Part I
Chapter 1
Vadim
The thaw was the signal. Every year, when the ice fractured on the Chernograd river and the first grey water broke through to run dark and cold toward the White Sea, the city exhaled. The port woke. The harbour master filed his reports exactly as instructed, the same as he had done for fifteen years, and the merchandise began to move.
Nothing moved in this city without my men knowing about it. Nothing reached the sea without my permission. Not the police—who weren’t paid enough to notice—and not those filthy Chechens who imagined the northern routes belonged to anyone but the Dragunovs.
They didn’t.
When my father first brought us north, we inherited a city half-tamed. We finished the work. Now the gold domes of the cathedral caught the afternoon light outside my window, and the streets beneath them ran on a current only we controlled. Order. Structure. The performance of civilisation over the machinery of empire. From my river to the sea, I owned the route.
I turned to face the men.
Ruslan would make an excellentsovietnik. Ilya would need to go. The new guard was moving in and there was very little the old man could do about it. My father was pakhan no more.
“I appreciate everything you have done for the brotherhood, Ilya, and you will have a share in theobshchak,” I said, watching his lips tighten.
Had he expected me to keep him on? He had a close relationship with my father. What good would that do for me when his loyalty still lived elsewhere?
“Or you can walk away with nothing,” I continued.
Bogdan shifted behind me and I raised my hand. I didn’t need to turn to know he’d drawn his weapon.
Ilya dipped his head.
“My apologies…Pakhan. I understand,” he said, the address costing him something.
“You all had your time. My father is no doubt looking forward to his retirement. I suggest you do the same,” I said, knowing full well that my father would do nothing but spy on me for the next few years.
“Bogdan, see him out. Valentin will be in touch about your compensation,” I said, as Ilya moved his fat arse out of my chair.
My lip curled.
He had wanted to remain as my advisor.
Never.
The gun was tucked away as Bogdan walked him out.
“Well, that went as well as it could have,” Ruslan mused.
“It’s cleaner to line them all up and shoot them. Put them out of their misery,” I muttered.
“Your father didn’t hand you the keys to the kingdom without a price,” Ruslan said with a shrug.
I grunted.
“She could be a looker.”
“Blyad,” I hissed.“I don’t give a damn. The restructure takes precedence.”
“Keeping oneavtorityetwas a good idea.”
“Grigori is a good man. He lives by the vor,” I said, rubbing my jaw.
The vor code was the only thing standing between us and chaos. Without rules, we were all animals. The brotherhood before all else. A pity the old guard had forgotten that.
