“Let’s have it,” I answered, making him chuckle.
Chapter Twenty
Damian’s POV
The news feeds painted the city in chaos before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. I stood in the war room of the Westchester estate—a converted library that had become our command center—watching monitors display real-time updates from every major news outlet, federal law enforcement channel, and Bratva surveillance network we maintained.
Elena’s gambit had worked with devastating efficiency.
The files she’d released had detonated across the political landscape like a daisy chain of explosives, each revelation triggering the next. Senators were resigning. Bank accounts were frozen. Federal warrants were being drafted in unprecedented numbers. The infrastructure Sergei had spent decades building was collapsing in real-time, and the old bastard knew it.
His phone call had made that brutally clear.
“Status,” I said without turning from the screens.
Eduard moved to my right, his presence solid and reassuring. “Boss, every elder family is being summoned. Sergei’s demanding Elena be turned over for ‘proper Bratva justice.’”
Being the next in line after Yuri, he might as well become my right-hand man after all the chaos.
“He’s trying to force the families to choose sides,” Roman observed from his position at the tactical display. “Make this about tradition versus treason instead of corruption versus reform.”
“It won’t work.” Konstantin’s voice carried absolute certainty. “Half the elders are already implicated in Elena’s leaks. They’re not going to rally around the man who’s about to drag them down with him.”
“The other half might,” Mikhail countered. “Fear is a powerful motivator. Sergei’s threatening to expose everyone if the Bratva doesn’t fall in line. Some elders will side with him just to avoid being the next target.”
I turned from the screens to face my brothers. “Then we force polarization. No middle ground. No fence-sitting. Every family has to declare: old regime or new order. Sergei’s way or ours.”
“That’s a civil war,” Alexei said quietly.
“We’re already in one.” I pulled up a map of Bratva holdings across the tristate area. “Sergei made his declaration. He’s coming for blood, not money. We can either wait for him to consolidate support among the traditionalists, or we can move first and cut off that option.”
Viktor studied the map with the strategic mind that had kept the Lobanovs dominant for a generation. “You want to seize his assets before the feds do.”
“I want to eliminate his operational capacity before he can deploy it against us.” I highlighted targets in rapid succession—safehouses, weapon caches, communication hubs. “We hit everything simultaneously. Legal fronts, physical locations, political connections. Use Elena’s framework as the blueprint. Every shell company she exposed, we raid. Every account she flagged, we freeze. Every ally she named, we pressure.”
“The timing has to be perfect,” Roman said, already running calculations. “If we move too soon, we look like we’re attacking a wounded elder without provocation. Too late, and he marshals his forces.”
“We move tonight.” I met each brother’s gaze in turn. “Before the council meeting tomorrow. Before Sergei can frame this as a Lobanov aggression. We present the council with a fait accompli: Sergei’s infrastructure is already gone, his war chest isempty, and the only question remaining is whether they want to go down with him.”
The silence that followed was heavy with implication.
“You’re asking us to execute a coordinated strike against a dozen fortified positions in less than twelve hours,” Konstantin said, but he was already working out logistics. “With federal eyes on every major Bratva movement.”
“I’m asking you to do what we do best.” I gestured to the tactical display before turning to Viktor. “Brother, you take the financial centers. Roman, the legal offices. Konstantin, the physical strongholds. Mikhail, political containment. Alexei, communications blackout. I’ll handle Sergei’s private guard and his fallback positions in the Catskills.”
“And Elena?” Viktor’s question carried weight beyond mere tactical concern. To him, she had become a family member the moment she agreed to the marriage plan.
“Elena stays here. Maximum security. With Emilia, Isabella, Liza, Alina, and Mila.” I looked at Viktor steadily. “If this goes wrong, if Sergei somehow breaks through, they’re the last line.”
“It won’t come to that,” Isabella said from the doorway. I hadn’t heard her enter, which meant she’d been listening for a while. “But we’ll be ready regardless.”
The other women filed in behind her—Liza with her dancer’s grace hiding tactical expertise, Alina radiating the quiet competence that came from surviving her own war, Mila carrying herself with the confidence of someone who’d already proven her worth. Together, they represented not just the wives of the Lobanov brothers but a formidable force in their own right.
“The estate is already fortified,” Liza reported. “We’ve tripled guard rotations and established fallback positions in theeast wing. If Sergei’s forces breach the perimeter, we can hold indefinitely.”
“He won’t breach,” I said with more certainty than I felt. “He’s fighting a war on too many fronts. Federal investigation, political exposure, financial collapse, and now internal Bratva fracture. He doesn’t have the resources for a sustained assault.”
“Desperate men don’t calculate resources,” Alina observed. “They calculate revenge.”
