Page 3 of Blood & Snow
"And if I refuse?" I ask, though we both know the answer.
No one tells the Pakhan no and lives to see what happens.
Markov opens his desk drawer and removes a pistol.
It's a Soviet-era sidearm, the same model he used to execute rivals during the chaos of the nineteen-nineties.
He places the weapon on the desk between us as a symbol, but I know what he's insinuating.
"You won't refuse," he says.
The gun sits there reminding us both what happens to men who disappoint the Pakhan. Markov built his empire on the understanding that fear, properly applied, becomes loyalty.
Every man in his organization knows the price of failure because he's seen the bodies of those who came before.
"I'll need resources," I tell him.
"Whatever you require. Men, weapons, intelligence on their operations. But understand this isn't a negotiation between equals."
His fingers drum against the desk.
"You failed to protect our interests. Now you correct that failure or you join the men who caused it."
He opens another folder, which he produces from another drawer in his desk, and spreads financial recordsacross it.
Bank statements, property deeds, business licenses.
The Brotherhood's legitimate holdings are mapped out in black ink.
"Arkady launders money through twelve businesses and has contacts throughout the Moscow police," Markov explains.
"His son runs protection rackets in six neighborhoods and thinks political connections make him bulletproof. Find their weaknesses. Exploit them. Make them disappear so completely that other families forget they ever existed." Then his eyes meet mine. "And don't get caught."
I scan the documents.
The Brotherhood operates more openly than most criminal organizations, using legitimate businesses to generate clean income while running traditional extortion and drug distribution in the background.
Arkady believes his reputation and political connections provide adequate protection.
He's dead wrong.
That assumption will prove fatal.
"What about cleanup?" I ask. "An operation this size will generate substantial evidence. Bodies, witnesses, crime scenes."
"Your concern to manage," Markov replies.
"Just make clean kills, untraceable deaths, crime scenes that tell no stories to investigating officers. You shouldn’t have a problem. The Brotherhood challenged our authority openly. When they disappear, no one will ask uncomfortable questions about their fate."
I close the folder and prepare to stand.
Two months to prove that eight years of loyal service weren't just elaborate deception masking my incompetence or treachery.
Two months to show the other families what happens when someone mistakes our restraint for weakness.
"One more issue requires your attention," Markov adds before I can rise from the chair.
"Your current cleaner hasbeen expressing concerns about the work. Asking questions about exposure, making suggestions about methods, talking about finding legitimate employment."
