Throne of Power: Chapter 3

I push the dining room door open and go inside with my head held high just as Dedushka taught me.

It’s easy to be intimidated by the leaders of the elite group. Most of them, Granduncle included, have served time in jail. While that’s disgraceful in the outside world, it’s a stamp of honor for any member of the Vory.

Granduncle Sergei sits at the head of the table. He’s old, in his sixties. His once-blond hair is now completely white and washed by time. While cancer has made him look older, it didn’t take his hair away, probably because of his stubbornness about refusing to undergo chemotherapy. I try not to glare at him now that I know he’s trying to ship Anastasia off to one of these ruthless men who will eat her alive.

Vlad leaves my side and sits on Granduncle’s right, which is his position as the Sovietnik. On his left sits Adrian, the Obshchak. He holds the same level of power as Vlad, but instead of coordinating between the brigadiers and the Pakhan, Adrian holds a more critical role that entails securing the brotherhood. He knows the right people to bribe and has a line of intelligence that rivals the CIA, probably because he has big connections within the Mossad itself.

Despite being in his mid-thirties, Adrian has been around since Dedushka’s time and played his role without fail. He keeps his cards close, and he’s the most private out of the elite group. That’s why I feel like I should always be wary of him.

The fact that he showed up at this meeting means it is important. Adrian rarely attends gatherings or invites anyone to his house, but he always got a free pass from Dedushka and Granduncle because of his crucial role. In short, no one wants to get on Adrian’s bad side, because those who do? Yeah, no one knows where the heck they disappear to.

He’s silent to a fault, too, and only speaks when he absolutely has to, which is when the boss addresses him. Adrian is loyal to the Vory, but that’s the only thing he’s loyal to. He wouldn’t hesitate to crush me if we somehow ended up on different sides of a battle.

The four kings, aka the brigadiers, occupy the rest of the chairs: Damien, the old man Igor, Kirill, and the motherfucker Mikhail.

The latter glares at me and I glare back, unblinking. Despite being old himself, a bit younger than Sergei, he still stands tall and his blue eyes are piercing to a fault. I have no doubt he’s the one who suggested marrying Anastasia off, probably to one of his sons, who are more loathsome than he is.

That asshole is in charge of the most despicable part of the Vory, the one I’ve been actively trying to eradicate: the prostitution ring.

He wants me gone because I boldly suggested in front of Dedushka that the brotherhood doesn’t need the prostitution ring, that we’re wasting effort on that part when we can secure better money from V Corp.

Mikhail has wanted me dead since then. He’s the one who backed Ivan, my mom’s cousin, to become Pakhan and kill me off. If he thinks I would ever forget about that, he must not know our last name at all.

“What are you doing here?” he snarls, as expected.

I ignore him, take Granduncle’s hand, kiss his wrinkled knuckles, and lift it to my head. This is how all the members of the Vory greet their Pakhan. I might not have an official title or position, but I’m one of the pillars keeping this organization standing whether they like to admit it or not.

Behind every member of the elite stands their best boyevik, which is basically their senior soldier/bodyguard whom they trust with their lives. Usually, these leaders don’t move without a horde of soldiers, but in a meeting with the Pakhan, only one is allowed out of respect to the boss.

My senior boyevik, Ruslan, follows after me and stands behind my chair as I sit beside Damien. The latter grins down at me in that snakelike way. I smile back and don’t bother to hide that it’s fake.

He’s not only a slippery slope; he’s also reckless as hell. Damien is the type of king who orders hits on other crime families within our territories if they’ve disrespected us in any way. He says it’s to teach them to bow their heads when the brothers are around. His violent nature and unsatiated ambition have always kept him on my ‘to be wary of’ list.

Kirill clears his throat from his position opposite me. He has a physique similar to Vlad’s, bulk-wise, but he’s more calm like Adrian, probably due to the camouflage he excels at. His black-framed glasses make him appear sharp, smart, but they don’t hide the intensity of his foxlike eyes. I smirk internally. I have something on that sucker, so now he can’t open his mouth and agree with Mikhail’s statement.

