Page 4

The grand ballroom was abuzz with the soft murmurs of high-ranking Bratva officials seated at a long mahogany table. This was one of our monthly meetings, where we gathered to discuss the organization's progress and analyze potential threats and weaknesses.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, refracting shards of light across the polished table and marble floor. The walls, adorned with intricate gold leaf patterns, added to the ambiance of the room.

I sat in silence, reclined in my chair, with a fist under my chin and my elbow on the armrest. My eyes scanned the room—a masterpiece in opulence—listening to my cousins and the other stakeholders deliberate on the finer points of territorial disputes.

To my right, my elder brother, Lev, sat poised, his expression stern as he joined in on the discussion and offered his ideas. His dark hair, slightly unkempt, complemented his impeccably tailored suit, and his eyes, sleepy and almost lifeless at first glance, darted across our faces.

My cousin, Afanasy, sat to my left, a faint grin on his lips and his dirty blond hair framing his chiseled face. He appeared lost in thought, as if he wasn't fully present at the table with us.

I could swear that I knew exactly what was running through his mind—his wife, Wren. She had changed him, made him a better man in almost every ramification of his life.

There was no better way to put it: I was the only single man at the table. All of my cousins, including my elder brother, Lev, were all married and happy. Despite our ruthlessness, they somehow managed to find love, peace, and comfort.

I wouldn't blame Afan for being distracted and smiling like a teenage lover boy, even though he'd been married for years. My cousins’ ability to stay with one woman and still adore their wives even after so much time had passed was something to emulate.

However, we had a bigger fish to fry, and although Afanasy might seem distracted, I was certain that he was listening. The man could multitask without stress.

At the head of the table, Pakhan Artem sat enthroned, his presence commanding attention. His facial hair and tattoos made him stand out, and his cold, hollow eyes—dark and siren-like—swept across the room with a slow, deliberate motion. Beneath the fabric of his white suit, his muscles bulged, highlighting his imposing masculine physique and ruggedness.

My cousin, Alexei, sat in his chair next to the Pakhan 's, fingers drumming against the mahogany table. He'd always been the closest to Pakhan Artem of all of us. Alexei hadn't said much yet; he was silent like I was, observing and taking notes.

Roman, a one-time temporary Pakhan with ice in his veins—one of the coldest of us—was deep in the discussion. His logic and strategic plans for resolving territorial disputes with our rivals were impressive—so impressive, in fact, that his ideas brought a smile to the Pakhan's face. No wonder he was a temporary Pakhan a while ago; it was clear to me now why he was chosen.

“I agree with you, Roman,” Kostya chipped in, nestled in a chair across from him. “But I think we need to push back against the Morozovs,” he added, his brows narrowing and his voice rising with passion. “They're encroaching in our territories, and if we don't do something fast, they'll think they can walk all over us.”

Afanasy snorted, raising a brow. “You think the Morozovs are the problem?”

I’d been right. He was listening.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Look, the Morozovs might look like the problem, but I can guarantee you they're not. They're just a symptom of a larger issue.”

“He's right,” Alexei said, his gaze sweeping across our faces. “We need to address the root cause and not just hack at the branches—the Morozovs are the branches.”

I let out a soft sigh and shared my thoughts. “I think we're getting ahead of ourselves here,” I said, my voice steady and calm.

The others turned in my direction, their eyes flickering with curiosity, seeking further clarification.

I edged closer, my gaze shifting across their faces as I explained, my tone confident. “We need to focus on securing our territories before we start worrying about the Morozovs.”

There was a moment of silence in the room. All eyes were pinned on me as my cousins, including the Pakhan , pondered my words.

Lev's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing as he asked, his voice smooth, “And what makes you think we're not already doing that?”

“Well, if we were, we wouldn't be having this conversation, now would we?” I leaned back in my chair, a grin playing on my lips.

“Erik is right,” Pakhan Artem said. He kept his eyes pinned on me, a glint of pride flickering in their hollow depths. “All of your input is appreciated, and we'll continue with this matter at some other time.” He rose to his feet gracefully, his eyes shifting across our faces. “But for now, I have an important announcement to make.”

The room fell silent, heads turned in his direction, each one of us offering our full attention.

He began, his demeanor cold and calculating, “For decades, the Irish mafia, especially the O'Brians, have been at war with us. There's been too much bloodshed already, and I believe that it's time for a truce.”

The Tarasov men exchanged glances among ourselves, murmurs rising as we attempted to process the announcement. Personally, I had seen this coming a long time ago, so I wasn't as surprised as my cousins were. They should have anticipated this, too, considering Pakhan Artem was married to an Irish woman.

The union between Pakhan Artem and his wife, Sierra Lane, had put an end to the years of violence and chaos that had brewed between both families. That union was the reason why the O'Brians and other powerful families in the Irish mafia had ceased fire for the past two to three years.

“I've discussed this with the elders, and we've reached a conclusion: We must finally put an end to this conflict with the O'Brians,” Artem explained, ignoring the puzzled expressions on my brothers' faces. “To achieve that, a marriage ceremony between members of both families must occur.”

We all knew the drill, and as I leaned back in my chair, my lips curled into a faint smile. My eyes drank in the dissatisfaction etched on my brothers’ gazes. It was rather amusing to watch their disapproval, but I was unable to do much about it.

The O'Brians had proven over the years to be a thorn in our flesh, and they were the last Irish mafia family that any one of us had thought we'd call a truce with.

“Patrick O'Brian has a daughter who's ready for marriage, and we could marry her into the family as a symbol of unity,” Pakhan Artem said.

Tessa's face flashed through my mind as I remembered my brief encounter with the arrogant girl.

He continued, “We could take a further step to solidify our union. Since my niece, Zoya, just turned eighteen, we could arrange for her to be promised to Liam O'Brian until she is ready for marriage.”

“So, you're proposing that the agreement with Zoya should be formalized as a future marriage with Liam in two years?” Lev asked Artem.

“Correct,” he replied. Then, he added almost immediately, “But that's the future; we need to talk about the union taking place in the present.”

This strategic alliance between both families would pave the way for the Bratva business across the city of Chicago and beyond. With our forces, power, and influence joined together, this alignment could benefit both families in more ways than one. We just had to make sure that it was a success.

“Yeah. We need to decide which Tarasov would marry the O'Brian princess,” I concurred, my voice bold and confident.

“I'm glad you think so, Erik,” Pakhan Artem said, staring at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

But it wasn't only him; every other Tarasov in the room turned to face me, wearing matching grins.

I squinted. “Why are you all looking at me like that?” I tilted my head to the side, a bit confused.

“Well, for starters, you're the only eligible bachelor amongst us,” Afanasy said, his voice smooth and teasing, and his smile broadened.

My eyes widened at the realization that I'd missed earlier, my brows rising. “Ahh, I see. Fair enough.”

Lev chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You're the chosen one, Brother.”

The others laughed, tossing teasing glances at me.

So, this was happening. I was going to be a married man in the not-so-distant future. Was I ready for that?

I leaned back in my chair, recalling the fire in Tessa's eyes during our last encounter. She was a woman with both beauty and brains—fearless and witty. The memory of her boldness and spunk still lingered on the fringes of my mind, and just the thought of her brought a sly grin to my face.

Things just got a little bit more complicated, and I couldn't help but consider the implications of this marriage. It would change everything, but was I ready for that?