Page 1 of Cruel Russian Pakhan (Safin Bratva #1)

“So, you’re really going to marry Vera Rykov?”

I had just finished pouring my drink. I took a long sip before turning to face six pairs of eyes belonging to my siblings.

We met for dinner once a week at the family mansion, where business always followed in the lounge.

Marten had been the one who asked the question. A hothead, built like a boulder with a shaved head. The look in his cold blue eyes made grown men cower. His gruff voice was barely restrained.

Siblings or not, they knew better than to forget who led the Safin Bratva.

“Yes. It’s a needed move at this point,” I said, keeping my tone level.

Jaroslav’s steel-gray eyes narrowed as his lean frame stayed propped against the wall, hands shoved in his pants pockets. “So, you walked up to Artyom, asked for his sister's hand in marriage, and he agreed to this?”

He was my underboss, the strategist and executioner, always thinking three moves ahead. In that one sentence, I knew he’d already run through every angle, every possible outcome, before the words even left his mouth. His mind was just as lethal as the man himself.

“Yes.” My answer was short and to the point.

When I first sat down in a meeting with Artyom, he was two hours late.

I knew exactly what he was doing—trying to assert control and test my patience.

I let him, since I’d already mapped out every move.

When he finally arrived, I told him I was ready to settle down.

After all, I was thirty-eight, and it was time to have a family.

I told him I wanted a family just as powerful as ours to align with.

I played to his ego, inflated that Rykov pride until he was practically preening, and made him believe I saw the Rykovs as equals.

Then I told him Vera was the kind of wife a man like me needed: composed, loyal, raised in the life. That was all he needed to hear.

Pyotr let out a dry chuckle from across the room, sprawled in a chair.

His black hair stuck up like he’d fought a hurricane and lost. As relaxed as he looked, if alerted to danger his demeanor would change, and there'd be a bullet in the head of the intruder before he knew what was happening. “And what’s he getting in return? Because we all know Artyom Rykov doesn’t do charity. ”

“I’ll be opening up our Eastern European smuggling route to him.”

I caught the subtle shift in everyone’s expression. Handing over an international route was no small move. But they also knew I didn’t make half-assed decisions; there had to be a bigger payoff.

Avit raised an eyebrow, that trademark smirk tugging at his lips. “And what are you getting besides a pretty wife?”

I allowed a small smile to curl my lips. “My spies found out he runs an elite information brokerage system: CIA, Interpol, MI6.”

Avit let out a low whistle as I continued. “With access to intel like that, we’ll be able to level up our entire operation. In our world, information is power. And power is what keeps you relevant…”

“...and feared,” Marten added.

Ninel, the youngest of the Safin siblings at twenty-one, stared at me, her silver eyes wide. “But isn’t that exactly why the founding families are at each other’s throats? The fear that outsiders will put everyone at risk?”

In the generations before my leadership, Safin women weren’t allowed to sit in on business.

But I changed that when I took over. My sisters, Ninel and Mariya, needed to understand the rules of our world, not just because they were born into it, but because they’d die in it, too.

And while they were alive, I’d make damn sure they knew how to survive it.

“Insiders put us at risk, too. Not all Bratva factions are loyal to the organization, and not all Bratva leaders are trustworthy.” Jaroslav’s eyes met mine.

I held his gaze. “As long as power’s in play, even your closest ally can become a threat. Trust isn’t required in business, results are. You weigh the pros and cons, and if the scale tips in your favor, you move. But never blindly. You build for betrayal from the start.”

Jaroslav nodded, catching my hidden meaning, as I knew he would.

I turned to Ninel. “Whether the founding families like it or not, the world is changing. The Bratva has rules, our own code, our own justice. Punishment comes swiftly when lines are crossed. But alliances complicate that. When we tie ourselves to cartels or other syndicates, justice doesn’t always come cleanly; sometimes, it comes in more blood than we care to spill.

Still, survival means walking that line. We adapt, or we die.”

I paused and took another sip of my drink, meeting each gaze before I went on. “Trust isn’t a luxury. It’s a calculated risk. So, creating new partnerships with people we don't trust, inside or outside, can no longer be avoided.”

“Like the Rykovs,” Mariya said, biting her lower lip.

“Yes, like the Rykovs,” I confirmed.

Her eyes searched mine. “Do you really think it’s wise to bring one of their own into our lives…into your home? What if she hurts you?”

For a moment, no one spoke. The air went still, as though Mariya’s question snatched the air from the room.

My jaw flexed as my hand tightened around the glass in my hand.

I’d considered that possibility. If Vera ever tried to kill me on Artyom’s orders, she wouldn’t live long enough to deliver the message that she had succeeded.

And as manipulative as Artyom was, I didn’t want to believe he was stupid enough to put his own sister in that kind of danger, because he wouldn't even have a body left to bury.

“You’re right, I don’t trust the Rykovs.

But they have something we need to sustain this family: intel.

The marriage works in my favor. I seduce her, learn their other secrets, and use them against Artyom to gain leverage.

Once our families are aligned, the men that gather the intel that Artyom thinks I don't have information about become our allies.”

Jaroslav raised a brow, his voice flat. “So, you think it'll be that easy to woo Vera into spilling all their secrets? I'm sure Artyom will warn her.”

“I’ll make it happen. One way or another.” My eyes swept over my siblings. “You’re my sem’ya. My blood. My priority. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this family and keep the Safin name going. Anything.”

