slacked and mustaches twitching. Two of my brothers smirked faintly at me, already enjoying the verbal beating I was about to receive for speaking out of turn.
Father’s expression darkened. It was the same expression he got before he raised his arm above his head and brought it down onto my brothers’ or my flesh.
“What was that, Kostya?” he asked harshly.
He was giving me a second chance, a chance to surrender in front of his men. Over the table, Feodor tried to catch my eye. Back down, he was imploring.
I met my father’s stare. “We cannot continue to behave like we did in our golden era. The Soviet Union is gone—we must adapt to this new era or risk losing everything.”
Someone muttered a prayer to God under their breath.
Father’s expression did not change. “Is that so, Kostya? Do you have a lot of experience with running a crime organization?” He spread his hands mockingly. “Had I known my fifteen-year-old son was such an expert, I would’ve paid more attention to you.”
A few of the men forced laughs. My eldest brother looked like he was going to grab Natasha and bolt. She was the only one who looked remotely calm—in fact, the toddler looked like she was currently relieving herself into her diaper.
“I did not mean any disrespect, Father,” I countered, unable to back down, to shove down the natural urge to be the mightiest in the room. “But what we are doing right now is not working. We are losing territory and money. Clearly, something needs to change.”
Father worked his jaw, eyeing me up with the same look a lion gave a gazelle before it tore its throat out. “If you ever grow some balls and kill your brothers, maybe one day you will get to make decisions like this.” He bared his teeth slightly. “Until then, Kostya, shut up about what you do not understand.”
This wasn’t getting anywhere. Some part of me wanted to keep pushing, keep arguing my point. But all I wanted to say had been already said and they had chosen not to listen; what happened afterwards was on them.
If you ever grow some balls and kill your brothers... The words echoed through my head as I ran my eyes over my siblings. There would be no point to killing them all, where one fell another would pop up in his place.
Still...it was an alluring idea. They might be related to me by blood, but there was no love lost between us. Killing them would be easy—much easier than killing Artyom. Artyom and I had been brothers since his family moved to Moscow from Kyzyl.
I bowed my head slightly to my father, a silent wave of my white flag.
All my brothers grinned at my surrender.
Soon the meeting dwindled to an end. I stood up, fully intending to go and roam the streets with Artyom, causing trouble and playing with low-level drug dealers like cats with mice, when Father gestured to me.
I sat back down.
Some men spared me smug looks whereas others looked pitying. My brothers shot me curious looks as they left, indicating they didn’t know why Father had pulled me aside. Interesting.
Only Natasha waved to me as she left, almost like she suspected this was the last time she would see me and was saying goodbye.
Father didn’t say anything as the door clicked shut, only leaned back in his chair and assessed me. I took after Mother in my appearance, gaining her fair hair and light brown eyes. A fact that had always irked Father and pleased Mother, but Mother liked anything she had that her husband did not.
Whereas my brothers and I may have fought tooth and nail for attention and favoritism, Mother and Father were in a competition of their own. One that led to their children being played as pawns over the chess game that we called life.
“Kostya,” Father started. “Pour your father a drink, would you?”
I could see the power-play clearly, but played along. I fetched him a tumbler of his beloved vodka [S2]and set it in front of him.
Father loosened his green tie and took a sip. “Ah, perfect.” He watched me over the top of his glass. “I’ve decided you have learned all you can in school.”
“Mother insists I graduate.”
He rolled his eyes. “You are a Vor, a Tarkhanov, not some academic. You have no need for further education. You can read and write, can’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And your mother was so insistent.” Father barked a laugh. “Stupid woman. Never get