Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I wait. The quiet is oppressive. I had assumed at least one or two voices might raise, but no mouths open. I’m met with hard stares instead.
This is the customary way it’s done. Men take power—they aren’t voted into it. A challenge can be raised, but only by a general in good standing.
Otherwise, my father’s wishes will be upheld.
Taras will become the new Pakhan.
“Very good then,” I say softly, letting the gravity of the moment settle. I glance at Viktor. He’s grinning widely. It seems all our hard work paid off.
“Za Pakhanna!” my cousin shouts, raising a glass.
A chorus comes up as the men drink. Za Pakhanna, za Pakhanna, za Pakhanna! Laughter returns as the men begin puffing and drinking again, and I go around the room shaking hands. Even my former enemies have the good grace to congratulate me.
They all know this was my doing.
I could’ve let Taras rot. Nobody would’ve blamed me if I decided to find a way to step into the power vacuum like Seamus suggested in the hallway.
But even though Taras and I were never close, he’s still family.
I learned the hard way that family is more important than anything else.
I worked my ass off to help Taras recover as quickly as he could. I played the politics game behind the scenes. I threatened, bought, and did what I could.
All for this night.
I drink a couple of shots along with the men before they filter out of the room, leaving a mess behind.
“Well done, Matushka,” Viktor says once everyone else is gone. “You belong in the tent as well tonight.”
“But that’s not how it works. My part’s over now. I won, and that’s good enough for me.”
Viktor nods once, grinning slightly. “But now if there’s ever a problem, I know who I should go to.”
I groan and try to tell him to throw that thought in the trash, but he’s already walking off.
Seamus appears once he’s gone. He sits in a chair and pulls me down into his lap. The Russian men look at me like a big, strong woman, or maybe a little mother like Viktor just called me, but Seamus sees who I really am.
Just Alina. Organized, scheduled, and deeply in love, Alina.
I kiss my husband as his fingers press into my legs. “Based on the number of drunk Russian men storming out to where Taras is waiting, I take it that went well.”
“Better than expected, if I’m honest.”
“Congratulations then.”
“I’m just happy it’s over.”
“Really? You were so good at it.”
“I’ll leave the crime world to you.” I kiss him deeply and lean my forehead against his. “We have a family to build, right?”
“I take it that’s an invitation to have even more sex than we already do.”
“I’m not sure I could physically stand more.”
“Oh, trust me. You’d be surprised.” He kisses me again, deep and hard.
And if I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I’d be surprised at all.
Chapter 41
Seamus
Six Months Later
My fists crack through teeth. Blood sputters from the groaning punk’s face, and he slumps to the side. If he weren’t tied to the chair, he’d probably collapse to the floor.
A single light shines in his face.
“Now that we’ve had a spirited discussion, I have one question for you.” I step back, flicking my wrist to toss some blood off my fingers. “Are you going to keep pushing onto the Morozov territory, or are you going to be smart?”
“Smart,” he moans and spits more blood. “Please, I’ll be smart.”
“And your friends?”
“Smart. Smart!”
“None of them want to die?”
“No, please.”
“Good man.” I give him a light pat on the forehead like he’s a dog. He whimpers, sobbing softly, as I turn away. Another job done. I shoot a text to Taras to let him know that his corners won’t be bothered anymore.
I appreciate the help, brother, he sends back.
Fucker better.
Finn’s waiting in the hall. “How’d that go?”
“Another young idiot. I swear, a new one’s born every day.”
“What’d he do, anyway?”
“He and some of his friends were selling cheap dope on Morozov turf.”
“Not even our problem?”
“You know how Taras can be.” I walk back through the house. More Whelan men are lurking around. Soldiers I’ve known for a long time. They nod to me respectfully as I pass. “That idiot lives in one of our neighborhoods, so he asked me to handle it.”
“Ah, I understand.” Finn gives me a sideways glance. “That’s why he’s not dead.”
“Exactly. The Russians would’ve strung him up in public and made an example. But I think beating some fear into him and setting him loose to tell all his friends how scary and dangerous we are is a more effective solution.”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
“If that fucking moron decides to go back to selling, I won’t be nice to him next time.”
We reach the front stoop. It’s a beautiful day in Brooklyn. A young mother walks past with a stroller, totally unaware of what’s going on in the nondescript row home behind me. I wonder what it’s like living in a world where there isn’t death and pain lurking behind every doorway.