My own hand is already on my weapon, but Ivan doesn't draw. Instead, he leans close to Alina, his voice low and venomous.
"You just signed your own death warrant, little girl. Enjoy the rest of your evening. It may be your last."
49
ALINA
Everyone in the ballroom freezes. Ivan's words hang in the air like poison gas, and I watch the faces around us shift from polite interest to shock. Some of the older Bratva bosses look almost pleased, as if they've been waiting for this moment. The younger generation looks uncomfortable, uncertain.
Dimitri's hand tightens on my waist, and I feel the tension radiating through his body. His men are already moving, closing ranks around us, hands drifting toward concealed weapons. Alexei appears at Dimitri's shoulder, his face grim.
"We should go," Alexei murmurs in Russian, low enough that only we can hear.
But something inside me snaps. I'm so tired of running, of hiding, of being treated like a fragile thing that needs to be locked away for safekeeping. I step forward, away from Dimitri's protective hold, and Ivan's cold smile widens.
"Alina," Dimitri warns, but I shake my head.
The room is watching us now, all pretense of polite conversation abandoned. This is what they came for, whether they admit it or not. The drama. The violence. The old ways playing out in expensive suits and designer gowns.
I take another step toward Ivan, close enough to see the cruelty in his blue eyes, so much like his cousin Mikhail's. Close enough to smell his expensive cologne mixed with the sharp scent of vodka.
"You want to threaten me?" My voice carries across the ballroom, clear and steady despite the fear churning in my stomach. "In front of all these people? In front of families who are trying to decide whether the old ways are worth preserving?"
Ivan's smile falters slightly. He wasn't expecting me to engage. Women in his world are supposed to cower, to let the men handle things.
"I'm not threatening you, Mrs. Morozov," he says smoothly, recovering quickly. "I'm simply stating facts. You've made yourself an enemy of tradition, of everything our families have built over generations. There are consequences for that."
"Consequences." I taste the word, bitter on my tongue. "Like my father faced? Like Mikhail faced? Tell me, Ivan, how did those consequences work out for them?"
A murmur ripples through the crowd. Some of the neutral families are leaning in now, interested despite themselves. I can feel Dimitri behind me, a solid presence, but he's letting me speak. Trusting me.
"My father sold me like property," I continue, my voice growing stronger. "He arranged my marriage to Sergei Morozov without asking what I wanted, without caring that I was terrified. Andwhen that wasn't enough, when his ambition demanded more, he conspired with the Kozlov family to murder his own son-in-law at the altar. He would have let me die in that church if it served his purposes."
The room is completely silent now. Even the waitstaff have stopped moving.
"Mikhail Volkov manipulated all of you," I say, turning to address the wider room. "He orchestrated a massacre to destabilize the Bratva, to turn you against each other so he could seize power. He didn't care how many of your soldiers died, how many families were destroyed. He only cared about revenge and control."
I see some heads nodding, particularly among the younger generation. They remember the chaos of those weeks, the fear and uncertainty.
"And now Ivan wants to continue that legacy," I say, turning back to face him. "More violence. More bloodshed. More cycles of revenge that never end. He's threatened me, threatened my unborn child, threatened my sister. And for what? Because I dared to speak at a meeting? Because I suggested there might be a better way?"
Ivan's face has gone red, his jaw clenched. "You know nothing about our world, little girl. You've been part of it for mere months. I've given my entire life to the Bratva."
"Then you should want better for it," I shoot back. "You should want it to survive and thrive, not tear itself apart from the inside."
I take a breath, feeling the weight of every eye in the room on me. This is my moment. My chance to change something, to make all the pain and fear mean something.
"I didn't choose this life," I say, my voice softer now but no less intense. "I was forced into it. But I've learned things. I've seen the strength of the Bratva, the loyalty, the bonds between families. I've also seen the cruelty, the waste, the way the old ways destroy the very things they're supposed to protect."
I place a hand on my stomach, where our baby grows. "I'm carrying Dimitri's child. In a few months, I'll bring a new life into this world. And I have to ask myself, what kind of world do I want for my son or daughter? One where they're just another pawn to be sacrificed for power? Where their value is measured only in what alliances they can forge through forced marriages? Where they live in constant fear of the next betrayal, the next war?"
I see some of the women in the room nodding now. The wives and daughters who've lived under these rules their entire lives.
"Or do I want something better?" I continue. "A Bratva that's still strong, still powerful, but also smart enough to evolve. One that protects its families instead of consuming them. One that builds wealth and influence through strategy and business, not just through violence and fear."
"Naive," Ivan spits. "You're naive and weak, and you're making Dimitri weak."
"No," Dimitri's voice cuts through the room like a blade. He steps up beside me, his hand finding the small of my back again. "She's making me stronger. She's making all of us stronger, if you're wise enough to see it."
