Matthias had never taken me anywhere other than the compound. I expected the people there to worship him and his men like gods. They were devoted to their boss, the man who controlled their paycheck and even their lives. But to see how the men were welcomed warmly and enthusiastically by the owner of the shop and his staff left me somewhat stunned and off balance.
I know the Bratva runs this territory, but I never realized how well they run it. Elias ruled with fear, and I often forget that Matthias refused to employ fear tactics. He took care of his people and the neighborhoods. I ponder what I know about how he ran his territory. Over the weeks leading up to our charade ofa wedding, he’d opened up about certain parts of the business. Some he told me himself, but I learned most of it from watching and listening.
Now that I think about it, the name of the shop is Piroshki Piroshki. It takes me a minute to put the pieces together, but I remember Vas saying that Maxim, who is the brigadier to this area, meets with the locals once a week to see what is needed and to hear out their complaints.
All of Matthias’s brigadier’s do this in their own areas, even Leon.
It is one of the reasons the community doesn’t push back against the Bratva. Unlike Dante, who struggles to keep his capos under control. He has been trying to build a new regime after his father’s death, but the sinister heart of the old Cosa Nostra runs strong and it will take at least another generation before the festering wounds of his organization are cut out.
“I’m sorry,” I blink at Tomas. He said something but I was too lost in thought to catch what it was. “I missed that.”
Vas chuckles lowly, biting into his piroshki with gusto. I can’t blame him, the food here is amazing.
“I asked what your plans are going forward.”
“My plans?” I quirk my head to the side, brushing the crumbs from my hands on the napkin in my lap before clasping my hands together in front of me on the table. “What would I have plans for, Mr. Ivankov? I’m under the impression I am no longer needed seeing as my husband is dead and you are here to bang the gavel of dismissal.”
Vas cringes as his father’s face darkens slightly. He turns to his son; his eyes narrowing dangerously. “You didn’t tell her?” he asks incredulously. Vas clears his throat uncomfortably.
“I meant to, but between planning the funeral and her hiding away at the Kavanaugh’s, there has not been a moment to sit down with her.”
My gaze darts confusedly between the pair. They really do look a lot alike, but there is a softness about Vas that his father doesn’t have.
“Tell me what?” I question frustratingly. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Their hazel eyes snap to me.
“How much did Matthias tell you about Bratva succession?” Tomas asks. Moving his empty plate aside, he wipes the crumbs from the table and leans back in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand.
I shrug. “He didn’t,” I admit. “Not really. Most of what I learned was from the internet. If thePakhanis compromised in any way his second in command takes the role of leadership in his stead. Or something like that.”
Tomas nods, seemingly impressed with my small amount of knowledge.
“You know,” he begins wistfully, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “I was sixteen when I start the Ivankov Bratva on the streets of Moscow.” He chuckles as he recalls the memory. “I only had ten people under my command. One of which was a woman who later became mysovietnik. You see, Ava, I wanted to set a different tone for my organization. For far too long, women were nothing more than second class citizens in the Bratva with little to no say in how things are run.”
“It took a while, but I managed to build up an empire from scratch that saw women in the Bratva acquiring higher roles,” he continues, and I wonder where this is going.
Is he going to ask me to stay on as a member of the Bratva?
“That’s great and everything,” I tell him dryly. “It’s a real leap for feminism, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
Tomas smirks. “I changed the rules of succession, Ava,” he educates me. “If thePakhanin question doesn’t have a bloodheir or hasn’t named an un-blooded heir and is married, his role goes to his wife.”
Old man say what now?
“Now, there would normally be a bit of muddied waters seeing as how you were married under duress, but Matthias’s people proved today that they are willing to stand by your side,” Tomas continues as if he didn’t just drop the Hiroshima of all bombs. “And he listed you as the heir in his will, so there’s that.”
He relays the information so casually. Like Matthias making me his heir is no big deal. I’'s as if he expected it. I know better. Divorce. That is what Matthias intended for me. Not for me to take control of his empire if he dies.
So, I do the only logical thing I can think of.
I laugh.
Tears fall from the corner of my eyes as I struggle to rein in the maniacal sound that falls from my lips. My shoulders shake, belly aching from the action. The painful weight that sits on my chest suddenly feels heavier, cracking through to my heart.
The two men at the table remain silent as my laughter continues until the tears and surprise are spent. When I look back at them their faces are mirrored looks of shock and concern. As if they have never seen a woman have a mini mental breakdown before.
What I don’t see is any sign that they are jesting.
Tomas is serious when he proclaimed that Matthias named me as his successor.
