“To family?”
The chatter and the clinking of glasses stop instantly. Anatoly is lounging at the head of the table, his gaze on Alexi. He’s wearing a cruel little smile and we all know the pleasant warmth of the dinner is over.
“Yes, Pakhan,” Alexi dips his head respectfully, but the tight set of his mouth tells me he’s bracing for something ugly.
“Family first and always,” Anatoly muses. “So, what is the punishment for betrayal? How should we deal with a family member who goes against his people, his Bratva?”
Alexi’s eyes dim, turning the color of a glacier. “Death.”
The door opens and two Turgenev soldiers drag a man in. His head’s down and there’s a trail of blood from one of his feet dragging on the polished parquet floor.
Anatoly wears a huge grin, matching the one on his son Dmitri’s face. My gut twists with nausea and I wish I hadn’t eaten that secondblini.They’re going to kill this poor man, right in front of us. I’d heard stories about the Pakhan of the Turgenev Bratva before, his special brand of “entertainment.” He’d have someone brought in and murdered to display his power to his guests. But I never imagined he’d do it in front of women and children.
My mother half rises in her seat, gesturing to me and Inessa, but Father catches her eye, subtly shaking his head. Is there a loss of face for our Bratva if we don’t stay to witness this?
Pleating my linen napkin between my fingers, I try to sit up, as if this is nothing. As if I see it all the time.Otets,father, always kept the ugly side of his business away from us.
The man sprawled on the gleaming floor is sobbing.“Pozhaluysta, Pakhan, ya etogo ne delal. YA by nikogda tebya ne predal.Please, Pakhan, I didn’t do this, I would never betray you-” His words are odd, mushy, like his teeth are gone. Or pulled out. Or punched out.
“Ah, but that is not what my son tells me,” Anatoly chastises. Dmitri grins, slouching back in his chair. “You gave the Habib Syndicate the arrival date and location, didn’t you?”
“No! I swear it, Pakhan!”
I watch Alexi lean over to his brother. They’re close enough that I can hear his question. “Did he confess?”
Dmitri shoots him a contemptuous grin and shrugs. “Who cares? We know he did it.”
“Not if you didn’t get a confession,” Alexi says, frowning as he looks at the bloody lump on the floor.
“What is the punishment for traitors in the family?” Anatoly continues as if Dmitri didn’t just admit there was no confession.
“Death,” This comes from Dmitri.
“Death,” echoes the Pakhan of the Sokolov Bratva.
“Death…”
“Death…”
All the Pakhans seated at the table repeat the word.
The last comes from my father, who’s been looking at the glee on Anatoly’s face. “Death,” he sighs.
Anatoly lounges at the head of the table, uncoiling like a cobra about to swallow a deer. Flicking one hand at Alexi, he says, “Finish it.”
The entire room is utterly still, as if we’re all put into this horrible moment of suspended animation. A shadow passes over Alexi’s face like clouds over the moon, and he stands, walking over to the sobbing man.
“Cousin,” the poor soul wept, “we’ve known each other our whole lives, you know I couldn’t do this.”
I recognize the man under the blood now, even with his nose broken and blackened eyes. It’s Lev, heisAlexi’s cousin and I always see them together.
Is he going to make Alexi slaughter his own cousin?
The nausea returns full force and I grit my teeth.
Alexi looks down at Lev, his face a granite mask and pulls a horrifyingly large knife from his boot. He’s handling the blade with some delicacy, so it must be razor-sharp. He looks at his father one more time, and Anatoly growls.
“I gave you an order. Do your duty as myVor.”
