"Your father earned our respect," he sputters.
"And Matvei hasn't?" One of the youngerpakhanstands and plants both hands on the tabletop. He looks to the walking corpse, his eyes lit with anger. "I cannot fathom that you believed that asshole enough to have convened a tribunal. Weall know this is ridiculous, a farce. It's nothing more than a show because you’re betting on a horse that has promised you everything and will give you nothing. Have you forgotten Samson has always been a part of the Italian mob? You do realize he's just married into the Mancini family, right? And he's made no secret of the fact that not only does he want to take his mother's family back to their golden years on our backs, but he also wants to destroy Matvei."
"What would you know about any of this?" Grigoriy hisses.
Arms crossed over his chest, the youngerpakhanglares across the table. "Enough not to fall for Samson's bullshit and some random whispers."
"They're not random," another voice speaks up. "They're very specific."
"Oh, yes, that makes it all better," says another of my staunch allies, this one older and with more clout. "And that doesn't make you suspicious? We all have legitimate businesses in one way or another."
The youngpakhanpushes to his feet to back up the older man. "Perhaps you're getting senile, Grigoriy, and it's time for you to step down."
His comment fires up the table, and for a moment, shouts and threats get tossed around the room.
"Enough!" My order cuts through the commotion, and the men fall silent.
I take in each face around the table. Evgeny looms behind me, the brawn to my might, the threat to my words. His presence is a silent warning to anyone considering open defiance, and I knoweven those who appear steadfast may be weighing their options. Trust runs thin in this room, and every word spoken feels like a test of loyalty. Many of these men wish to take my place, to make my power and fortune their own. I keep my posture relaxed, but my mind races through possible alliances and betrayals, knowing that tonight could tip the balance of command.
"It seems as though there are some of you who think I should be removed from my position. Should we take a vote?"
"Are you ready to lose your place tonight?" Vasiliy speaks up, the scar above his eyebrow twisting with his glare.
"I suppose that's one option. Is that your vote, Vasiliy?"
His dark eyes narrow into a hostile glare as he grunts out, "yes," but he looks away, unable to hold my gaze.
There are, as I expected, several more "yesses" around the table. But there are also several "no’s" from my supporters.
When Evgeny and I are in the car, I let out a string of curses. "That was far too close for comfort."
"Vasiliy has always coveted what you have, and Grigoriy hated your father and the fact that he had to bow to him." Evgeny slows the car to a stop at a red light, the windshield wipers swabbing away the rain that started while we were inside. "And Denis is just a weasel."
"Grigoriy looks more and more like a corpse every year. When the hell is he actually going to die?" I take a deep breath in an attempt to tamp down my simmering anger.
"Most of the syndicates still support you." The light turns green, the color reflecting off the wet concrete, ice forming on the puddles as the temperature drops.
"Fewer than before," I reply. "The sharks are beginning to circle; they smell blood in the water."
"There's no blood in the water. Samson's just poured a bunch of chum in to stir things up like he always does. Nothing will come of it."
Evgeny is usually right, though this time, I'm not so sure. Severalpakhandislike me so much that they're willing to ally themselves with the known Italian mafia dons.
Never mind the attack on my warehouse and the slowly healing bullet hole in my shoulder, which is currently aching due to the damp cold. Just like all my other wounds and breaks, it’s a reminder of the life I've led and the dangers I face every day I'm alive.
The dangers I don't want my child or Sonya to have to deal with.
"Whether or not we think Samson can succeed, we need to shut him down. Quickly."
My thoughts once again turn to Sonya and the baby we have yet to meet.
I have to keep them safe, no matter what it takes—there is no other option. Even if it means I have to restrict her movements even more. Even if I have to pull away from her so nothing will cloud my head and judgment.
She won’t like it, but in the end, it might just save her life.
20
SONYA
