5

Zakh

My uneasiness about this potential alliance with the Aslanovs didn't dissipate. Over the night, it worsened. By morning, when I was due to report in to my uncle for a so-called meeting with the top soldiers and brigadiers, I was anxious.

No one would know it by looking at me. The day I received word that my father died, I mastered the fine art of masking my emotions. I'd never believed the story I was given. That Pyotr Antonov, my hard-working father, had been killed in friendly fire during a turf war. None of my brothers believed it either, but with time, we had no choice but to accept it as fact. They'd questioned it. Maxim, my youngest brother, had still been more of a boy than a man when our father was killed. We all struggled in our own ways, but I knew that expressing my feelings would only be a weakness, a telling.

When I arrived at the restaurant, I was in a lousy mood. The grave and irritated expressions on the wait staff didn't improve my attitude. I caught more than one of them complaining about Mikhail treating them like shit, like indentured servants, not professional waitstaff, and I could almost sympathize with them. But weren't we all in the same boat? He treated us all like peons, never hesitant to remind us that he was the boss and we would always be inferior. Dissent had been growing for a long while, and within that low morale, I had company.

It wasn't just me. My brothers often echoed my sentiments. I wasn't a lone complainer, but some days, I felt like I was the only one who'd ever think about fighting back.

"About time," Mikhail said as a greeting. He wiped his napkin at the corner of his mouth then tossed it to the table. Everyone else was seated, but it seemed he and Akim were the only two who had an appetite to touch the food.

I made a show of glancing at my watch. "I'm ten minutes early."

He shrugged as though to say whatever. "Seeing as we're all here now, I have two matters of business to discuss."

Such gatherings were an excuse for him to hear himself talk. He didn't know what the hell was happening with the family anymore. He didn't care.

Anatoli raised his brows at me in greeting, and I moved to stand next to him, off to the side. Desmier and Malik sat in front of us, and Maxim fidgeted in a seat down the opposite end of the long table. It didn't matter where we were, I always made sure to check on my brothers. I'd promised my father I would always look out for them, but I felt like I was failing at that. Letting them stay with the bratva seemed like I was permitting them to be dragged down.

"First, the fucking cartel." Mikhail scowled, shaking his head slowly. "The fuck do they want?" Then he pointed at Akim. "And the goddamn Italians. Good work, eliminating that spy at the warehouse."

Desmier leaned back, catching my eye and deadpanning. This wasn't the first time Akim had taken credit for something he hadn't done, and it wouldn't be the last.

"They keep creeping on our territory. Interfering with our businesses. I'm sick and fucking tired of their meddling."

Big words from a little man. I maintained my blank expression while I fumed inside. If the asshole ever tried to keep tabs on patrols, our soldiers, any intel reports, maybe things would be different. He liked to talk big but act on nothing.

"Which is how the Aslanovs will help us." He nodded sagely, losing the scowl and replacing it with a smug smile.

"They'll agree to guard our land?" a top soldier asked.

"No." Mikhail sat up straighter. "They have docks on the other side of the city. Specifically, the Colver dock. We'll be able to run transportation much easier there. Our shipments won't be as susceptible to falling into the wrong hands." He pounded his fist into his hand. "The cartel and the Italians can fuck off with trying to interfere there. The law enforcement too."

The NYPD was always on our asses. The DEA too.

Still, it sounded too good to be true. I couldn't shake this skepticism, but Anatoli beat me to voicing it. "Why would Sergei Aslanov want to help us at all?

"Isn't there bad blood between the families?" Malik asked before Mikhail could respond to the first question.

Mikhail scrunched his face, waving both of my brothers off. "That was from generations ago. It's not a big deal now."

Everything from the past could come back and bite us in the present. He was a delusional idiot to think otherwise.

"Besides, we have a solid agreement that's nearly finished now. Akim and I have negotiated to barter their dock use for a portion of the arms shipment from Columbia. It's the biggest shipment we've arranged yet, and we stand to profit generously."

Maxim drummed two fingers on his thigh. As soon as I noticed that Mikhail and Akim wouldn't be able to see from their side of the table opposite my brother, I narrowed my eyes. He was nervous. Or eager to speak up but too intimidated to protest. He didn't carry as much clout as the rest of us brothers did, but he was no fool. Something was bothering him about these details. I made a mental note to speak with him after this meeting concluded.

"And that brings me to the second announcement." Mikhail clapped his hand to his son's shoulder. "Akim will marry Sergei's eldest daughter. It will mark a union for life." He grinned, glancing around at us all. "They can't turn on us later if we're all family, right?"

Some of the men shared in his humor, chuckling and unworried. Desmier and I already knew, since Akim couldn't keep his mouth shut last night. Even if this were the first I was hearing about it, I wouldn't have reacted.

"Not the most attractive girl," Mikhail commented with a smirk, "but that hardly matters."

Akim nodded, sighing. "I'd do anything for the family."

Oh, cut the shit. Stop acting like you're some kind of martyr.

Mikhail patted his shoulder again, then turned to face me. "While we're busy with the final wedding preparations, I need someone to speak with their man about this shipment." He pointed to me, then Anatoli. "You two can handle that, can't you?"

Like we're not already out on the streets and actually keeping an eye on our turf already. I nodded. "We can."

"It's nothing more than making a show of faith, checking in and seeing that everything is running according to plan. Ask for someone named 'The Doc' and inquire about whether they're ready for the big shipment."

Who the hell is The Doc? He can't mean an actual doctor. Using codes seemed weird. We weren't in the habit of relying on nicknames, and it only made me more suspicious.

I tilted my head to the side, eying my uncle sternly. "Is there a chance something won't go as you expect?" I doubted he would voice an honest concern about a potential backfire or hiccup. He was too proud to ever admit a flaw.

"Of course not. Just a pleasantry. To check in. To make sure they're getting on board with our stopping by more often."

"The agreement hasn't gone through yet," Malik warned.

"But we are further from being rivals," Mikhail insisted. "Just go for a show of fucking faith," he ordered of me and Tolya.

Faith? He wanted to talk about faith? How about instilling it in us for him? If he could provide any details or reasons we should consider this at all, I bet a few more might lose their doubts.