Page 1 of The Bratva’s Monster

1

PROLOGUE

RIKKI

If he’s lucky, the son of a Pakhan gets to live long enough to see at least one coronation—his own. Alex and I have been lucky to see two, technically. Alex’s memory of the first is better than mine since he’s the older brother, but from what I do remember, I know that it was a big deal. Bigger than family events like weddings or funerals. Bigger than any other thing that we could experience in our lifetime.

I remember dancing and music. I remember our mother holding me in her arms while she held Alex by the hand and swirled us around and around. I remember my father surrounded by men that we had been brought up to call djadej or sir. And late in the night, when the party’s over, I’m in my father’s arms as he carries me to bed.

It’s a nice memory. One of many of our dad that Alex clung to for longer than was reasonable. I can’t say the same. Once I started paying my dues in this Bratva, I came to understand that our father’s coronation was a rare one. He became a Pakhan during a time of peace.

But we are at war.

I rub at the stitches in my shoulder from the bullet I took trying to both survive the ambush and save the lives of my brother-in-arms and my father. It’s been about two weeks since that night and eight days since we buried them, and it’s still sore. Marius did a fine job stitching me up, but I don’t see the pain ever really going away. Even after the stitches fade to a scar and the scar fades to white lines, I’ll still feel it down to the bone.

If I close my eyes, I can still see the bullet hitting Geddy in the chest, feel his blood splashing on my face. I can still see Alex dragging our father to the car as I ducked gunshots flying over my head. I can even hear Alex talking to my father in the backseat as we drove like madmen through the rain, trying to get to safety.

“Rikki.”

I hear my name and look up. It’s Kostya, once my father’s spy, now my brother’s, and the one man left in this Bratva who is as close to me as Alex and our sister. He walks down the hall toward me, shaking the rain off his jacket and running a quick hand over his salt and pepper hair. “Boeviks are posted at the front and rear entrances. Are we ready to go?”

I nod. “All the brigadiers are here. All that’s needed now is for you to swear him in.”

He nods, a bitter smile on his face. “How are you holding up, by the way?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Father’s dead, so’s my best friend. Now I hear this rumor going around about there being a rat among us.”

Kostya’s smile drops a little. “So, you’ve heard about that.”

“Yeah. And it looks like you already know.”

He glances away for a moment, his eyes sweeping the hallway quickly for any pricked ears. “I’m looking into it. Not every rumor has weight, but that kind of accusation can’t be taken lightly.”

“Agreed. Although… it would explain how the Irkutsks knew where we were supposed to be meeting that night⁠—”

“Let’s not speculate. Not yet. Let me look into it.”

I clench my jaw. The idea of a rat problem in the Bratva after this kind of loss just pours salt into the wound. I nod, and we both walk into the room without another word.

I’m told that the last life that this warehouse had was a clothing factory and the room we’re now standing in was a breakroom. I can see the remnants of what must have been counters on the peeling paint of the walls and metal chairs from the scuffs on the floor. Now there is a table in the center of the room. Nothing fancy. A folding table, probably made of Formica.

It’s a travesty. Alex should be sworn in before well-aged wood with gold trim with catering standing by. Not here among the dust and rot.

The brigadiers are all here, dressed in their best suits despite the humble surroundings, and Alex is standing at the head of the table in a simple dress shirt and slacks, his lean figure looming large at the front of the room.

As we approach, I take note of the two entrances to this room—the door we just walked through and a door right behind my brother. A boevik should also be posted there…

Alex only gives a quick smile of acknowledgment to us both, then he surveys the room, our mother’s icy blue eyes traveling over every face carefully. “It’s late,” he says, the baritone of his voice snapping everyone to attention. “Let’s get this done and over with.”

Everyone takes their place around the table, and I take my place at his side. Kostya walks around Alex to flank him, and we begin.

“In the interest of time and just general safety,” he says, “I’m just going to skip all the ceremonial shit and get to the oath.” He pauses and regards Alex. “Sorry this can’t be the event it should be, sir.”

Alex doesn’t say anything. He just nods in acceptance.

“Repeat after me.” In Russian, Kostya recites our oath piece by piece and my brother repeats after him, “In the name of the Rostovs, under the banner of Mother Russia, I accept this rite as Pakhan. I will continue to protect my brothers and keep their secrets. I will defend this Bratva with my life and destroy any who dare stand against us…”

Something catches my attention, a quick movement out of the corner of my eye. For half a second, I ignore it… until I see the softest glint of black steel against the shadows.