When I pull back, she blinks.
“It won’t go wrong,” I tell her.
I take her hand and we walk into the building together.
CHAPTER 25
GABRIEL
No weapons past the door. House rule. Non-negotiable.
We approach the security team standing outside the doors—six men, former Mossad, paid for by each Bratva equally to ensure that they have no allegiance other than to the security of each attendant of the meeting. They run military-grade scanners over every person who enters.
Last year, they found a ceramic blade tucked into Alexei Volkov’s boot and confiscated it without a word. A punishment was doled out behind the scenes after the meeting.
I’m guessing he’s not armed this year.
The security staff can find anything.
Well, almost anything.
We pass the team, and just as I’d anticipated, the micro-transmitter in my cuff link goes undetected. It’s a simple device—three presses in succession will send a message to my men waiting in a van two blocks down. Just a little extra security in the event Kolya doesn’t take the news well.
We walk through the scanner clean and enter the meeting room.
The ceiling is vaulted, with dim lighting that casts amber pools over the long rectangular table. The walls are dark oak. No windows. The only door is the one we came through, guarded on both sides.
There are carafes of water and glasses set out on the table, but no alcohol, another house rule. Men make better decisions sober. Or, at least, they make decisions that they can’t later blame on vodka.
I pause in the doorway. Thea is at my side, poised and composed. She is every bit her father’s daughter.
The room immediately registers us, and so does Kolya. He rises from his seat as we enter, his eyes flashing. His first lieutenant, Sasha, is at his side. He remains seated.
“What are they doing here?” he asks, pointing an accusing finger in our direction.
I don’t speak for myself—that would break decorum. Instead, I turn my attention to Ivan Nevsky, head of the Nevsky Bratva. He nods at me before speaking.
“Gabriel asked that he be allowed to join us for part of the council. He says he has important information that we will want to hear.” He nods once more in my direction.
“I do. When you are ready, of course.”
“This is madness!” Kolya exclaims. “This is aBratvacouncil! I’ll not sit here as a Camorra speaks.”
Ivan remains calm. “It’s not unheard of to have non-Bratva members speak, if they have information pertinent to our affairs. Calm yourself, Kolya.”
Kolya’s hands clench into fists. Clearly, he’s not happy. But he doesn’t say another word as he returns to his seat, his eyes locked onto Thea.
I guide Thea to a seat, taking the one beside her. She sets the folder on the table before us. Kolya’s eyes immediately go to it. His jaw works, his gaze narrows. I can sense that he knows his future depends on whatever’s inside.
The attention of everyone at the table is on me. Whatever matters the council intended to discuss first seem to have taken a back seat.
Ivan clears his throat. “As always, I would like to thank the members of the families for attending. But before we focus on more exclusive matters, let’s hear from our esteemed guest. It’s a bit of an irregularity, but Mr. Moretti has assured me that it will be worth our attention.”
Ivan nods in my direction. I rise.
“Gentlemen.” I look around the table, meeting the eyes of everyone there. “Thank you for doing me the great honor of allowing me to speak at your council.” They’re necessary niceties, though each man to the last wears the same stony expression.
“Speaking of irregularities,” one of the men, Vlad Sharapova, says, “our guest has a guest of his own.”
