Six.

Mikhail

A dark cloud lingers over my thoughts. Andrei Barinov's war has put unnecessary scrutiny over all of the Bratvas of the East Coast. A web of violence and deceit is slowly unfurling, and the threat of outside interference has only grown in the months since. To prepare, Father and I had begun a massive recruitment and armament drive. But his untimely death threatens to throw the entire thing off balance.

And with the Lanzzare circling like sharks around us, looking for any and all moments of weakness, there is not a moment of rest to be had.

Our conversation continues, and the brigadiers each rattle off information about our manpower, reserves, and operations. Each bit of news is accompanied by praise for my father and flattery for me, but I see through their attempts. They're probing me to gauge my reaction. But they played their hand already when Gunsyn disrespected me the moment I walked into my own home.

And when it is time for them to leave, I gaze at the eastern horizon, painted in a panoply of pink and gold that heralds the morning sun.

Ippolit quickly approaches me as he drains his glass. "My pakhan, I have something you might find interesting," His voice is lower than usual, as if he's sharing a secret.

My curiosity is piqued and I stop, waiting for him to continue.

"We've identified someone of interest." Ippolit hands me his phone. "In one of the nightclubs that we own."

The image flashes across my screen and my breath halts when I see a familiar face. Auburn hair like spun fire cascading down her shoulders and innocent hazel eyes wide with surprise. Her lips are slightly parted, as if she wants to say something. She's standing before a painting of bold strokes and vibrant colors.

Maria Rostova ...I recall our chance encounter just outside of the Port Authority.

I look closer and notice a thread of fear under her surprise. The look in her eyes leaves my chest tightening, and I feel my mouth going dry as I hand the phone back to Ippolit.

"What do you have there, Ippo?" Gunsyn intrudes upon us and snatches the phone out of Ippolit's hand with the manner of a pig rolling in mud. "Oho, she's a looker. Wouldn't mind those pretty little lips wrapped around me. Although ... she looks familiar."

Ippolit snatches his phone back, displeasure etched across his face.

"Of course she looks familiar, Gunsyn," he scoffs in his whispery tone. "That's Zakhar Budanov's child. I'm sure of it."

"Budanov? The traitor?" Gunsyn chuckles darkly. "He's still alive?"

"Every killer we sent his way has never returned," Ippolit says. "Unsurprising, of course, given the man's skills. But this girl will be our way to get him out of hiding."

The threat and implications are unmistakable in his voice.

"What do you suggest? We go snatch her? Rough her up a little? And then what?" Gunsyn asks. "We have no idea where Budanov is, or when this girl even showed up on our radar!"

"Which is where our new pakhan comes in, dear Gunsyn." A snake-like smile that shows no teeth spreads across Ippolit's face. Unease worms into my heart at the smile. Something tells me I'm not going to like what he's about to suggest.

"Budanov doesn't want to be found," Ippolit says. "But if he loves his daughter as a father should, then the knowledge that she's been pulled back into a world he so desperately fled will have him emerging from wherever he's been hiding for all these years."

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" I ask.

"Well." Ippolit gestures at me. "There it is." When I don't react, he clears his throat. "A proposal."

"Announce an engagement between yourself and this girl," he explains. "Show the world that you have her. And Budanov will come to us like a moth drawn to the flame."

"And once you get her alone, turn her over to us," Gunsyn interjects. "I got ways to make her talk." He licks his lips suggestively. "Or scream. I'm not picky."

The three of them laugh darkly at Gunsyn's words. My blood boils as I listen, an overwhelming urge to protect Maria from them rising in me like a fire.

"Enough!" I snap, slamming my hand against a wall.

The laughter dies down immediately, and my brigadiers exchange uneasy glances before they turn to look at me.

"As it happens," I say slowly. "I encountered her already. I know where she is staying."

"How fortunate for us," Alexander muses. "Do tell, my pakhan."

"You'll have an easier time getting blood out of a stone than snatching her from there." I shake my head. "But I have an idea where she might be later."

"Perfect!" Gunsyn rubs his hands together in glee. "Tell us and we'll retrieve her for you."

I fix him with a piercing gaze. There's no way in hell that I'll allow a pig like Gunsyn anywhere near Maria. Not after everything he just said.

"No," I say. "This is something that I will do myself. If we are to announce an engagement, I will not have the three of you mistreat her."

"Mikhail Ivanov, we're just having a bit of fun," Gunsyn chuckles, but his eyes carry no hint of amusement. He's careful not to go too far. "Your father never objected to us saying such things."

"My father is dead," I snarl, glaring at him. "And so are his tactics. Am I understood?"

"Understood, pakhan," he says, backing down, but not hiding his resentment for my decision.

"Good." My voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. "I will have her back here tomorrow, where you can question her yourselves." I look each one in the eye. "Gently."

The three of them voice their consent to my plan and file into the elevator, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I step out onto the massive terrace of the penthouse and watch the sun climb into the sky. But I can't feel its warmth as cold guilt grips my heart. Something tells me that Maria Rostova isn't who they think she is.

But more importantly, I have a sneaking suspicion that by bringing her into my world, I'm about to destroy something beautiful.