“Do you have something for us, Miss Sokolov?” Igor asks in his serene, but very noticeable Russian accent. He’s also as old as Sergei but appears younger because he’s healthy and still actually works out with his soldiers. Igor’s brigade is the most closed off and family-like. They would go to war for him with their eyes blindfolded if they had to. After Dedushka’s death, he was one of those who helped me put Sergei in power, but he’s also a traditionalist and sexist like the rest of them. He’d never bow down to a woman.

“Yes, Miss Sokolov. To what do we owe this pleasure?” Damien waggles his brows at me. Although both his parents are Russian, he is American born and bred, and therefore, he speaks without an accent most of the time.

They talk in English around me because they think I’m that ‘American’ who doesn’t belong with them even though I have proven again and again that I’m as much Russian as they are.

“Yes,” I say in Russian, looking at Granduncle. “I will report V Corp’s numbers for the last trimester as well as projection for future net profit.”

“You can do that in the company.” Mikhail doesn’t hide his aggression. “You have no place among the Vory, Rayka.”

I grit my teeth at the disrespectful way he used a nickname, but I plaster a smile on instead.

Kill them with kindness, Rai. Don’t weaken Sergei.

“I beg to differ, Mikhail.” I reach into my bag and retrieve my report, then start listing the numbers. After I finish, I interlace my fingers on the table and stare at him with so much dispassion I feel my face turning stone cold. “Last I checked, your brothels don’t bring in half what I do. Last I checked, a member’s worth is measured by how much he or she brings into the organization. Maybe we should double-check who belongs in the Vory and who doesn’t.”

He stands up, his round frame nearly bouncing with the effort, and points a finger at me. “You little—”

“Sit down,” Vlad orders. “Show respect to your Pakhan, Kozlov.”

Mikhail mumbles an apology and begrudgingly sits while still giving me the death glare.

“It’s good that you’re here, Rai. We have some business to discuss.” Sergei speaks for the first time since I came in. There’s a huskiness to his voice due to the cancer, and soon enough, it’ll be noticeable to everyone.

“I have business to discuss, too, Dvoyurodnyy Ded.”

Kirill scoffs under his breath at the affectionate way I addressed Granduncle.

My attention turns to him. “You have a problem?”

“None at all, Miss Sokolov.” He pauses, readjusting his glasses with his middle finger. “Yet.”

The threat behind his gesture doesn’t escape me, so I counter using his subtle way. Still keeping eye contact, I slide the cup of coffee in front of me then crush a piece of sugar inside before it melts. “Good to know.”

His brows furrow, and his most loyal soldier, Aleksander, stiffens behind him, his hand going to his gun. He has feminine features and a smaller frame for a guard, but he’s as merciless as his direct boss.

He won’t do anything, though, because they both know that at the sign of any danger, I won’t hesitate to bring Kirill and his whole brigade down.

Sergei clears his throat, and I smile, pretending to drink from my coffee in a leisurely manner. My granduncle doesn’t want me to provoke anyone in the brotherhood, not even if they belittle me.

So I do it behind his back.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Damien hits my shoulder with his, grinning like we’re close friends and he wants in on the secret.

“Fun in paradise?” He reaches for the pack of cigarettes in front of him and retrieves one. Instead of lighting it, he places the lighter a breath away from it.

“None of your business,” I counter.

Kirill’s secret is mine and mine alone. If anyone else knows, it undermines the reason behind holding something over his head.

Adrian watches me for a beat, which means he’s also caught on to the fact that something is going on.

Vlad shakes his head at me, too, and Igor keeps watching Kirill and me from above his cup of tea. The only one who’s huffing and puffing like a damsel in distress is Mikhail. He’s too focused on not wanting me at this table and didn’t notice anything. The idiot.

His boyevik isn’t stupid, though. While he stands like a board at his back, he’s hearing and watching everything so he can report it all back to his boss later.

“We’re here because there’s a looming threat from the Irish.” Sergei speaks in Russian, using a moderate tone. “Adrian’s men have gathered intel that indicates they intend to attack the territories we rule with the Italians.”

“Those fucking Irish.” Mikhail snarls like the big bad wolf he thinks he is.

Vlad leans on the table, interlacing his fingers. “Rolan has always come strong against us, ever since he became the head of the Irish after his brother’s death. He tried before but has never gotten so close. This time he seems to be going all in, even bringing in some of his allies from the small eastern European organized crime families.”

