Page 32 of Forced By the Bratva

What game were we playing?

And how long were we going to keep this up before it blew up in our faces?

Chapter 12 – Ilya

The smell of whiskey and old tobacco filled the dimly lit room as powerful and influential Bratva men sat around the table that dominated the center of the space.

This meeting wasn’t called to settle a dispute or to plan for the future of our organization. No. It was called to discuss one woman. Iris. Obviously, the fact that she still lived and breathed was a problem that needed fixing.

Ivan sat with a cigarette between two fingers, smoke curling up toward the low light above the table.

The windows stayed shut despite the smoke building in layers near the ceiling. Heavy curtains. Dim lamps instead of overhead light, casting long shadows across the faces around the table.

A half-empty bottle of whisky sat near my elbow, untouched since the meeting began. Boris sat to my left. Yuri, my second most trusted man, sat to my right, both listening in silence.

“This organization runs on a set of rules,” Markov said, the streak of gray in his hair catching the low light. “Rules your brother has clearly refused to follow.” His gaze fell on Ivan.

“Why is the girl still alive?” Yevgeni questioned me. “You know what she did, and you know the consequences for that. Why the hesitation?”

I held his gaze for a moment, seething in silence. Yevgeni was one of the oldest men in our organization; in fact, this was a council of the Bratva captains. Elders. So, out of respect for them, I’d have to mince my words.

“Ilya, you’ve always played by the book and never defaulted,” Grigori said, calmer and more open-minded. “I trust your judgment. But that girl has a lot of information that could do serious damage in the wrong hands.”

He’d always been the most understanding of all of them.

“I understand your concern, Grigori,” I finally said, eyes fixed on him. “But I assure you, she’s not a threat.”

“She might not be a threat, as you claim,” Yevgeni chipped in. “But what she knows, what she has on us, is too risky. What if she tells someone?”

“She won’t.” I didn’t look at him.

“How can you be so sure?” Markov asked.

“Because she’s contained.”

“For how long?” Markov’s voice rose a little higher. “How long do you plan to keep her ‘contained,’ Ilya?”

My fingers curled into fists at his tone.

“How can you be so selfish?” he barked, eyes blazing with rage.

“Markov, that’s enough,” Ivan cautioned him.

He continued regardless, “You’re risking everything we’ve built over the years for what, some cheap whore you barely know?!”

The insult landed like a dagger in my chest, making my face contort with pure rage. “Say that again, Markov. I dare you,” I growled, leaning forward and glaring at him.

“Is that a threat, boy?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” I held his gaze. “Say it again.” My fists tightened.

In my head, I’d already cooked up multiple ways to send him to hell the second he opened his mouth to repeat himself.

Tension hung in the air, and all eyes were on us, but I couldn’t care less. If he dared insult her again, there was no guarantee he’d make it out of here alive.

“Enough,” Ivan’s voice sliced through the silence. “Both of you.”

Markov clenched his jaw. “Put a leash on your brother, Ivan. I will not have him disrespect me again.”