The others slowly nodded, but Jaroslav just stood there rigidly.

“When will the wedding take place?” Mariya asked.

“In a month.”

“So,” Ninel’s eyes twinkled, “Will you be having a lavish wedding? I'll need to get a new dress and—”

Pyotr rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation. “Hey, party girl. This isn't a marriage based on love. All he needs is Father Gordon and the bride.”

Father Gordon had been tied to the Bratva for over twenty years. Always cheerful, always discreet. He never asked questions he didn’t want the answers to.

Ninel pouted before she and Pyotr bickered back and forth about why I should, or shouldn’t, have a grand wedding.

Eventually, the conversation lost its edge, shifting toward other business matters: the nightclubs, casinos, and the gambling dens that Marten, Pyotr, and Avit managed together.

Ninel and Mariya then updated us on the growing needs of The Hearth, the soup kitchen and clothing drive they’d founded, and shared plans for the upcoming food and clothing drives.

Then I informed them of the deals in motion: arms and ammunition and new smuggling routes.

From there, the conversation slid into more casual territory.

Jokes, shared memories, and Mariya reprimanding Pyotr about his desire to sleep with every woman he came into contact with.

At the end of the night, I bid the others goodnight and made my way to my car, where Rocco, my driver, waited.

The girls stayed at the mansion with Marten and Avit.

Pyotr had his own apartment to accommodate his frequent female visitors, and Jaroslav lived a block from me, close enough to get to me if needed, but far enough for us to keep our privacy.

“Lev!”

I spun around to see Jaroslav walking briskly towards me. I was wondering how long it would take him to pull me aside to ask what he really wanted.

He wasted no time when he stood in front of me.

“What exactly is the plan if Artyom becomes aware of the knowledge that you possess on how he gathers his intel?” He glanced toward the mansion before his eyes locked on mine. “We don’t need him waging war on us. Not that we can’t handle it, but I'd rather not deal with the fallout.”

Going to war with another Bratva faction wasn’t unheard of. But one within the same city? That was a different beast. There’d be heavy collateral damage on both sides, innocent blood spilled, and the kind of chaos that could create a power vacuum we might not be able to contain.

“If Artyom finds out, we spin it, so that his own men look like they spilled the beans. Feed him enough misdirection to make him doubt his own circle. Distrust is a poison. If he swallows it, he’ll be too busy questioning his men to try to figure out how we found out about his operation.”

Jaroslav frowned. “And if he sees through it?”

I saw it in his eyes. Even though Jaroslav was my right-hand, he didn't want the position as the leader. He preferred the interrogations and going for the kill to sitting in meetings and making deals. But if things went south, he'd step into the role without blinking.

“Then we remind him what’s at stake. He’s not just a rival anymore, he’s family.”

Jaroslav lifted an eyebrow but remained silent.

“Once the marriage is sealed, and Vera bears me a child, our bloodlines will be tied. An attack on me becomes an attack on his own house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You really think that’ll stop him?”

“No. But it’ll complicate the cost. Bratva wars are already messy—brother-in-law against brother-in-law?

That creates fractures that will ripple down to his business and affect his income in ways even he wouldn't be able to control. And if he still wants blood…” My eyes narrowed. “Then we make sure it’s not ours.”

“But,” Jaroslav continued hesitantly, “this deal comes with a wildcard: you’ll be sharing a bed with her every night.”

“Vera will be my wife. Anything concerning her, I’ll handle personally. Artyom and his faction? We handle that together. You follow my lead. Just like always.” My tone was clipped.

He gave a firm nod. “Always.”

I turned and walked away, sliding into my bulletproof SUV. Rocco was already behind the wheel. As we pulled away from the mansion, I closed my eyes.

I knew the risk. But I also knew what could happen if I didn’t act.

Dealing with Artyom was a gamble.

But it was one I was willing to take for the future of my family and faction.

I didn't know how uncertain the gamble truly was until three weeks later.

***

One week to the wedding

It was seven in the morning, and I was just about to step out of the house when my phone rang. The name that popped up on the screen was Timur Morovoz, my head spy. He only called when something went to hell.

“Speak.”

“Boss, Vera’s missing.”

I stared at the phone for a few seconds, the words striking like a slap to the face.

Then I brought it back to my ear, my voice frosty.

“What do you mean she’s missing?”

As soon as Artyom and I finalized the agreement, I made sure to have eyes on Vera. I needed to know where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing, twenty-four hours a day.

“It’s been a week,” Timur said. “Her last sighting was at a nightclub. She was with Kira.”

Kira was Vera’s younger sister.

My jaw clenched, fingers curling tightly around the phone until I heard it creak under the pressure.

Seven days. She’d been off the radar for a goddamn seven days and I was just now hearing about it?

Where the hell was she?

And more importantly, why the fuck hadn’t Artyom told me that my fiancé was in the wind?

Then it hit me. This wasn’t a random disappearance.

It couldn't be.

It reeked of manipulation.

If Artyom thought he could use his sister as a pawn to rattle me, he was about to learn just how brutal that mistake was.

“Keep me updated,” I growled, then hung up.

I stepped outside, clenching and unclenching my fists. If Artyom wanted a reminder of how ruthless I could be, he'd get one.

Now, this alliance would happen by my rules. I’d find Vera myself.

And this wedding?

It’d happen on my terms.