"Kneel!" I command, and a sudden gust of freezing air—unnatural, violent—pins him down like an invisible hand. The lights flicker wildly, and I do not give a damn about what is happening. I will kill this bastard.
The room goes dead silent except for Klaus's gasping, whimpering sounds as he kneels in front of me, blood pouring from his knee. Every gun is pointed now—half at me, half staying neutral, a few lowering slowly as their owners realize what just happened.
One of the old guard—a man who has served Klaus for decades—opens his mouth. "He was the Pakhan—"
"He broke the code!" Viktor cuts him off, stepping forward, and the old man falls silent.
I speak loud enough for everyone to hear, switching between Russian and English so no one misses a word. "This man—my father—just ordered one of you to violate my bride at our engagement celebration. He threatened the woman I love. He dishonoured this family. He dishonoured all of you by asking you to break the most sacred code we have. He tried to take what is mine!" The last word rips through my throat like something feral escaping. "Mine!"
Some of the guns lower further. I see Viktor watching, calculating, his weapon still pointed at the floor.
"He is weak," I continue, my voice carrying across the silent hall. "Sick. Paranoid. He sees loyalty as a threat instead of strength. He would rather destroy his own son than let the Bratva grow stronger. I have bled for this family. Killed for this family. Built this empire while he wasted away in his sickness. And tonight, he proves he is no longer fit to lead."
Konstantin staggers to his feet, blood running down his face from where he was hit. He spits blood on the floor and speaks in Russian, then English. "Klaus Muller broke the code. He ordered violation of the heir's bride. This is not leadership—this is madness."
Then Viktor steps forward. Viktor, who has served Klaus for twenty years, who I was not sure would ever turn. He holsters his gun deliberately and drops to one knee in front of me. "I have served Klaus Muller faithfully for twenty years," he says, his voice hard and clear. "But this… this I cannot follow. Drogo has earned his place. Klaus has lost his mind." He looks up at me. "You are Pakhan now. I follow you."
The shift is immediate and devastating. When Viktor kneels, others follow like dominoes falling. Guns lower. Men step away from Klaus and move toward me. The old guard crumbles because their leader just switched sides, and the roar builds—voices rising, approval spreading like wildfire.
Dmitri raises his voice above the noise. "All who stand with Drogo as Pakhan—stand!"
Seventy percent of the room stands immediately. Konstantin, still bleeding. Dmitri. Marcus. The younger men. Then Viktor rises from his knee. Then more of the old guard, following Viktor 's lead, the roar building to something that shakes the chandeliers. Five, maybe six men stay seated—Klaus's most loyal, his inner circle, the ones who will die before they bend.
Klaus is still on the floor, gripping his ruined knee, blood everywhere. He tries to speak. "You… you cannot… I built—"
I crouch down so we are eye level. "You had your time. You built this empire, and I respect that. But you chose paranoia over legacy. You chose to threaten my wife over trusting your son. You broke the code." I stand, raising my gun. "And now you pay the price."
I shoot him between the eyes. The bullet punches his forehead with a wet crack. The back of his skull explodes in red mist and fragments of bone. His eyes roll empty and he slumps backward, twitching once before going completely still.
No one moves to stop me. No one protests. Because it was a righteous kill. Because he broke the code first. Because the room already chose me.
Konstantin approaches, and I see he is carrying something—a bottle of vodka and a knife. Not just any knife. The old ritual blade, the same one that has crowned every Pakhan since the gulags, its handle worn smooth by decades of blood oaths. He sets both on the table in front of me, his face bloodied but his voice strong.
"Drogo. Son of Klaus. Heir made Pakhan." He gestures to the knife and vodka. "Take the oath. The Bratva recognizes you."
I pick up the knife—heavy, cold, ancient—and slice a shallow cut across my palm. Blood wells up immediately, and I let it drip onto the marble floor where Klaus's body lies. Then I pour vodka over the wound, the alcohol burning, and raise the glass.
Everyone who stood raises their glass. "Za Pakhan!" The sound echoes through the hall—a roar of approval, of loyalty, of power shifting hands and sealing in blood and alcohol.
I turn to the five men still seated. "You have a choice," I say quietly. "Pledge loyalty or leave. Now. It is a mercy I will give only tonight." I glance at Alena, still behind me, still shaking, still covered in another man's blood. "For her. You do not die tonight because of her. Remember that. Tomorrow is a different story."
Three of them stand immediately, raising their glasses. "Za Pakhan." Two remain seated, defiant, screaming "Traitor!" as Dmitri and two others drag them toward the doors. One resists—Dmitri snaps his arm with a brutal crack that echoes through the hall—and they are thrown out into the night, alive but banished.
Then I turn to Alena, still standing behind me, her eyes wide and terrified and shocked and somehow still trusting. I pull her into my arms harder than I intended and she lands with a gasp against my chest. I grab her throat—not gently, possessively—and bring her face up to mine. I kiss her hard in front of everyone, my tongue demanding entrance, tasting her fear and relief and the copper tang of blood still on her skin. She moans softly against my mouth, and I feel her body respond even now, even here, getting wet for me despite the chaos.
When I release her, I speak loud enough for the room to hear. "You are mine. Always. No one touches you. No one threatens you. And anyone who tries answers to the Pakhan."
The room erupts again. "Za Pakhan! Za Pakhan!"
I lean down to whisper in her ear, so only she can hear. "Later, I will take you on his desk. Right where he died. I willmake you scream my name and my title until you forget there was ever anyone else who tried to claim you."
She shivers against me, and I know it is not from fear.
I am the Pakhan now. The head of the Bratva. The most powerful man in the organization my father built. And I did it to save her. For her. Because of her.
My oxygen. My salvation. My everything.
I am sorry she had to see how I did it all—the violence, the blood, the monster I have become. I hope deep down she will keep a memory of mine from when I smiled at her on that rooftop when we were nineteen. Please, Alena, please keep one memory of me as I was.
