Page 9

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’d been 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.

Although among the other invitees, I was just another face in a line of gangsters. We were all sinners, killers, or psychopaths. All the above and more, depending on the case.

Innocence was a rare trait most of us didn’t get to possess for long.

Which is precisely why we went to all lengths to protect our sister. We’ve seen ourselves as sworn protectors since the moment she joined this family, a little bundle with a pink bow in her fair hair. Until the very end, no matter who her husband ends up being.

Pakhan or not, I wouldn’t hesitate to rid the world of him. A tiny slip on his side would be enough to kickstart me into action.

“Andrei, you need to cheer up. You’re staring,” Alisa’s voice forced me to pay attention .

“Observing,” our oldest brother corrected, his voice dripping with irritation. His usual broody self.

“Can you observe with less of a snare?”

Luka, my younger brother, clapped Andrei on the back, grinning. “A couple more shots should do the trick,” he said, already flagging down the bartender for a refill.

Andrei immediately protested with a grunt. “We need to stay alert.”

Being the oldest meant you got stuck with responsibilities you never asked for.

“Chill, man. We get it,” Luka teased, a playful glint in his eyes as he poked at Andrei.

“Where’s the groom? Shouldn’t he be here?” I asked, looking for any excuse to throw Ilya under the bus.

“He’s here,” Andrei stated, sounding more informed. “He called me earlier, requesting a meeting.”

A grin took over my features. Interesting turn of events. I expected to run into Ilya and use the moment to speak my mind, but a better opportunity just presented itself.

“Meeting, you say?” Eagerness mixed with excitement rang in my voice, and given our close bond, my siblings had no trouble picking up on it.

Alisa immediately reacted, her gaze sharp as she read my expression. “No fights and no shooting. You especially, Maxim,” she pointed at me for emphasis.

I raised one eyebrow in question. “Why me?”

Patting me on the shoulder, Alisa spoke her mind. “ Brat , it’s simple. You make impulsive decisions, while the rest of us are more likely to ask questions before we shoot.”

Yeah, that sounds like me. With a confident smile, I corrected her. “If I’m shooting, there are no questions left to ask.”

“I might have one. Who’s that? ”

All heads turned to our brother, attempting to figure out who or what had caught his attention. When Luka nonchalantly gestured toward the back of the room, we all followed in perfect sequence, discretion be damned.

A woman stood tall with the groom-to-be, deep in conversation. With no security in sight, she leaned close to Ilya with such confidence that I questioned her position.

The dress she wore resembled the crimson liquid we were all too familiar with. I should know, since that very color filled my body inside and out. A bold choice for someone’s wedding party, let alone the Pakhan’s. The stranger earned an unimportant plus in my book, a token of respect.

I could spend a minute trying to find the intent. There might be none, for obviously, there were other reasons behind the decision. If anything, the way the material hugged her curves was probably the main one. Even from a distance, I could tell the match was undeniable.

They walked out of the room toward the back before I had a chance to analyze further. She didn’t seem like anyone I recognized, and since I was pretty good with faces, I’d remember her, her style, her posture, the subtle combination of daring and elegant.

Then again, I didn’t pay much attention to women these days.

When the duo disappeared, my older brother answered the question hanging in the air.

“Someone whose radar you don’t want to end up on,” Andrei clarified.

I flashed him a wicked smile. “Now I’m even more interested.”

“Your funeral, stronzo .” A dark-haired man seated at the left side of the bar pitched in. His deep voice silenced us all. He clearly fucking eavesdropped on our entire conversation.

My eyes flickered to him, sitting there with an empty whiskey glass. His feet crossed under the stool, and the man made no effort to elaborate, too busy staring at the bottom of his glass in concentration, as if expecting it to refill if he waited long enough .

The bar’s surface served as my slide when I approached the stranger. “You two know each other,” I pointed out.

He sized me up, granting me a far too judgmental look. “Hence the warning that you’re so blindly ignoring.”

I chuckled. “They say I’m impulsive.”

An eye twitch flickered in his left eye. “Impulsiveness gets you killed. So does she.”

“Who is she?” I puffed out. “The Black Widow?”

A legend among those who had something to hide.

A scary tale whispered to naughty children at night.

To adults, the Bratva enforcer was a literal symbol of justice among criminals.

If there ever was an equivalent of a court for Mafia associates, The Black Widow would be the judge handing you over to the executioner.

With the death of the Pakhan of her era came her disappearance.

To this day, there are speculations about what could have happened. Most say she swims with the fishes in the Volga River.

“The Black Widow wishes,” the man uttered.

To be compared to her was an honor. To be called better than her? That’s a bold statement.

I inched closer to the man in another attempt to gain information. “C’mon. Give me something.”

Given this guy’s interest, I made an educated guess when he didn’t react. “Is she with the Italians?”

The asshole just went back to staring. Dismissed? Me? I don’t think so. Compulsion took over. Somehow, it felt vital to find out who she was.

It was unusual for a woman to be feared and warned against among this group. Often, despite my protests, the women of this world were only present in the roles of sisters, mothers, or wives. In the mafia ranks? They were a rarity.