Page 28 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
Alexei catches on first, nodding slowly. “Mrs. Belsky’s analysis does identify genuine vulnerabilities that we should address regardless of who brought them to our attention.”
“Her analysis identifies theoretical problems that might not have any relevance to how we do things in the real world.” Dmitri still disagrees, but his tone has shifted from outrage to grudging consideration. “Academic research doesn’t account for the psychological factors that determine whether our enemies view us as strong or weak.”
Her confidence returning. She’s realized I’m covering for her rather than condemning her. “Psychological factors like the respect that comes from building something sustainable rather than just defending something inherited?” she asks in a neutral tone.
The debate continues for another twenty minutes, but the room’s dynamics have shifted. Instead of simply arguing about whether to attack the Federoffs immediately, we’re discussing broader questions about what kind of organization we want to build and how our methods affect our long-term objectives.
Zita has forced us to think strategically rather than just tactically, and the quality of our decision-making improves dramatically even in just a short span of time. I’ve managed to turn her disruption into a productive contribution.
When the meeting finally concludes, I’ve committed to a measured response that addresses the Federoff threatthrough targeted law enforcement pressure rather than open warfare, along with continued discreet surveillance with the understanding my men will act if it’s an emergent situation. Otherwise, they’re to observe and document. It’s not the approach my father would have chosen, but it’s probably more likely to achieve lasting results without creating new problems. Only a few of the older men still seem resistant to the course of action, but none have stormed out.
The men file out with expressions ranging from thoughtful acceptance to barely concealed skepticism. After the door closes behind the last lieutenant, I turn to face my wife, who’s organizing her research materials with obvious satisfaction.
“That was quite a scene.” I keep my voice neutral.
She responds without looking up from her portfolio. “That was quite necessary. Your men were trying to commit you to a strategy that would have destroyed everything you’ve worked to build.”
“My men were following established protocols that have protected this organization for three decades.” I approach the table where she’s sitting, noting how she doesn’t retreat despite the obvious tension crackling between us. “My men were demonstrating loyalty to methods that kept my father alive and prosperous until he died of natural causes.”
“Your men were demonstrating loyalty to tradition without considering whether that tradition still serves your interests.” She closes her portfolio and looks at me directly. “Your men were about to turn you into a leader who rules through fear rather than thoughtful decisions. You don’t want that, and quite honestly, neither do I.”
The accuracy of her assessment is infuriating because it highlights vulnerabilities I’ve been trying not to acknowledge. The pressure to follow my father’s methods exactly is enormous, but those methods may not be appropriate for the challenges I’m facing or the organization I’m trying to build.
“Do you have any idea what you just did?” I move closer until we’re separated by less than a foot. “Do you understand how close you came to making me look like a fool who can’t control his own household?”
She stares at me for a moment. I’m expecting her to cower or perhaps even apologize. Instead, her eyes glitter with anger, and she’s vibrating with anger and resentment. So am I as we stare at each other without speaking for a long moment.
11
Zita
Istare at him for a moment. He’s expecting me to cower or perhaps even apologize. Instead, my anger flares hotter, and I vibrate with fury and resentment. So does he as we stare at each other without speaking for a long moment.
“Control your household?” The words come out sharp enough to cut glass. I step closer instead of backing away, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Is that what you think I am? Some piece of property you need to manage?”
“You’re my wife.” His voice drops to a dangerous growl as he clenches his hands at his sides. “You don’t waltz into my business meetings uninvited and challenge my leadership in front of my men.”
“I’m your equal.” I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides as I fight the urge to shove him. “Or at least I thought I was until you made it clear that being equals only applies when we’re alone, not when real decisions need to be made.”
Tigran laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. His eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. “Equal? You think storming into a room full of dangerous men and contradicting their recommendations makes you my equal?”
“I think stopping you from making a decision that would have gotten us all killed makes me someone worth listening to.” I poke my finger into his chest, noting how his muscles tense beneath the expensive fabric. “I think having the sense to see what your advisors couldn’t makes me valuable enough to deserve input into choices that affect my life too.”
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” He catches my wrist when I try to poke him again, and his grip is firm but not painful. “You read some research and think you understand how to run a criminal empire.”
I twist my wrist free and use both hands to shove against his chest. He doesn’t budge, which only makes my anger burn hotter. “I understand enough to know your men were pushing you toward a response that would have brought down everything you’ve built. I see when pride is masquerading as strategy.”
“Those men have kept this organization alive through decades of threats while you’ve been living in an ivory tower.” Tigran’s jaw tightens as he speaks, his control starting to slip. “Those men have earned the right to speak their minds without being lectured by someone who’s never faced real consequences.”
“Real consequences like the federal investigations that follow gang wars?” I shove him again, harder this time. “Real consequences like the media attention that destroys political relationships that enable your operations?”
His eyes narrow dangerously. “You embarrassed me in front of every lieutenant I need to respect my authority. You made me look like I can’t manage my own wife.”
“I made you look like you’re secure enough in your power to accept good counsel from unexpected sources.” My voice rises to match his intensity. “You look like a leader who puts results above wounded pride.”
“Wounded pride?” Something snaps in his expression. He grips my shoulders and not gently. “You think this is about wounded pride?”
I grab the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him even closer. “I think this is about your terror that admitting I’m capable of making smart moves somehow diminishes your authority, and your fear that acknowledging my intelligence makes you look weak to men who are already questioning your fitness to lead.”
