Page 17 of The Devil's Thorn
The Bratva didn’t operate on chaos.
There was order in our blood. Tradition in every bullet. Power built on discipline, not impulse.
I leaned back in the leather chair, slowly rolling the ring on my finger—the one my father used to wear before he bled out in front of me. The same ring that crowned me Pakhan.
I didn’t inherit this empire.
Itookit.
“Kolya,” I said without looking.
Nikolai stepped forward from his place near the wall, posture loose but alert. Always alert. He was the only man in this building I trusted to watch my back, and even then, I kept my knives close.
“Yes, Pakhan,” he replied.
The title always came from him with quiet weight. Never sarcastic. Never weak. Just fact.
“Report.”
He nodded once and moved to the edge of the table, pulling a small file from under his arm and laying it flat in front of me.
“Three issues this morning,” he said, voice even. “First—our shipment from the Romanian ports was delayed. Customs flagged a discrepancy in the manifests, but Karpin’s already moving to fix it.”
“Fix,” I repeated, dragging the word slow. “Or cover?”
Nikolai’s mouth twitched. “Both.
I gave a nod. “Next.”
“Second—Armanov is trying to push into the Brighton territory again. Small crew. Nothing bold.”
“He is testing my silence?”
“Most likely.”
I tilted my head slightly. “Then remind him what silence costs.”
“Yes, Pakhan.”
“Third?”
At this, Nikolai paused—just enough to make me lift my gaze to him.
“A girl came in this morning for the casino floor,” he said.
I blinked once.
That wasn’t the kind of thing he usually brought to my attention.
I waited.
“She’s new. Young. Russian surname. Clean file—tooclean. The kind that’s been handled.”
“Handled by who?”
“No direct fingerprints. But her references are dressed in silk. No stains. She’s either a ghost… or someone trained well enough to play one.”
I kept my expression blank. My thoughts never showed on my face. That’s what made them dangerous.
