CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: VLADIMIR
Alexandr’s office smells like leather, old cigars, and power that has soaked into the walls over decades. He gestures me inside with a curt nod, already seated behind his massive desk. Dominic stays in the hallway without being told, phone pressed to his ear as the door shuts behind me with a quiet finality.
I take two steps in before I notice Igor standing near the window, hands clasped behind his back like a loyal statue. For a brief second, my body registers him as a threat—old habits die hard—but then my focus shifts back to Alexandr. Igor fades into the background, for now.
“Sit,” Alexandr says.
I do, folding my hands loosely, posture relaxed but alert. He studies me the way men like him always do, as if weighing the cost of every word before speaking it.
“Tell me what you know about the murders,” he says.
Straight to the point. I respect that.
“Somebody killed them in Pavel’s nightclub,” I reply evenly. “After closing. Three shots, three men. Clean. Professional.”
Alexandr’s jaw tightens. “No witnesses?”
“None that I know of,” I say. “Police believe the shooter hid inside before the club closed.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, fingers tapping once against the desk. “I believe Alexi’s disappearance and these deaths are connected.”
Internally, I agree. Outwardly, I say nothing.
Alexandr leans back, steepling his fingers. “Someone is cutting out the second generation. My son. Pavel’s son. Artem’s son. Oleg’s son. It’s an attack on the future of the Bratva.”
It’s an interesting theory. Emotional. Protective. And wrong.
“I see it differently,” I say carefully. “If someone wanted to destroy the Bratva, they would hit the fathers. Create chaos. Decapitate the organization.”
“And you think this is not destruction?” he asks sharply.
“I think it’s consolidation,” I answer. “Eliminate the competition before stepping into power.”
Alexandr watches me closely, measuring the idea. He doesn’t dismiss it. That alone tells me he’s already considered it.
My thoughts drift, unbidden, to Anya. To the way she tries to hide her fear behind defiance. To how exposed she truly is in all of this. I feel a tightness in my chest that has nothing to do with strategy.
“Anya could be the target,” I say instead.
Alexandr’s eyes harden. “I’ll protect my daughter.”
“Protected doesn’t mean untouchable,” I reply. “Who knew about the plan to replace Alexi?”
He hesitates just long enough to matter. “The three men who are now dead,” he says finally. “And their fathers.”
“That’s a very small circle,” I say. “Too small.”
“You think someone else knew,” Alexandr says.
“I think someone always knows,” I reply. “Secrets like that don’t stay contained.”
Silence settles between us, heavy and loaded.
“I can help guard Anya,” I say. “Discreetly. Personally.”
Before Alexandr can respond, Igor finally decides to remind us he exists.
“We can handle Anya’s security,” Igor says, voice smooth, confident. “She is family.”