“We wouldn’t have had a problem with them if it weren’t for your irrational attack, Damien,” Igor says in a low and accusatory tone.

Damien raises his hands in the air, expression incredulous. “I was protecting my fucking soldiers, thank you very much.”

“You were protecting your foolish pride,” Kirill mutters.

“You always put us in war,” Igor accuses.

“What’s better than war when it’s well deserved?” Damien lights his cigarette, takes a drag, and blows a cloud of smoke in the air. “It’s not my fault you’re too old to handle it anymore. How about letting your son inherit it if you’ve become such a bore?”

“It’s called being cautious.”

Damien yawns. “Which is another word for boring. You should try excitement sometimes.”

“You should stop making us enemies we don’t need,” Kirill shoots back.

“Oh, fuck you. Rolan would’ve hit us anyway since his brother, sister-in-law and nephew were killed due to one of our attacks during Nikolai’s times. It happened decades ago, but he’s still after revenge.”

“So you decided to give him the opening on a golden platter?” Igor snarls.

“I was only being a good sport and started the war before they could. You should thank me.”

“Or punch you,” Kirill says.

He and Igor gang up on Damien, and they get into an endless argument in intense Russian. Mikhail interrupts only to talk about how much money Damien’s brigade is wasting, but he forgets to mention that even with the recurring attacks, Damien still brings in more than he ever will.

Sergei, Vlad, and I watch silently. Adrian, on the other hand, sips from his coffee, not even pretending to pay attention to them. It’s like this is the last place he would rather be.

I agree with him on that front. While I don’t like being left out, this war of testosterone always gets on my nerves, mainly because nothing useful comes out of it.

“Enough.” Sergei finally puts an end to it, and they all fall silent. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, because the fact remains that we’re under threat.”

“And our Italian allies aren’t in much of a hurry to help,” Vlad adds.

“Blyad,” Mikhail curses. “Didn’t they always hate the Irish? Besides, We have a deal.”

Vlad pauses before his monotone voice fills the space. “They said the deal doesn’t stand when we bring this on ourselves.”

All eyes turn to Damien, who raises his hands in the air with feigned innocence. “Not my fault we didn’t strengthen our relationship with the Italians before this. Hey, Adrian, aren’t they your friends?”

The latter finishes sipping his coffee. “Why should my friends clean up your mess?”

“Come on. Do this for the brotherhood.”

“I can ask around, but they probably won’t grant enough manpower to ward off the Irish.”

“How about the Triads? The Japanese?” Igor suggests. “They owe us a favor or two.”

Kirill scratches his chin. “This isn’t their war, so even if they offer help, it will be minimal.”

“We will take what we can get,” Damien says cheerfully, like he didn’t land us all in this clusterfuck.

Vlad glares at him before he speaks to the group. “The Italians are still our biggest allies. If we don’t have them all in, we might lose territories.”

“Then we should force them in,” I say.

“Who asked for your opinion, Rayka? Aren’t you better off dressing dolls or something?” Mikhail smiles at me, and both Kirill and Damien snicker.

“I stopped dressing my dolls the day I outranked you in income, Mikel,” I say with a smile. Since he keeps using the disrespectful version of my name, I use a wrong name for him, one that’s even more diminutive.

Vlad’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t go as far as to smile. Damien nudges my shoulder, smiling wide.

Note to self: Don’t sit next to Damien in the future.

“How should we force them?” Vlad asks me, bringing us back to the subject.

I place two pieces of sugar on the rim of the coffee cup, one more close to the edge than the other. “This one is us, because the Irish are targeting the brotherhood. The Italians are here.” I motion at the other piece that’s a bit behind. “If we’re going down, we might as well bring them with us so they take this seriously.”

“And how do you suggest we do that, little miss genius?” Mikhail asks.

“We can’t make the Italians our enemies.” Igor says this to me, but looks over to Adrian since he’s the one who handles most of our outside PR.

“We will bring them in, not make enemies with them.” I push the first piece of sugar. “If the Irish attack the Italians, even indirectly…” I pause for dramatic effect then jostle the cup causing the second piece of sugar to fall with a small plopping sound. “They will have no choice but to defend their territories and their honor.”

“Do you suggest we betray our biggest allies?” Kirill stares at me as if I murdered a member of his family.

