“You have a rare sort of anger, friend,” he says. “The kind that speaks of vengeance. Is that what all this is about?”
“Of course it is. You had him murdered.Poisoned.What other kind of response could you expect from me but violence?”
“And that is why Emil is dead,” he says. His voice sounds somber as if he just finished regaling me about some great man who lived an honorable life. He sighs and says, “What a waste.”
“What exactly do you want from me?” I say, turning around fully to him. “Mysovietnikwas attacked by one of your men last night, not to mention your men butting into a deal a month ago, killing one of my men. And now you sit here acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about? If this is some kind of game that you’re playing with me?—”
“I didn’t kill Maksim,” he says. He stares at me, his eyes as dark and cold as night. “I didn’t order it to be done. I hadnothingto do with it.”
I just stare. This is a trick, some ruse he’s trying to pull on me for his own sick amusement. Well, I’m not playing. I stand.
“I’ve had enough of this?—”
“Sit down, Anton. We’re not done talking.”
“What is there to talk about? I’m not playing games with you.”
“Neither am I,” he says, raising his voice slightly. It echoes off the walls of the church. “Sit.”
He points to the space next to him and everything in me wants to drive my fist into his face. I sit down, however. Maybe it’s curiosity. I don’t know. But instead of fighting him, I listen to what he says.
“From my perspective,” he says, “You searched out one of my sixes, kidnapped, tortured, and murdered him and three of my men in cold blood two months after your return from Russia. Your men have been threatening mine on a near regular basis for weeks, and now you tell me that one of my men attacked yoursovietnikunprovoked. From here, all I see is the new Bratva king working to destroy the alliance that I had with his predecessor.”
I’m watching him, looking for the deception or the lie. Some sign that he’s as full of shit as I think. I don’t see any…
“Your six,” I tell him, “was in Russia when Maksim was killed. The same town. He was seen in the hotel where we were staying. Are you telling me that was just a coincidence?”
“Yes,” he says. “Let me ask you something. In all your anger and rage, has it once occurred to you to ask yourself what the reason might be that I would have to attack your Bratva? Neither you nor any of your men have ever insulted me or even gotten in the way of our businesses. Our relationship has been friendly all these years and out of the blue, for no reason whatsoever, you believe I would attack Maksim?”
“Maksim was old,” I say. “You probably assumed he was weak. Thought it was an opportune time to try and dismantle my Bratva.”
“That would suggest that I thinkyouare weak,” he says without emotion. “I know who you are, Anton. I’ve known since you were a boy. You are skilled at your trade. You always have been. Unlike even my brigadiers, however, you are smart. You are more likely to use your mind before you use your bullets or your fists. I do not think you are weak.”
I’m struck silent. The truth rings like a bell in his words. He goes on.
“I have been watching you and Maksim since your father left. I’ve seen how he has grown to be more than just your mentor. He became your father figure at a time when you needed one the most. For that, I can appreciate your rage. It is just. Unfortunately, I do not belong at the business end of it.”
He tilts his head and smiles a little at me. “I have always known how formidable you would be as an opponent, should you inherit the reins of your Bratva. If I were going to launch an attack on you, I can promise that it would be more strategic than it’s been. One way or another, this matter would have been solved within weeks of Maksim’s death.”
I suppose he’s not wrong. There is a long standing rumor that Nikolai once wiped out an entire brotherhood in one night. The story went that he lured them all into a hall somewhere on the south side under the guise of attending a charity event. Once the last member of that brotherhood entered the building, all the doors were locked and the building was burned to the ground.
Legend has it that it wasn’t just Bratva in the building, either. Their families were with them. Women and children died alongside their fathers and brothers. It was a massacre.
And at the end of the day, Nikolai had accomplished what he’d said he would do if they ever betrayed them. He would destroy them all and leave no trace. Anyone who was part of that Bratva is either dead or later swore their fealty to the Amur.
It gives me pause. The man next to me is calculating. His Bratva is named for the region it came from as well as one of his ancestors. He has survived longer than almost any other Pakhan I’ve ever known.
“I am telling you now,” he goes on, “in front of God, that I am not the person you are looking for.”
“How do I know you’re not lying to keep me from attacking your men?” I ask him, and he smiles.
“You’re smart enough to know the answer to that.”
I am. He has nothing to fear from me. Not even now with four of his men dead at my hands. He sighs and stands up, straightening his suit jacket. “Your anger is righteous. You deserve your vengeance. I sincerely hope you get it.”
With that he leaves, and I’m left stunned and thoroughly confused. Nikolai could have wiped us out ages ago. Any change in leadership has weak spots among those closest to the throne. Any Pakhan worth his salt knows that.
Shit. Where does that leave me?
