“I have no goddamn idea how to run a syndicate.”
Viktor’s jaw tightens. The rest of the Bratva men look at one another. Alexei and Gabriel stay silent—they already know what’s coming next.
I continue. “My father and grandfather built something, something strong. And something that Kolya Sokolov nearly destroyed. The fact that it can be restored—the fact that there are men in this room willing to restore it—means more to me than I can express. But I’d be lying if I sat here and pretended that I’m ready to lead it. I’m not. Not today. Maybe never.”
I glance over at Alexei. He meets my gaze and nods, letting me know he’s ready.
“Which is why I’m asking my cousin, Alexei Petrov, to serve as acting head of the Fetisov syndicate on my behalf.”
Alexei leans forward. “I’ll be relocating to New York permanently. My security firm will transfer to my second-in-command. The infrastructure is already in place. My focus will be entirely on rebuilding the Fetisov organization, restoring its territories, and reestablishing the alliances that were severed twenty years ago.”
“The Petrovs are Fetisov blood,” Grigory says carefully. “Masha’s family. The council will accept this arrangement, provided the chain of authority remains clear.”
“It does,” I say. “Alexei leads with my full authority. Any decision he makes carries my name behind it.”
Viktor speaks for the first time. “And what about the old guard? Max’s people—the men who have been waiting.”
He looks at me sharply. I recognize that kind of stare. It’s the sort of look someone gives when they’re challenging authority. He wants to see if I will stick up for myself.
I do.
“Your brother spent years building a network of loyalists. That network needs leadership. I’d like you to serve as Alexei’s right hand. Co-manage the transition. Help integrate your brother’s people back into the Fetisov fold.”
Viktor is quiet for a long moment. He looks at me, assessing me, sizing me up. I wonder if he’s trying to determine whether or not I’m someone he should follow—or overthrow.
My gut tenses.
“My brother died for this,” he says finally. “Flew across the globe and died on a sidewalk because he believed that you were still alive, believed that the Fetisovs would rise again.” He pauses. “He was right. The answer is yes. It’s what my brother would’ve wanted.”
Relief washes over me.
“For Max,” I agree.
Grigory makes a note. “The council will ratify the agreement at the next formal session, when the entirety of the Bratva can be convened.” He turns to me. “So you’re not off the hook just yet, young lady.”
Chuckles ring out, and I force a smile. “But for now, the Fetisov syndicate is restored under the leadership of Teodora Fetisova, with Alexei Petrov as acting head and Viktor Federov as co-managing director.” He sits back. “And it should be stated, for the record, that the heir—that’s you, my dear—retains full authority to assume direct leadership at any time, or to designate a successor of her choosing.”
“Including an heir of her own,” Alexei adds, his eyes flicking to my belly, “in time.”
My hand drifts to my stomach as it has countless times. The bump is visible now—I see it when I’m looking at myself in the mirror. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m going to be a mother.
Gabriel’s hand finds mine under the table and squeezes it.
“In time,” I say. “But not today. Today, I’m just grateful that the people in this room are willing to do what I can’t. My father would be proud that not only did his name survive, but also that there are people who still believe in him, who haven’t forgotten our name or our family.”
And that’s the end of it. The meeting wraps up with handshakes.
As we leave, Gabriel walks beside me, one hand on the small of my back.
“That was impressive.”
I laugh. “What, the way I stepped down from leadership?”
“Well, yes. Not everyone can understand that was the right call to make. There are plenty of people in this world who want power but don’t have what it takes to wield it.” We step into the elevator. “What I meant was the way you handled yourself. Not everyone can do that. You told dangerous men the truth, and they respected you for it. That’s leadership, Thea.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything at all. Instead, I lean into him as the elevator descends and the polished metal walls catch our reflection—a silver-haired Camorra don and a pregnant Bratvapakhan.
I don’t entirely recognize her yet.