Page 3 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
I walk back to the sofa and sit down, staring at the television, where they’re still discussing Nicky’s death and its implications for organized crime in the Midwest. The anchor mentions potential violence as rival factions compete for control, and I wonder if I’ll become a casualty in whatever war follows.
“There’s something else.” Papa’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “The wedding needs to happen quickly. Tigran wants to establish stability within the organization, and a public marriage ceremony will demonstrate that the old alliances remain strong.”
“How quickly?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“Six weeks.”
Six weeks to prepare for a life I never wanted with a man I’ve never met, and to say goodbye to any dreams I had about choosing my own path before becoming Mrs. Tigran Belsky.
I close my eyes and try to imagine what that life will look like. Will I live in some fortified compound surrounded by armed guards? Will I have to pretend to love a man who makes his living through intimidation and violence? Will I become another casualty of the Belsky empire, like Mrs. Petrucci, Mr. Rossi, and everyone else who got caught in their web?
“Zita.” Papa’s voice brings me back to the present. “I know this is difficult, but I need you to trust me. This marriage will protect you in ways you don’t understand yet.”
I open my eyes and look at him standing by his desk, surrounded by the contracts that will reshape my entire existence. He genuinely believes he’s doing what’s best for me, which somehow makes it worse. If he were obviously cruel or selfish, I could hate him cleanly. Instead, I have to live with the knowledge that the man who raised me was willing to trade my freedom for his security, and he’ll never see anything wrong with that choice.
“I’ll meet him tomorrow,” I say finally, “But don’t expect me to be grateful for this opportunity.”
Papa nods, looking relieved that I’m not planning to run away or cause a scene. “Wear the navy dress you bought for graduation. It makes you look sophisticated and elegant.” His mouth twists. “Also too much like your mother, but it will project the right image.”
The mention of Mom hits me like a physical blow. She left when I was six years old, abandoning me with Papa and his increasingly complicated business arrangements. Now, I understand why. She must have seen what was coming and known Papa’s deals with men like Nicky Belsky would eventually cost us everything that mattered. She chose to escape while she still could.
I don’t have that option. The contracts on Papa’s desk make it clear my life was never really mine to control. I was born into this world of obligations and alliances, and tomorrow, I’ll meet the man who represents my future whether I want one with him or not.
Standing up from the sofa, I walk toward the door without looking back at Papa or his documents. “I’m going to bed. I needto prepare for meeting my future husband.” The words come out angry with a hint of mockery.
Tonight, I’m going to grieve for the life I thought I was going to have, where I took over Lo Duca Enterprises, chose my own husband, and built my own future by choices I made. In that life, I was more than just a contract clause in my father’s deal with the devil. That life died tonight along with Nicky Belsky, and the only choice open to me is to start learning how to live in the one that’s left.
2
Tigran
The funeral parlor smells like lilies and lies.
I stand beside my father’s casket, watching a parade of men who spent decades fearing Nicky Belsky now pretend to mourn his passing. Each one approaches with rehearsed condolences and carefully neutral expressions, but I see the calculation behind their eyes. They’re measuring me, testing whether the son will command the same respect as the father.
I will.
Viktor Petrov steps forward, his expensive black suit impeccable despite the early hour. He’s been my father’s lieutenant for fifteen years, and his loyalty was bought with generous payments and the promise of protection. Now, I’m sure he’s wondering if those promises died with Nicky.
“My deepest sympathies, Tigran.” Viktor’s accent still carries traces of Moscow despite two decades in Chicago. “Your father was a great man. His legacy will endure.”
“His legacy will evolve.” I shake his offered hand, applying just enough pressure to remind him who he’s dealing with now. “Changes are coming, Viktor. I trust you’ll adapt accordingly.”
Surprise, or maybe concern, flickers across his face. He clearly expected me to follow Nicky’s methods exactly, to rule through fear and violence the way my father did, but I’m not Nicky, and I have no intention of repeating his mistakes.
“Of course.” Viktor recovers quickly, but I catch the way he glances toward Dmitri Volkov, who controls our drug operations. “The organization requires stability during this transition.”
“The organization requires leadership.” I keep my voice low enough that the other mourners can’t overhear. “Stability comes from strength, not from clinging to outdated methods.”
Viktor nods, but he’s obviously filing away every word for later analysis. By tomorrow, everyone in theBratvawill know that Tigran Belsky doesn’t plan to be a carbon copy of his father. Some will see this as weakness. I hope others will recognize it as evolution. Regardless of how they view it, the changes will happen.
The viewing continues for another hour, with each conversation becoming a delicate dance of respect and assessment. I accept condolences from politicians Papa bought, judges he influenced, and business owners who paid him protection money. They all want to know the same thing even though they don’t ask if the new boss will honor the old agreements, or if they will need to renegotiate their positions?
By the time the last visitor leaves, my patience is wearing thin. I’ve spent the morning performing grief I don’t actuallyexperience while managing the expectations of men who would replace me in a heartbeat if they sensed weakness. Nicky taught me power is a performance, but he never mentioned how exhausting the show could be.
Dmitri approaches as I’m adjusting my father’s tie one final time. The funeral director will close the casket soon, and then we’ll proceed to the cemetery for the burial that will officially mark the end of the Nicky Belsky era.
“We need to discuss the Federoff situation.” Dmitri’s voice barely rises above a whisper. “Avgar has been making inquiries about our shipping contracts. He thinks your father’s death creates opportunities.”
