Imust admit, it gives me a pang, seeing Babanin’s warehouse going up in smoke. That place had history. But if I’m going to take over the dock, better to start fresh.
The fire will send a message to Remizov. It will show him what I’m prepared to do in answer to his aggression.
That’s the real problem here. Remizov is a weed that has been allowed to grow too large. When he first began taking over parts of the Zolotov and Veronin families’ territories, nobody did anything about it. Those families were weak, and they deserved to lose what they had if they couldn’t protect their own interests.
But then he started attacking the supply lines for the Stepanov family’s heroin out of Afghanistan, and in one fateful week, he launched a bloody attack on the entire Jewish diamond district, confiscating tens of millions of dollars in raw stones, and leaving twenty bodies dead in the street, including the wife and daughters of Alter Farkas. The women had been working in Farkas’ shop. They refused to give up the combination to his safe, and Remizov’s men shot them dead on the spot.
It’s the kind of brash and public violence that usually would have necessitated a response from the police, no matter how many payoffs had been made. But as Babanin mentioned, Remizov seems to have forged unusually strong connections with the FSB, the police, and the ministers of St. Petersburg.
The weed has spread its roots into the foundations and walls, finding the cracks and weak places. And now it’s threatening to bring the whole building tumbling to the ground.
The stronger Remizov gets, the less any single family wants to attack him openly. I had no intention of doing it myself. But now he’s left me no choice. His actions cannot go unanswered.
Dominik knows this too. That’s why he’s quiet as we drive back to the compound. He knows we’re living out the last moments of calm before the storm.
I pause outside the ornate iron gates, giving Maks a salute where he’s posted in the guard tower. He triggers the gates to open, and I pull the Hummer into the yard.
I live at the compound full time, with Dominik and eleven of my top lieutenants—those who aren’t married or living with the mothers of their children.
It used to be a monastery. Its thick stone walls are convenient, not to mention its network of catacombs and tunnels beneath the buildings. It’s also quite beautiful. That shouldn’t be a consideration, but like I said, I’ve always appreciated history.
Most of my soldiers are related to me in one way or another—cousins, second cousins, even uncles and nephews. The Petrovs are one of the largest Bratva families in Russia—widespread and diverse. It’s our strength and our weakness. I have connections everywhere in Russia and throughout Europe. But we never had a tight enough organization to be one of the major players in St. Petersburg. Until I came along.
In the two years since my father died, I’ve centralized control of our businesses, our finances. What was sloppy and ineffective is now efficient and highly profitable. When there was pushback from my own family, I had to be brutal at times. I had to make examples of my own flesh and blood.
But prosperity brings fealty. I replaced those who were old and set in their ways with the younger generation. Men who are loyal to me and me alone. I’ve earned their respect and their trust.
My father was never able to do any of that. He cared too much what other people thought. He wanted to be liked.
The Bratva is not a democracy and never can be.
My father didn’t understand that people want to be dominated. They feel safest when they have a strong leader to follow. Whether my men agree with my decisions or not, my certainty gives them comfort and motivation.
So I can never show hesitation, or fear. I have to be the leader my family needs.
Only my brother knows me well enough to see the cracks in the facade.
“I’ll gather the men,” Dom says quietly, once we’re inside the main building.
He calls everyone into the war room, which used to be the chapel of the monastery. All the pews are gone now, the room dominated by a large, circular table, so heavy that it would probably take all thirteen of us to move it. The light filtering down from high overhead is shot through with color from the stained-glass windows depicting scenes from the Book of Revelations. The largest window shows the four horsemen of the apocalypse, riding their red, white, black, and vermillion horses. The green rider is Death himself, carrying a scythe.
Once everyone is seated, Dominik gives the men a short summary of what transpired at the docks. Then I take the floor.
“A conflict with Remizov was inevitable,” I tell the men. “We may come to terms with him in time, but that can only be done from a position of strength. So, his affront must be answered.”
I nod my head to Efrem on my right side—a burly cousin of mine, who’s as dark and hairy as a Siberian bear, but much more intelligent than he looks.
“Efrem. Find out where our guns were taken and make a plan to get them back.”
He gives a curt nod. He’s my second lieutenant, after Dom. I know I can trust him to find the missing shipment.
I turn to Maks, who is as blond as Dom, and looks almost frail, but happens to be one of the most vicious fighters I’ve ever known. He nearly decapitated his stepfather with a broken bottle when he was only thirteen years old.
“Find out who’s protecting Remizov in police and government positions. Figure out why there was no response to the diamond district massacre.”
Farkas was well-connected and well-respected. I can’t imagine what kind of pull Remizov must have obtained to allow him to so recklessly slaughter Farkas’ wife and daughters.
I turn to one of my youngest soldiers: Karol. He’s only nineteen and he looks it. He’s already become popular in the compound because of his good nature and work ethic. I know he’s got friends all over the city, and as one of our newer members, he won’t necessarily be known to Remizov or his men.
“I want you to follow Remizov,” I tell Karol. “Don’t get too close. But send me a record of his habits and movements, and anything that might be useful to us—any mistresses, or interests, or dirty little secrets. I want to know where he shops, where he eats, where he gets his hair cut, who he visits, who he fucks. Send it all to me.”
“You got it, boss,” Karol says with a grin.
“And maybe tone down the shoes,” I tell him. “They’re not exactly stealthy.”
Karol looks down at his trainers, which are bright orange and probably cost some obscene amount of money, despite how extraordinarily ugly they are.
“Right,” he says, trying to force his face into seriousness. “Good idea, boss.”
Now I turn to Dominik.
“Once we get our guns back,” I tell him, “we need to make a strike of our own. Remizov hits us, we hit back twice as hard. Find the target.”
Dom slowly nods without speaking. His blue eyes are clear and serious.
The rest of the soldiers are full of energy and excitement. They like making plans. They like taking action. To them, this is almost like a rugby match. Our team has been attacked, and they relish the idea of mounting their own offensive in return.
Dom isn’t thinking about pride and glory. He’s thinking about what the worst-case consequences might be. He’s thoughtful by nature. In another life, he might have been a philosopher instead of a gangster.
But he was born into this family, with me as his brother. So he’ll follow me down this path, no matter what might be at the end of it.
“I’ll find a target,” he promises me.
I nod and clap him on the shoulder.
While my men are busy, I’ll start meeting with the heads of the other houses. I’ll shore up my alliances, and perhaps build bridges where none have been before. I’m not the only one who knows Remizov is a threat.