“I’m suggesting we don’t take the hit when the Irish attack. If we lure them to the Italian territories, the chess pieces will take care of themselves. We can go and help after the damage is done.”

“That way, we can reinforce our relationship with the Italians while dragging them into war with us,” Vlad explains.

“Exactly.” I push my coffee away because there’s no way in hell I’ll drink it now that it has so much sugar in it.

Igor, Adrian, and Damien remain silent, but Mikhail clears his throat and Kirill makes a face. They know I’m right and my plan is the best we have, but their male egos don’t like the fact that a woman outsmarted them.

“Igor.” Sergei speaks, and everyone at the table pays attention—including Adrian. “Work on getting as much manpower as possible from the Triads and the Japanese. Kirill and Mikhail, protect the territories, including the shared ones. We never know where they will hit next. Adrian, keep negotiating with the Italians.”

For a second, I think he completely disregarded my plan. After all, he still wants Adrian to play nice with the Italians.

But then, my granduncle fixes his eyes on Vlad. “Use our spy in the Irish territories to figure out where they’re going to hit next, and then, lure the Italians.”

“Yes, Vor,” the men say, and I sit up straighter in my chair. This is the first time Sergei has ever taken my suggestion seriously. Ever since I proved my worth in V Corp by snatching one deal after another, Sergei doesn’t see me as Nikolai Sokolov’s spoiled granddaughter whom he shouldn’t have allowed into the brotherhood’s meetings.

Damien raises a hand like an attention-seeking kid in class. “Umm, hello? What about me?”

“You stay put and protect your territory.” Sergei looks at him with his light green eyes. He might have always come second compared to Dedushka, but Sergei has a wise quality to him that he gained over the years he stood by my grandfather’s side. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s never allowed his sickness to get in the way of leading the brotherhood.

“Come on, Pakhan, I can do something,” Damien argues.

“And make it worse,” Igor mutters.

Damien clicks his tongue at him. He has no such thing as respect for the seniors in the Vory. He has his way and his crazy super weird vision, and it seems that’s the only thing he needs.

“If you lose one of your territories, it would be cut off from your brigade, Orlov,” Sergei addresses Damien by his last name. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Damien mutters.

“Rai.” My granduncle’s attention turns to me.

“Yes?”

“You will funnel the necessary finances to any brigade that has a shortage.”

“I will only do that after I see their numbers.”

“You won’t see my fucking numbers.” Mikhail is the first to protest.

I smile sweetly at him. “Then you won’t get a single dime from V Corp.”

“You don’t own V Corp.”

“And neither do you. I will not be giving away money like candy. I need the accountability report to know everyone’s needs, and I expect everyone to return the funds as soon as you’re bringing in profit again. V Corp is not your one-way bank.”

“And if we don’t?” Kirill raises a brow.

“Simple. The difference will be cut off from your company shares. You’re not the only shareholders in V Corp I need to worry about. The money isn’t yours to confiscate any time and without repercussions.”

“Pakhan?” Igor cuts Mikhail off before he can most likely curse me.

“You will all provide V Corp with numbers so every brigade is treated equally,” Sergei says. “We will talk about returning the funds at a later date.”

I stare at Granduncle, but he already issued his order and he won’t go back on it. The asshole Mikhail smiles at me like a petty child with issues.

I’m fuming on the inside, but I keep my uptight position on the outside.

“Now that we agree on that, we will move to the next topic.” Sergei clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “I served the brotherhood with my life, sweat, and blood, just like you. But as everyone knows, I’m getting old. There will be a time where I will have to step down as Pakhan.”

I swallow as the weight of his words falls on me. Is this why everyone is here, Adrian included? Sergei isn’t possibly planning to tell them about his cancer, right?

“I have decided that the future Pakhan will be a member of the elite group. I will consider everyone carefully for the next few months, and when it’s time to choose someone, it will be one of you.”

They straighten in their seats, the greed for power filling some of their eyes. The fire burning inside me threatens to spill like a volcano ready to eradicate anything in its path.

I can’t believe Sergei is giving away the family legacy to these wolves so easily.

“However, I want my daughter married into one of your families. Consider it a blessing in advance.”

Mikhail moves in his seat, ready to suggest his asshole sons, but I cut him off. “No.”

Vlad shakes his head at me, probably at the tone I used.

