I like this doctor.
“Niko, I know who The Butcher is,” I rasp.
“That’s my cue to catch a nap on my office couch,” Dr. Coleman says. “Come get me if he starts bleeding again.”
Nikolai barely hears her, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the stretcher. “You know? Who? Because I’m going to stab that motherfucker in the face.”
Alexi…
Now…
A roar ripples through the crowd, building like a wave as it crashes against the line of men surrounding my family and Lucya on the dais. She half stands, swaying until Damien helps her back into her seat and Nikolai holds a gun to Dmitri’s head. She’s so pale, her makeup standing out against her pallor like a mask and she’s too thin, all her beautiful curves are gone. My sweet girl’s suffering is heartbreakingly clear. The hideous wedding gown is hanging on her, the weight almost taking her off her chair. She’s pulling against Damien’s grip, reaching out to me.
“One moment, myKolibri. Trust me,” I smile at her, hoping she can feel my love. She lets out a sob before nodding.
“Honored guests, forgive the intrusion. I am forced to make my case to you in this rather dramatic fashion because secrecy and a lack of time prevented otherwise.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lucya clutching the side of her dress, her hand moving, and I force myself to focus.
“Dmitri murdered our father Anatoly, the Pakhan of the Turgenev Bratva.” The ballroom rings with shouts of dissent and outrage that die down quickly when a new image appears on the screen. “This video shows Dmitri meeting with Rurik Dubrovin, Szymon Wozniak from the Polish Mafia - and an unnamed third party who was providing funds and mercenaries to disrupt the Turgenev Bratva and assist in the murder of my father.”
The video plays and the audio of the conversation is crystal clear, Dmitri, Rurik, Szymon, and Gregor Siderov are drinking and talking in a private room at his restaurant, discussing how to administer the poison that simulated a heart attack for my father and detailed plans to hijack our arms shipments and kill my family’s soldiers.
“This is all a lie! This is false!” Dmitri screams, “It’s a deepfake, an AI fabrication!”
Nikolai clips him hard on the side of the head with his gun. “Shut the fuck up,brother,”he says calmly. “I have no problem slicing out your tongue.”
The ballroom is nearly silent, men from the Six Families irritably shushing anyone at their tables who attempt to speak. I see Maksim and Yuri Morozov leaning forward, watching intently.
By the end of the video, as the men on screen raise a toast to each other, the shouting begins.
“Traitor!”
“Scum!”
“Kill them all!”
Holding up my hand for silence, I nod in respect to the Pakhans who rise from their seats, furious and intent.
“I have a full confession from Gregor Siderov. He used his restaurant as a way to gather intelligence on our families. He operated on the dark web under the name of The Butcher.”
Comprehension and then fury dawn on many faces, and I know my family isn’t the only one who was nearly destroyed by Siderov.
Yevgeniy Morozov speaks up. “Where is Siderov now? The Morozov Bratva issues a claim for his life.”
A fury surges through me like poison. “I apologize, Yevgeniy Morozov. Gregor and his son Boris are in pieces at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Gregor Siderov intended to give my bride, Lucya, to Boris and his men as a gift.”
There are sounds of shock and disgust around the room. Most of the people here know what a woman being presented as a “gift” means. Lucya puts her hand over her mouth. Her mother wraps her arm around her shoulders, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“She’s not your bride!” Dmitri screams, “She’s mine! I’ve already fucked her and I am keeping her!”
Nikolai rolls his eyes. “Lying piece of shit. You haven’t touched her.”
Everything in me wants to go to Lucya, to pick her up in my arms and take her away from here. But there is one last thing that has to be done.
“Honored Pakhans, I claim the position as head of the Turgenev Bratva as my own. I state my right to end Dmitri’s life as a traitor. What say you?”
Yevgeniy Morozov is first. “We support your claim. Death.”
