Page 26 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
I make it through the doors at the end of the long hallway, emerging back into the main house at a different point than when I entered just as the voices round the corner behind me. My hands shake while I engage the lock by swiping Estanof’s card and hurry toward the library, the stolen folder pressedagainst my chest. Halfway down the hall, I toss Estanof’s card under a fancy console table.
In the safety of the library, I examine my prize. The folder contains profiles of twelve men, each with photographs, personal information, business interests, and what appears to be leverage information, including financial problems, family vulnerabilities, or legal troubles that could be exploited for control or blackmail.
I don’t know who they are, but I’m sure these aren’t just business associates or political contacts. I suspect these are the men who make decisions about how the Belsky organization operates, and Tigran keeps intelligence on every one of them.
After glancing through them, it seems everyone in Tigran’s inner circle is either compromised or kept under surveillance. Even the people he trusts most are subject to intelligence gathering that would allow him to destroy them if necessary.
I stare at the folder in my hands and understand something fundamental about the world I’ve married into. This isn’t just a business built on violence and intimidation. It’s a system of mutual blackmail and carefully managed vulnerabilities, where everyone has something to lose and no one can be completely trusted.
The question that keeps me awake that night, long after Tigran returns and falls asleep beside me, is whether he keeps a similar file on me. Whether my background, my family, my weaknesses and vulnerabilities are documented somewhere in those filing cabinets, ready to be used against me if I become a problem that needs to be managed.
I study his sleeping face in the dim shadows filtering through our bedroom windows. Even in sleep, he looks controlled and calculating, like someone who never completely relaxes his guard. His arm is draped across my waist in a gesture that could be protective or restrictive, depending on your perspective.
Three weeks ago, I thought I understood what marrying into the Belsky family would mean. I expected violence, corruption, and moral compromises that would challenge my principles. What I didn’t expect was the sophisticated intelligence operation that monitors and controls everyone in the organization through carefully documented vulnerabilities.
Tigran doesn’t just rule through fear and respect. He rules through information that allows him to destroy anyone who threatens his authority. The loyalty he inspires isn’t just based on financial benefits or protection from enemies but on knowing that crossing him means exposing secrets that could ruin lives and destroy families.
10
Tigran
The oak-paneled conference room has hosted three generations of Belsky family business, and today it will determine whether I can command the same respect my father earned through thirty years of ruthless leadership.
Twelve men sit around the massive mahogany table that my grandfather imported from Moscow in 1952, each one representing a different aspect of our organization’s operations. Viktor occupies the chair to my right, his silver hair and careful composure lending gravitas to the proceedings. Dmitri sits across from him, younger but equally experienced in managing the more volatile aspects of our business. The others range from longtime veterans who remember my father’s early days to newer recruits who’ve proven their value through recent successes.
All of them are here to assess whether Nicky Belsky’s son can fill the void left by his death.
I clear my throat and all eyes are on me. “Attention. Thank you all for coming today. I know many of you couldn’t make the first meeting days after Papa’s death.” That had been a powerplay move I had allowed only because I was still tying up all the loose ends of taking over for Papa and preparing to marry Zita. My leniency is over now. “Today marks the firstformalleadership council under my authority. There are some very important matters to address this time.”
I pause to look around, letting the room settle into silence before continuing.
“The Federoff situation requires immediate attention.” I open the folder containing Viktor’s latest intelligence reports. “We’ve confirmed Avgar tried to infiltrate the wedding venue, but my men stopped his people before they could get inside. The guests were never aware of the danger, but he’ll try again. Our sources suggest he’s preparing for escalated action rather than retreating.”
Alexei Russov, who manages our legitimate business interests, leans forward with obvious concern. “What kind of escalated action? Are we talking about territorial expansion or direct assault on our operations?”
“Both.” Viktor spreads surveillance photographs across the table surface. “Intelligence indicates coordination with out-of-state organizations and acquisition of military-grade equipment. This isn’t street-level competition anymore. This is the real deal.”
The photographs show weapons caches, meeting locations, and personnel movements that confirm what I’ve been dreading since the wedding. Avgar isn’t content to challenge us through traditional territorial disputes. He’s preparing for war that could destabilize our entire organization.
“Recommendations?” I scan the faces around the table, noting how each man’s response will reveal something about his confidence in my leadership.
“Blow them to space.” The answer comes from Georgi Petrov, Viktor’s younger brother, who controls our construction operations. “Hit them hard and fast. Eliminate the leadership and scatter the foot soldiers.”
Dmitri nods his agreement. “Your father would’ve done this already.”
Several other men voice support for immediate violence, their eagerness suggesting they view aggressive response as a test of my willingness to follow Nicky’s methods. They want to see whether I’ll demonstrate the ruthless decisiveness that built our current position.
Alexei raises his hand for attention. “But military action carries significant risks in the current political climate. Federal investigations, media attention, and civilian casualties could undermine our legitimate business relationships. Blowing them to space, as you put it, isn’t an option.”
“Legitimate business relationships don’t matter if we’re dead,” Georgi counters with the impatience of someone who’s spent decades solving problems through force. “Politics don’t matter if our organization collapses under pressure from enemies who think we’ve gone soft. We can’t tolerate that.”
This conversation quickly devolves to argument, as it did last time. There are some serious flaws in the organization in front of me, and this isn’t going to be something that gets fixed quickly. It’ll take time to get everyone on the same page.
I’m about to reveal my position when the conference room door opens without warning. Zita enters with a confident stride, wearing a business suit that makes her look like an executive attending a board meeting rather than a wife interrupting her husband’s criminal enterprise planning session.
The conversation stops completely. Twelve dangerous men turn to stare at the woman who just walked uninvited into the most sensitive discussion our organization has conducted since my father’s death.
“Mrs. Belsky.” Viktor’s voice carries carefully controlled shock. “This is a private meeting.”