“What do you mean by ‘no’?” Sergei’s voice has an edge to it that declares his word is the first and last. I might be his grandniece, but family knows better than to defy him in front of the members of the brotherhood.

“No, Anastasia isn’t ready to get married yet.” I smooth my tone. “She knows nothing about becoming a wife.”

“And whose fault is that?” Igor mutters. “You’ve been sheltering her like she’s a stray kitten.”

That’s because she needs sheltering in this world, but I don’t say that since it’ll most definitely be used against me. I can’t allow myself any loopholes, even if it’s Ana.

“You want the Sokolov name to live on, right?” I gulp. “I will do it.”

“Color me surprised! I thought you’d be a spinster for life.” Damien pauses dramatically, then mimics a claw with his hand. “Marry me, tigress.”

“In your dreams, asshole.”

“You will really get married?” Sergei asks in an unsure tone.

“Yes, but I get to choose.”

My granduncle motions ahead. “Then choose.”

“Poor motherfucker,” Kirill mutters under his breath.

“Careful, or I might choose you,” I taunt, even though that will never happen. This table is full of alpha assholes who will either lock me up or make me go crazy or both.

“Spare us the suspense and choose.” Damien rubs his hands together. “Here’s a hint. Me.”

“I said, not you.” My gaze roams until it lands on Kirill. He pauses, probably thinking I will go on with my threat. “Not Kirill either, for reasons. He can’t handle me.”

He fixes his glasses and flips me off discreetly. I ignore him and continue on.

“Not Vlad. He’s like my brother. Obviously not Adrian, because he’s already married—unless we can move to a country that allows a second wife?”

His expression remains the same. “I’m flattered, but I’m going to decline the offer, Miss Sokolov.”

“Pity.” I pretend to be bummed.

“That leaves Mikhail and Igor’s sons,” Sergei says.

I meet Mikhail’s gaze with a smile. “You have two sons, right?”

“I do.”

“Last I checked, they were boys.”

“They grew up. My eldest is thirty.”

“Age doesn’t mean maturity. They’re still boys. I wonder where they got that from.”

“Rai.” It’s Sergei who reprimands me. “That clearly eliminates Mikhail’s offspring, which leaves you with Igor’s. We will go with the eldest, Alexei.”

“Wait—no.” My eyes widen despite myself. Alexei is even worse than Igor, and he’s someone I’m definitely more wary of than his father. I can’t marry him. He’s a traditionalist and strict to a fucking fault.

He’ll smother me before I know it.

Maybe I should’ve picked one of Mikhail’s idiot sons after all, but that would mean having the asshole as a father-in-law. No thanks. He hates me enough without family relations.

Dammit. How did I get myself cornered with Alexei? Think, Rai, think. I need to get myself out of this.

“Alexei isn’t my eldest, Pakhan.” Igor’s calm voice cuts into my thoughts. “I have finally found my long-lost eldest son who we thought we lost in a car crash. In fact, I meant to introduce him to you today. He’s waiting outside.”

“Congratulations, Igor,” Sergei says without his usual note of firmness.

The others follow suit, and he thanks them one by one, even though his expression remains the same.

“Let him in,” my granduncle orders after they finish.

Igor motions at his guard. He nods once, then goes out of the room.

Long-lost son? I’ve heard stories about how Igor lost his firstborn thirty years ago during one of his trips to Europe. Dedushka told me it changed the man forever. There was an Igor before losing his son and another one after. I didn’t know there was a chance his firstborn was still alive. Does this mean he knows nothing of the brotherhood?

This is my chance to latch onto him and use him as a puppet, as per my plan with Vlad. I stare at the latter, and we share a moment of understanding. I soon cut off eye contact because Adrian and Kirill are watching us.

I smile so big I feel the strain in my cheeks. “Igor’s eldest it is, Dvoyurodnyy Ded.”

“I’m honored,” Igor says, more to Sergei than to me.

The door opens and in comes Igor’s guard, followed by his boss’s son.

My smile falls when the boyevik takes his place behind his leader, revealing the newcomer.

Blood drains from my face and my smile falters as I stare into the eyes I never thought I would ever see again.

But here he is.

Igor’s son, the husband I just willingly chose, is none other than the one who stabbed my heart then walked all over it.

Kyle fucking Hunter.