Page 15 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“Strike first, hard and publicly,” he says without hesitation. “Find Avgar before he finds us. Make an example that reminds everyone why the Federoffs spent fifteen years in the shadows.”
It’s what my father would have done. Nicky would have unleashed overwhelming violence at the first sign of organized resistance, turning Chicago’s streets into a battleground until every potential enemy understood the cost of challenging Belsky authority. The approach was effective but brutal, leaving body counts that attracted federal attention and civilian casualties that turned neighborhoods against us.
“What if striking first triggers the war we’re trying to prevent?” I walk to the window that overlooks the mansion’s grounds, where security teams patrol with increased frequency in preparation for tomorrow’s ceremony.
“If that happens, we must win that war decisively and remind everyone there are consequences for challenging our family.” Viktor joins me at the window, his reflection serious in the glass. “Your father never hesitated when faced with direct threats.”
“My father ruled through fear and died of a heart attack at sixty because the stress of constant warfare finally destroyed his body.” I turn away from the window, needing movement to process the decision I’m being forced to make. “I don’t want tobuild an empire that requires me to kill someone every time they question my authority.”
“Sometimes, killing one is the only way to prevent having to kill dozens of someones later.” Viktor’s voice carries the weight of experience earned through years of managing violent conflicts. “Sometimes, mercy is just delayed cruelty.”
The philosophy is seductive because it contains enough truth to seem reasonable. I resist, because acting preemptively means accepting violence is my first response to political challenges, which undermines everything I’ve said about modernizing our organization’s methods.
I calculate the risks Avgar represents. He’s an opportunist who spent decades living in my father’s shadow, kept firmly under Nicky’s control through a combination of economic pressure and credible threats. His empire was always smaller, less sophisticated. Under normal circumstances, the Federoffs would be noise rather than genuine threat.
These aren’t normal circumstances. My father’s death created a vacuum that rivals like Avgar have been waiting years to exploit. The wedding represents legitimacy and stability, which he wants to prevent to undermine Belsky authority. If I show weakness now, if I allow him to dictate terms and timing, it signals to every other potential challenger that the new generation of leadership can be intimidated.
The Lo Duca marriage looms over everything, complicating calculations that should be purely tactical. This wedding isn’t just a personal ceremony. It’s a public demonstration of our organization’s stability and continued influence. If I cancel or postpone it because of Federoff threats, I hand Avgar a victorywithout him firing a single shot. If I proceed without adequate precautions, I risk the disaster he’s hoping to create.
The warning does play on my mind. My father would never ignore such threats, but I don’t want to rule like Nicky. I don’t want to unleash unnecessary violence if I don’t have to. Instead, I decide to pour my focus into the wedding that will bind two empires together and secure my legacy.
“What’s our timeline?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer. “How long before Avgar is ready to move against us directly?”
“Our intelligence suggests weeks, not months. Maybe days, not weeks.” Viktor pulls out additional surveillance photographs showing meeting locations and personnel movements. “He’s been accelerating his preparations since the engagement announcement. Your marriage represents everything he’s working to prevent.”
I spread the new photographs across my desk, noting patterns that confirm my analysis. Avgar views tomorrow’s ceremony as both symbol and substance of Belsky power. If he can disrupt our family’s most important celebration, he demonstrates our enemies can strike anywhere at any time. “Confirm the security arrangements for tomorrow.” I review the wedding preparations we’ve already implemented.
“We’ve tripled the normal complement, positioned teams at every access point, and coordinated with city police for perimeter control.” Viktor pulls out architectural drawings marked with defensive positions. “We have additional guards disguised as catering staff, and armored vehicles are staged nearby for extraction if necessary.”
The precautions are extensive but not unusual for high-profile events involving our family. Anyone paying attention will notice increased security, but they won’t necessarily interpret it as response to specific threats.
“Increase security at the venue and arrange for additional guards.” I close the architectural plans and return them to Viktor. “We proceed with the ceremony as planned, but we remain prepared for complications.”
“What if Avgar does move against us? What if he decides to test our defenses directly?”
“Then we respond with whatever force is necessary to protect our family and our allies.” I finish my vodka and set down the glass with finality. “Right now, what we don’t do is start a war based on intelligence reports and speculation.”
Viktor nods, though it’s clear he doesn’t necessarily agree with my restraint. “Your father would have struck first.”
“My father created many of the problems we’re dealing with now through that approach.” I walk back to my desk and begin organizing the intelligence reports for secure storage. “Fear is a temporary solution. Respect lasts longer.”
“What if respect isn’t enough to deter someone like Avgar? What if he mistakes patience for weakness?”
“Then he’ll discover the difference between choosing not to fight and being unable to fight.” I lock the sensitive documents in my father’s safe. “That choice will be his, not mine.”
The conversation ends there, but Viktor’s concerns follow me as I prepare for bed. By this time tomorrow night, I’ll be married to Zita Lo Duca while Avgar Federoff plots the destruction ofeverything my family has built. I’ll bind myself to a woman who resents our union while enemies circle like predators sensing weakness.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m trying to modernize an organization built on violence and intimidation by marrying someone who despises both. I’m attempting to build something sustainable while rivals prepare for war. I’m choosing patience over immediate retaliation while every instinct inherited from my father screams for blood.
Viktor might be right about mercy being delayed cruelty. Allowing Avgar to continue his preparations could cost more lives than eliminating him now would require.
The wedding planner called three times today with questions about flower arrangements and seating charts, each conversation a reminder that I’m orchestrating the most important political event of my career while our enemies stockpile weapons. Zita has opinions about every detail, from the color of the table linens to the selection of wines for the reception. Her involvement should please me since it suggests she’s accepting her role as my wife, but it creates another layer of complexity I don’t have time to manage.
She wants Italian traditions mixed with Russian customs, a ceremony that honors both our backgrounds instead of simply absorbing her family into mine. It’s all fake, but it’s nice that it looks real.
The marriage contract sits in my father’s safe, twenty-three pages of legal language that will transform two reluctant individuals into a political alliance. I’ve read through it so many times I could recite entire sections from memory.
Zita and I will share a home, a bed, and potentially children, but that’s all. I doubt she’ll ever be able to love me.
