No one speaks.
No one even looks at Demyan anymore. That tells me everything I need. I lower the gun from his throat, then drag the barrel down his chest before stepping back.
“She is not under debate,” I say.
I look at all of them now, one by one.
“My judgment isnotunder debate.” I pause. “If you have a concern, you bring it to me like men. You don’t pass her name from mouth to mouth like street rot.”
One of the soldiers drops his eyes. Another gives a single, clipped nod.
“Her blood was Kaya’s leverage. Not yours. He tried to use it. He failed.” My mouth hardens. “The woman under my roof is under myprotection, under my mark, and undermyname in every way that matters.”
Demyan swallows blood.
I don’t look at him when I say the next part.
“If anyone in this room mistakes that for an opening, I will bury what’s left of you where your mothers won’t find the bones.”
That lands.
Pietro is first. “As you say, Pakhan.”
Then the others. One by one.
“Yes, Pakhan.”
“Understood.”
“As you say.”
By the end of it, the hierarchy has sealed itself back into place. I tuck the gun into my waistband.
Demyan is still breathing hard, blood smeared over his chin, pride leaking out with it.
Let him keep that bruise. Let him wake up with it tomorrow and remember exactly how close he came to losing more than teeth.
I turn to leave.
Behind me, his voice comes out wrecked. “Pakhan.”
I stop.
“Is she loyal to us?”
I look back over my shoulder.
“To me,” I say. “That will be enough.”
I walk out. The cold hits my face clean and sharp, I pull out my phone and call.
She answers on the third ring, suspicious and small. “Hello?”
My chest loosens. “You eat?”
A pause.
Then, sullen, “Katya tried to force me, but I’m not doing it.”
