"We end the forced marriages," I say, my voice steady. "We stop treating women as property to be traded for alliances. We give families the choice to arrange marriages if they want, but no one is forced."
The room erupts. Half the bosses are shouting, some in agreement, others in outrage. Ivan Volkov is on his feet, his face red with anger.
"This is exactly what I'm talking about!" he roars. "You've let your wife corrupt you, Morozov. You've gone soft."
I feel Alina tense beside me, but I keep my expression neutral. "I've gone smart. How many of you have daughters? Sisters? How many of you want them sold off to men they don't know, trapped in marriages they don't want?"
"That's how it's always been done," says Boris Petrov, one of Ivan's allies. "Tradition matters."
"Tradition can also get us killed." I lean forward. "Viktor Popov sold his daughter to my nephew, knowing Sergei would die at the wedding. He was willing to sacrifice his own child for power. Is that the tradition you want to preserve?"
The room goes quiet. They all know what happened at the church. They all lost people that day.
Alina's hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently. I glance at her, and she gives me a slight nod. She wants to speak.
I should stop her. Should protect her from the vitriol that's about to come. But I remember what she said in the car. She's my partner. And partners trust each other.
"My wife has something to say," I announce, and the room erupts again.
"This is outrageous!" Ivan Volkov slams his hand on the table. "Women don't speak at these meetings!"
"This woman does." I keep my voice level, dangerous. "Anyone who has a problem with that can leave now."
No one moves. They're too curious, or too smart, to challenge me directly.
Alina stands, and I see her hands trembling slightly as she grips the edge of the table. But her voice is steady when she speaks.
"My name is Alina Morozova. Some of you knew me as Alina Popov." She pauses, letting that sink in. "I was supposed to marry Sergei Morozov in a wedding that was really a massacre. I watched my fiancé die. I was kidnapped by my own father and handed over to the Kozlovs. I killed Viktor Popov because he murdered innocent people and tried to kill my sister."
The room is absolutely silent now. Every eye is on her.
"I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me," she continues. "I'm asking you to think about your own families. Your daughters, your sisters, your wives. Do you want them to live in fear? To be traded like cattle? Or do you want them to have choices?"
"This is weakness," Ivan Volkov says again, but his voice lacks conviction.
"No." Alina's voice strengthens. "This is evolution. The world is changing. Law enforcement is getting smarter. The old ways make us vulnerable. But if we adapt, if we become more than just criminals, we can build something that lasts."
I watch the faces around the table. Some of the older bosses look scandalized, but I see Yuri Kuznetsov nodding. Anatoly Romanov is stroking his beard thoughtfully. Even some of Ivan's allies look uncertain.
"I'm carrying Dimitri's child," Alina says, and I feel my chest tighten with pride and fear. "I want my son or daughter to grow up in a world where they have choices. Where they're valued for who they are, not just what they can offer in an alliance. Don't you want that for your children?"
She sits down, and I take her hand openly this time. Let them see. Let them understand that this is what strength looks like.
"I'm calling for a vote," I say. "Those in favor of the new structure, the council system, and ending forced marriages, raise your hands."
Yuri Kuznetsov's hand goes up immediately. Then Anatoly Romanov's. Slowly, others follow. I count them. Eight hands raised. Not enough for a clear mandate, but more than I expected.
"Those opposed?"
Ivan Volkov's hand shoots up, followed by Boris Petrov and three others. Five against.
That leaves four families abstaining. Neutral. Waiting to see which way the wind blows.
"The motion passes," I announce. "We'll draft the new structure and present it at the next meeting. Those who want to participate are welcome. Those who don't can maintain their current operations, but they won't have a voice in council decisions."
Ivan Volkov stands slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. His face is twisted with rage and something else. Disgust.
"This is not the Bratva I know," he says, his voice cold. "This is not the organization my cousin built. Mikhail was right about you, Morozov. You've gone soft. You've let a woman corrupt you, and now you're trying to corrupt all of us."
