierce intelligence, her unbreakable resilience, and the infinite depths of her love.

I think about Andrei and Nadia taking shape inside her.

But above all, I think about the family I'm building while salvaging the broken pieces of my brother's family.

"It is family that builds bonds, gives purpose, and imbues men with the courage and strength necessary to do great things." I continue. "The first pakhans of America knew this when they arrived while the old country burned. They understood this in their bones. But under Gregor, theVorihas forgotten that strength."

And that's the truth.

Over the years, theVorisaw power only in brutality, political maneuvering, and self-interest. But true power comes from something much more powerful.

"Our power has never come from how many men we kill or how many territories we hold," I continue. "It comes from love. Both the love of a woman who refused to be broken, and the love it takes to defend and protect the family you build with her. You would never fight to death for money or power. But you would fight God himself to keep your family whole and your children safe."

Balakirev studies me. Seconds stretch between us. Decades of bratva beliefs now conflicting against something simultaneously new yet impossibly old.

Then his face changes.

The hardness doesn't disappear. Not completely. I doubt it ever will.

"A good answer, Ruslan Vitalyevich," he says finally, "And I find myself more at ease with my decision now having heard it."

He extends his hand, and when I grasp it, his grip is firm. Decisive.

"To family," he says, loud enough for all to hear.

After the four of them comes the undecided pakhans arrive, each with eager smiles that barely mask their calculation. They bow their heads just low enough to show respect without submission.

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