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Maxim was the second oldest. I sure had fun researching his ass. The man had a track record you could read like a list, and I couldn’t resist doing just that. Despite having years on me, he still fell short of my numbers. Missions, rescues, military operations. His name kept appearing, report after report. I swore he had a hand in everything. Some records even dated back to an era I’d only read about.
Then there was Luka, the youngest of the brothers. On paper, he was the genius of the family. The mastermind securing Bratva the dough for their bread.
Alisa, their only sister. The bride-to-be. Her record? Squeaky clean. A picture and basic information. Nothing beyond that. No mentions of her involvement in whatever her brothers had been cooking.
Without her name and access to the school database, connecting Alisa to the rest would’ve been nearly impossible. It looked like someone had deliberately erased all traces.
But once you spotted the connection, it wasn’t hard to see. They were unmistakably siblings. Golden brown hair. Green eyes. Similar features. Though each, especially the brothers, had a distinct style.
I didn’t have time to sift through the hundreds of pictures buried in the depths of the internet, so I relied on IDs.
Thank you, dear government. Forever grateful for your stupidity, and mostly for the lack of security.
My only sister was getting married. The thought alone made me damn trigger-happy.
The longer I stared at these idiots, the more the urge to snap grew. My brothers, Andrei, Luka, and I, did everything we could to keep her away from this world. She wasn’t supposed to be part of it, not in any way.
Yet here we were, at an engagement party between my youngest sibling and Ilya motherfucking Aistov, the Pakhan of the Bratva, our boss.
Just how badly had our plan backfired? From protecting her to handing her off to the highest-ranked bastard.
Every time I got a glimpse of him, I wanted to smash his face in and keep going until even his mother wouldn’t recognize him. Which she wouldn’t because she was dead.
I laughed to myself, replaying all the names I’dbeen called.
The unstable one. Unable to control his impulses.
With aggressive tendencies. One without a filter.
The joker. The one who actively seeks danger.
Enjoys bloodshed.
Your honor, I plead guilty to all of the above.
Despite my foolishness, or maybe because of it, I’ve earned quite the reputation among the rest of the crew. It is these events, the Bratva gatherings, that often make me recall the beginnings.
Sworn in at sixteen, I’ve been a member for over two decades and then some. I’ve lived through many leadership changes, accepting orders from both old men and young kids. When they need someone to do the dirty work, I volunteer. I’ve never been one to stand in the shadows while others work for me. No, the hands-on approach has always been more my style.
Life in Bratva can be tough. Still, not a single member of the Galkin family stepped away. They were either carried out feet first or remained kicking.
We came from a bloodline of loyal members, the descendants of the original founding families, something we spoke about proudly. Especially our parents. While we grew up in the US, both mother and father were born and raised in Russia.
I swear they made each kid with a purpose in mind, to be put through the system and serve a role. Since the age of six, my father had put us to work. While Andrei was always meant to be the leader and Luka the numbers guy, I was the enforcer. Built to carry out the brutal tasks, whatever the brotherhood needed.
The path was pretty much set, and I accepted it, not knowing anything else. It wasn’t hard to fall in line.
Military, prison, illegal fights, you name it, I’ve done it. Been stabbed, shot, kidnapped, starved, tortured, and used in too many ways. Yet here I was, stronger than ever.
Physically, sure. Mentally? Eh, some screws were loose, some had fallen out, but I was making the most with what I had.
Father might have had ambitions once upon a time, but when Andrei took over the family, they got brushed under the carpet. Not everybody was power-hungry, not in the same way. We ruled Philly and ran wide operations, accumulating Bratva the biggest stash of money in the US. Mostly thanks to my brother Luka’s genius. The man had business in his blood, layered under booze, cards, women, and attitude.
The organization profited through the import and export of guns and other merchandise. Ilya knew he needed us. How did he find out we had a sister? A mystery they both refused to comment on.
When we asked Alisa, she brushed the questions off like it was nothing. And that’s how I ended up here, at this open bar, getting drunk on unlimited vodka with my siblings. We didn’t belong in this fancy establishment, nor did we want to be here.
Twisting the white flower decor between my tattooed fingers, I focused on the contrast of the colors. No fancy suits and expensive watches could hide the blood on our hands. The black and red ink covering my body served as a reminder of what I’ve done and what’s been done to me.