No, refusal is not an option. There is no alternative. This is my life.
“Don’t look worried,” remarks my cousin, Valentin, slinging an arm over the back of my chair with a yawn. “We all know it’s going to be you, Tyoma. And thank God. I don’t want to be up there.”
I nod, but I can’t stop my jaw from tensing.
I know it’s me, in my bones, even though I’ve never been told directly. It’s the reason my mother hates me. It’s the reason my cousin Boris is glaring at me like I’ve stolen his slice of cake. He’ll try to fight me later, as he always does at family gatherings. He spends a lot of time in the boxing ring, practicing for these fights. It does him no good. I’m taller, stronger and most importantly, smarter than he is.
He’ll walk out of this room with a black eye, nursing his wounded pride.
And I will walk out with the Petrov family seat on the Council of the Bratva.
I’m ripped back to the present by the sound of gasps.
Valentin’s mouth hangs open.
Boris is clinging to his wife’s hand with a shit-eating grin across his face like he’s just won the lottery.
No one’s looking at me. The eyes in the room are all fixed on Vanya.
“My love for Vassily was the only reason I learned the business of the Council. The Bratva is a family, and whoever leads it needs to set an example for everyone else. The next leader of our family needs to know not just how to lead, but how to love.” She turns her pale blue eyes to me, boring into me with laser-like certainty as she makes her final point. “I cannot in good conscience pass the council seat to someone unmarried. This is not a job that can be done alone.”
As Vanya wraps up her speech with a reflection on her long life, the sour taste of disappointment settles on my tongue.
It’s not something I’m used to and I don’t care for it.
Years of work, preparations made, deals struck.
I’d clinched the council seat. I had people on my side, I had good will, I had the political influence.
And now none of it is enough, because Vanya’s decided to toy with us all for another year.
“To another year,” my uncle Denis toasts when Vanya finishes her speech.
“Another year,” the room echoes.
I go through the motions of raising my glass and joining in, but I leave my champagne untouched. Even in this moment, I’m not going to break that promise to myself.
I think this hot feeling spreading in my chest is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to embarrassment.
I don’t make mistakes. My predictions are never wrong. Things just work out for me.
But Vanya Petrova has a mind of her own.
“That is some old-fashioned bullshit from Babushka,” Valentin reassures me, nudging my shoulder with his elbow.
That might be true.
Unfortunately, I know that my babushka is not changing her mind, not once she’s set on a particular course. She is not just a stick in the mud, she’s a steel bar set in concrete.
No budging, no excuses.
Vanya descends the stairs on her shaky legs, her cane taking herweight, then pulls me into a firm hug.
I can feel her bones. It pains me to see her like this.
She’d cuff me if I did try to help, though. Despite everything, despite her visible frailty, she never wants to be seen as weak.
“I must disagree with your speech, Babushka,” I say while she’s still crushing me in a hug.
