adjusted to his new role as a sworn member of our Bratva. I took him with me everywhere, showing our people that a new king had joined the Volkovs. Zaal’s sheer size and strength ensured that everyone knew we were growing stronger by the day. And I felt stronger with him by my side.
My father, though suspicious of Zaal for a while, had slowly come round to allowing a Kostava into the ranks. And I couldn’t be happier. The Volkov Bratva had always had three kings; with Zaal’s admission, the thought of assuming the Pakhan mantle no longer filled me with dread—I would have a trustworthy brother to help me lead when it was my time to take the Pakhan seat.
Kirill pulled out a bottle of vodka from behind his desk and poured four glasses. We each drank the shot, and Krill refilled the glasses.
Pushing the glasses back in our direction, he lay back in his chair and said, “There was an unregistered small private aircraft that arrived yesterday. Our man from the airfield put himself in the refueling center, when the aircraft arrived.”
“And no one cleared it with you?” my father asked, eyebrows pulled down.
Kirill flicked his hand and downed his shot before shaking his head. “No permission was sought, but then again, people have no respect anymore for the way things are done in my territory. No respect for the old ways.” He clasped his hands over his stomach and added, “But that does not mean they will not pay for their lack of respect and honor.”
Frowning, I asked, “Who was it?”
Kirill sat forward, meeting my eyes, and said, “Ah. But that is the mystery, Luka. It seems that no one knows or remembers.”
“Then we make those that allowed the plane into our airspace remember. Whatever that takes.” My hands fisted on the arms of my chair. The thought of bringing violence to our enemies making my blood burn with excitement.
Kirill smiled coldly at my reaction and refilled my glass. I knocked back the shot to keep calm and to keep from imagining spilling blood.
“Thinking just like a pakhan, Luka. And as any good pakhan should, I already ordered my head Pytki—my torturer—to ‘speak’ to the men who allowed the landing.”
“And?” my father pushed.
Kirill sat back and replied, “No names were given, so those men were quickly disposed of for the traitorous rats they were, but we did get one piece of information I found particularly interesting.”
My body was tense with the knowledge that a new threat could be in town. Kirill was calm. Always calm. But I’d learned that the calmer he seemed, the more rage he was feeling inside.
Kirill’s eyes drifted toward Zaal, who had been silent and still beside me. Zaal was always silent. He absorbed everything that was said but rarely spoke.
Zaal tensed as the Pakhan’s eyes landed on him. Kirill tilted his head to the side and stated, “The plane came direct from Georgia.”
Zaal’s eyes flared. Kirill’s lip curled in amusement. “My question is, why would a Georgian dare undermine my authority? Why would a Georgian pay my men off, under my nose, to enter my city?” Kirill sat back in his chair, yet his eyes never left Zaal.
The room filled with tension, until I said, “There’s no fucking way Zaal organized this, if that’s what you’re implying. He’s sworn into the Bratva. He’s pledged himself to you, life for life, blood for blood.”
Kirill flicked a glance to my father, who was rigid in his seat. I knew that they both had to be doubting Zaal’s loyalty, but I was absolutely sure he would never cross us. Even if that loyalty was solely based on his love and devotion to my sister.
Which it wasn’t.
I had opened my mouth to say as much when Zaal said slowly and with force, “I would not betray this family. I am a warrior; if I were to cross your rule, I would face you head-on, not hide in the shadows.”
I sat back in my chair and watched the Pakhan’s eyes narrow. Eventually he sat forward and pushed a glass of vodka at Zaal. “Now that is clear, I believe there could be another theory.”
“What?” my father asked, but Kirill was still boring his gaze into Zaal, waiting for my brother to take the drink. Zaal sat straight in his seat, his huge size dwarfing the chair. His fingers were gripping the wooden arms and I could see the anger in his face. But he forced himself to