Page 14 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
Papa’s glass freezes halfway to his lips. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been reviewing our financial records for two years, preparing to take over the business.” I turn to face him, using his shock as an opportunity to seize control of the conversation. “I know about the losses you’ve been hiding and the cash flow problems you’ve been managing through increasingly creative accounting.”
“Those investments were necessary risks taken to position us for long-term growth.” Papa sets down his glass carefully. “They were merely temporary setbacks in service of strategic objectives.”
“Those investments were mistakes that left us vulnerable to pressure from people like Nicky Belsky.” I move away from the window, energized by Papa’s defensive posture. “You weren’t building strategic partnerships. You were covering gambling debts with borrowed money from criminals.”
“Careful, Zita.” Papa’s voice carries a warning that makes me pause. “You’re talking about decisions you don’t fully understand in circumstances you didn’t experience personally.”
“I understand you’ve been using Belsky money to cover your mistakes for years.” I lean forward, pressing my advantage. “This marriage isn’t about alliances or family honor. It’s about ensuring continued access to the financing you need to maintain the illusion that our business is still profitable while you indulge your weaknesses.”
Papa stands slowly, his movement conveying threat rather than simple irritation. “You understand nothing about the pressures involved in building and maintaining a successful enterprise. You understand nothing about the sacrifices required to protect the people who depend on us for their livelihoods.”
“I understand you’re willing to sacrifice your daughter to protect your pride and hide your gambling debts.” I meet his threatening posture with one of my own. “You’d rather see me trapped in a loveless marriage than admit you’ve made mistakes that compromised our independence.”
“You’re behaving like a spoiled child who thinks personal preferences matter more than family survival.” Papa’s response is delivered with venom. “I understand you’d rather see our entire organization destroyed than accept responsibilities you don’t find personally fulfilling.”
“I’d rather see us build something honest than maintain something corrupt.” I walk toward the door, ending this conversation before it deteriorates further. “I guess honesty isn’t one of our family values anymore.”
“Honesty is a luxury we can’t afford.” Papa’s final response follows me across the room. “We honor our obligations or watch everything I’ve built disappear when the Belsky organization withdraws its protection and support.”
I pause at the door, hand on the brass handle that represents my last chance to retreat from this confrontation gracefully. Instead, I turn back to deliver one final blow. “Mom was right to leave. She saw what you were becoming and chose escape while it was still possible. Maybe I should have followed her example instead of believing your promises about honor and family loyalty.”
Papa’s face goes pale, and for a moment, I see genuine pain flicker across his features before anger replaces it entirely. “Your mother was a coward who abandoned her responsibilities when circumstances became challenging, including you, her own daughter. Don’t romanticize her selfishness or use it to justify your own.”
“My mother was brave enough to choose integrity over convenience.” I open the door and step into the hallway. “I guess that’s something she didn’t impart to either of us, apparently.”
I leave him alone with his brandy and his financial documents, climbing the stairs to my bedroom, where the marriage contract still waits on my desk in the folder. The conversation has changed nothing about my legal situation, but it’s clarified something important about my personal one.
Papa isn’t going to save me from this arrangement because he can’t afford to. Our family’s survival depends on maintaining good relationships with the Belsky organization, and my marriage to Tigran is the price of that maintenance. No amount of legal research or moral arguments will change that fundamental reality.
Understanding my circumstances doesn’t mean accepting them passively. If I can’t escape this marriage, I can at least ensure Tigran doesn’t get the compliant wife he’s expecting. If I’m goingto be trapped in this arrangement, I’m going to make it as difficult as possible for everyone involved.
The wedding is going to happen, but that doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for the man who’s buying me or the father who’s selling me. If they want a Belsky bride, they’re going to get one who fights back every step of the way.
6
Tigran
Tomorrow I marry a woman who despises everything I represent.
The thought haunts me as I stand in my study at eleven o’clock the night before my wedding, reviewing intelligence reports that arrived just an hour ago. Viktor’s handwritten notes cover three pages, and each line is more concerning than the last. The Federoff family has been busy while I’ve been distracted by wedding arrangements and Zita’s relentless challenges to every tradition I hold sacred.
“Avgar met with the Torrino family yesterday,” Viktor summarizes as he paces in front of my desk. “They spent two hours at a warehouse in Newark. Our contact couldn’t get close enough to hear specifics, but money changed hands. Likely significant amounts.”
I set down the report and pour myself vodka from the crystal decanter my father kept. The liquid burns going down, but itdoesn’t ease the tension building between my shoulder blades. “How significant?”
“Our best guess is it’s enough to fund expanded operations for six months and allow them to pay for professional soldiers instead of street dealers with guns.” Viktor stops pacing and turns to face me directly. “It’s enough to make this a real war instead of territorial posturing.”
I grunt in acknowledgement. Avgar has been planning this move for months, probably since my father learned his heart was failing. All it would have taken was a bribe to someone in our organization, or even someone at the doctor’s office, to allow Avgar access to the information. He’s not just testing my leadership or exploiting a moment of weakness. He’s preparing for a sustained campaign designed to topple the Belsky organization entirely.
“What about the weapons stockpiling?” I scan the second page of Viktor’s report, noting locations and quantities that suggest serious military planning rather than ordinary criminal preparation.
“There are three warehouses we know about and probably more we haven’t identified yet. Our people performed intel in one and discovered automatic weapons, explosives, and body armor. It’s the sort of equipment you acquire when you’re planning to fight a small army, and he probably has similar caches in all three of those warehouses, if not more.”
Viktor pulls out his phone and shows me photographs taken by our surveillance team when they sneaked into the warehouse to do an…informal inventory. “This isn’t street-level intimidation, Tigran. This is preparation for urban warfare.”
I study the images, each one confirming what I’ve been dreading since Avgar sent that congratulatory text after my father’s funeral. He’s not content to wait for me to make mistakes or show weakness. He’s planning to create a crisis that will force me to respond with violence. “Recommendations?” I close Viktor’s phone and return it, though the images are burned into my memory.
