He gestures toward Thea.
“He brought a date.” Then, he leans closer. “Wait, that’s the girl from the auction. I remember her.”
Murmuring fills the room.
“Who is she?” asks Petr, the head of the Popov Bratva. “What is all of this?”
“With all due respect,” I say, “We’ll get to that.”
Petr leans forward. “I’d prefer we get to it now.”
Kolya says nothing, his eyes shifting from me to Thea and back again.
“I’m sure you would,” I reply. “But I’d like to begin with the matter of territorial encroachment. Specifically, the Sokolov's systematic erosion of Camorra-held distribution routes over the past three years. I have documentation?—"
"This is a waste of the council's time," Vlad interrupts, shaking his head and waving his hand dismissively.
"Let him speak," Ivan replies. "That's what we're here for."
“Thank you.”
I lay out the documents. Routes. Dates. Financial discrepancies. Three years of quiet aggression dressed as market fluctuation. Kolya watches me as I speak, waiting.
But I want him to think this is the play—territorial grievances, financial disputes, typical business.
I speak until I see his shoulders relax, until I’m sure he’s confident that this is it. Now and then, his eyes flick to Thea. He licks his lips, as if she’s a snack for later, and I want to pull his tongue out.
I let the territorial discussion breathe for a bit, going over some dry details and figures. Kolya relaxes more and more as the meeting begins to conform to his expectations.
Then I close the folder. Silence falls.
“Kolya?” Ivan asks. “These are some weighty accusations. Anything to say in your defense?”
Kolya shrugs. “I suppose I can talk to some of my lieutenants, see what’s going on. These are all petty concerns. When you’re in my position, the head of an organization like mine, you can’t be—how do the Americans say—in the weeds. But I can look into Mr. Moretti’s complaints when I have the time.”
He’s confident, cocky. Thinks he dodged a bullet.
But here it comes.
“There’s another matter,” I say.
The table perks back up, especially Kolya.
“Almost one month ago, an auction took place at a private venue in Lower Manhattan. I needn’t explain the sort of merchandise that was being bid upon, as most of you were in attendance.” I gesture to Thea. “This is the woman I acquired.”
“The woman you paid one million dollars for,” Kolya says. “You’ve come to show her off?”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “I’ve come to tell you who she is.”
Silence.
“The identity of this woman is of great interest to you all.” I let my words hang in the air. “But before I reveal that, I’d like to remind you all of one thing: I may be Camorra, but the Camorracodes and the Bratva codes are not so different, especially on the subject of assassination and the targeting of families. They’re quite explicit, really.”
Kolya narrows his eyes. He knows where this is going.
“The unauthorized elimination of a sittingpakhan,not to mention the murder of his wife and children, constitutes the highest order of betrayal. It voids all claims, all territories, all authority obtained through that action—retroactively and absolutely.”
“That code has never been invoked,” one of thepakhanssays.