Page 115 of Scarlet Vows

The shouting stops for a second when I walk in, and then shouts of “coward!” and “scum!” and worse fly. They unleash insults so vile that I shoot at an ugly vase.

“Enough!” I stare them down.

Melor pushes through. “What the fuck happened there, Ilya? We trusted you, and you disappear. Did you even step inside? Or did you hide like a sniveling coward?”

“You’re upset, so I’ll ignore that,” I hiss. “I tried calling you, where the fuck did you disappear to?”

“Where do you think? Into battle.”

I struggle to control my breathing. “Me too. And what happened? Fucking Santo happened. He fucking double-crossed us, and worse, he did it at the expense of his own men.”

The shouts start again, and I raise my voice above it. “Quiet.”

Silence falls on them. Sullen, resentful, but silence.

“I got out the injured as best I could. They are being cared for. I’ll give you the updates when I get them. I have a hospital who works with other bratva. They do good work. They saved me when I was shot, and they’ll save who they can. And as for fucking Santo, I promise I’ll take care of this betrayal. I’ll make Santo pay.”

“I’ll come with you,” Melor says.

“I’ll do this myself. You can follow if you like, but I’ll deal with it.” To the men, I say, “Go home. Or camp out here. The guesthouses are ready for those who don’t live on the grounds. I’ll deal with this. I promise.”

I turn and walk out the door. Then I get in my car and take off. The fucking damage may have already been done with my relationship with my men, no matter what happens next with Santo.

I could have built up a bratva fresh when I walked in, ousted everyone but the few who may have wanted to stay. Not now. If I did it now, it’s more betrayal. Worse, it’s the destruction of my reputation.

Trust and morale, whatever’s left of it, in the bratva is even lower than when I walked in and got snubbed.

Now they’ve got a reason to hate me. To mistrust me.

I even fucking called in the help of a bratva they have no dealings with, no reason to trust. Same with the mafia.

Fuck…maybe I’m not cut out to be pakhan. Maybe I’m just good at being an underling. It’s a place I know. And being Demyan’s second is good.

It’s just…this was handed to me. I want to make it work because it’s mine. My heritage, in a strange way, is both a connection to my mother and her thumbing her nose at her father.

I never dreamed of being a pakhan, and yet here I am.

And it’s crumbling down around me.

I don’t honestly know if I can recover from this. But I’m going to damn well try.

My phone rings, and the doctor on the other end lets me know there are seven men in surgery. Two didn’t make it. There are two in ICU and three more who are stable. And one who’s threatening to murder people if he isn’t allowed out. I tell him to up the last one’s meds and thank him.

This is my fault.

There should be more alive. I shouldn’t have inundated the hospital with the injured.

Shit, there shouldn’t have been any injured at all. I pull up outside Santo’s house, march up to the gate, aim my gun at the guard, and demand he call Santo.

Which he does.

I’m allowed in.

Santo stands on the threshold when I storm up, a gun in his hand by his side. “Please, tell me I don’t have to use this, Ilya.”

“You double-crossing piece of shit. You fucking overgrown coward. You not only got half my men killed, but a bunch of yours, too. You fuck.”

He listens silently, unmoving.