“Yes. Now, listen carefully while I tell you a story. You’ve heard of the Kozenki Bratva, of course. Many years ago, there were three brothers living in what is now Finland, which at the time was the Grand Duchy of Finland, an autonomous state within the Russian Empire. Each dreamed of more than the hand they had been dealt, one in which they didn’t have to struggle day-to-day for food, clothing, and shelter. Life became even harder when they lost both their parents during a long, cold winter. They heard tales from travellersof opportunities to become wealthy farther south, and so the three of them decided to leave everything they knew behind for a chance at a better life.
“Tragedy struck the brothers during their journey. Bandits attacked their party, and the middle brother perished in the fight. The two remaining brothers vowed to honour his memory, to become stronger and more powerful than anyone who would oppose them, so that they would always be protected from the tragedy that had befallen their other brother.”
Volkov paused, his head lifting. He raised two fingers, and the same woman appeared in front of us with two more shot glasses. He knocked his back and then resumed his original position, waiting for me to drink my own. When I had, he cleared his throat, his hands flexing on his thighs, before he continued.
“The two remaining brothers parted ways, deciding they’d have more of a chance at success separately rather than together. Splitting their odds in order to make the best of their chances, according to the stories I have been told. The older brother remained in what is now modern-day Russia, and the younger one settled in what is now the country of Belarus. The younger brother was my great-great-great-grandfather.
“He worked for everything we take for granted, building connections tirelessly throughout Belarus, then into Poland, and farther west until we ended up with the things you see here today.” Volkov swept out his hand, encompassing the general space around us.
I cleared my throat, unsure of how to respond, or if I was even supposed to, but Volkov wasn’t finished.
“Thanks to him, we have money. We have power. Wehave heritage. The Kozenki Bratva has an extensive network of connections throughout Europe, cultivated through years and years of labour. My immediate family runs the Volkov Syndicate here in the UK. I was born here. This is my home. My father and uncle rule this area, and I will follow in their footsteps when the time is right. We have people everywhere. We have more power than you can imagine. And this is just one small taste.”
As if Volkov had choreographed it, Igor sent a brutal punch flying at his opponent. Even from my elevated position, far above the cage, I heard the crunch as his nose broke, blood spraying from his face. He fell to the floor, his body bouncing on impact, knocked out cold.
Suddenly, it all hit me, a savage, icy chill racing up my spine. Volkov had brought me here to this building for a very specific reason. He’d surrounded me with his people and shown me this fight. He knew I was good when I fought in the yard. Buthis family was better. His family could crush mine underfoot without a second thought if I dared to cross him. How could I hope to compete with the might of the Volkovs?
“I get it,” I muttered.
“Good.” He climbed to his feet. “Then we are finished here. Let’s get down to business.”
We ended up in a small, dimly lit study inside the mansion, where a laptop was open on a large mahogany desk, polished to a mirror shine. Volkov tapped in a password, and the screen came to life. He angled the laptop so I could see it too, opening up a basic, stripped-back web browser Ididn’t recognise. A chat box appeared with a blinking cursor, and he typed out a message.
USER95347:Ready
There was a pause where we both sat in an uncomfortable silence, and then words appeared on the screen.
XENON:Here. I’m going to try an MFA attack first. If I get in I’ll make a copy of all records and add to a secure server for you to go through at your leisure. If not I have plenty of other tricks up my sleeve
USER95347:Appreciate it
XENON:Hold on. This might take a while
“Who’s Xenon?” I asked after twenty minutes spent in tense silence, both of us scrolling through our phones so we could ignore the fact that we were forced to be in the same room together until this thing was sorted.
Volkov shrugged. “It could be anyone. Knowledge is power, and people like this—people who have certain skills that you and I will never have—will never reveal their true identity. All you need to know is I have trustworthy connections who have their own connections, and I utilised them for you.”
I glanced over at him, taking in the hard set of his jaw. “Yeah, and you also said I owed you one.”
“Yes. I will call in the favour when the time is right.”
“Can’t wait.”
He smirked, but I was thankfully saved from a reply by the message from Xenon that had appeared on the screen.
XENON:I’m in. Pulled up the records for the clinic. Ready to copy the data now
After another interminable wait, another message flashed up.
XENON:Done. Uploading to secure server now. Will send link when done. Use encryption key to access
USER95347:Thank you
Volkov exited the chat and the browser. He slid his phone across the table to me. “I need your number so I can send you the link.”
I nodded, inputting my details into his contacts. How were we at the point where Volkov had my fucking phone number?
When I handed the phone back to him, he passed me a small, black oblong with a USB-C connection at one end. “This is the encryption key. Use it to access the files through the link I will send you.”
