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“It means, we request the lawyers come to the US. They will of course refuse and we’ll suggest meeting halfway.”
“Where’s halfway?” she asks.
“Alaska, give or take a few hours,” I answer.
“So, we’re going to Alaska?”
“No, we’re not going anywhere,” Dimi says.
“I don’t understand,” she sighs.
“The Mafia is built on money and fear. When Grigoriy exiled our families, he took ownership of their properties and any money they had in banks in Russia. He couldn’t access the money they had in offshore accounts, but he felt that he’d humbled them enough to prevent them ever rising against him again. After making an example of them, he went on to lead the remaining families with an iron fist, demanding that all those below him in the organization pay him a tithe. Running a huge crime syndicate takes time, manpower, and a whole lot of money, so he gave control of the drugs to one family, the guns to another, the flesh to a third, then he took a percentage of their profits and kept them for himself.”
Alabama nods, like she’s listening carefully, so Dimi continues.
“Think of the Bratva like the hydra monster from legends of old. Each family is a head, each part of the business is another. Removing one family won’t kill the beast, once removed it’ll just grow another head in its place. So instead, what we’re planning on doing is cutting off the blood supply, until each facet withers and dies. Your sperm donor doesn’t care where his tithe comes from, he just demands compliance. So, if say, a new drug supplier enters the board and pulls a percentage of the profit, Polakoff expects his Avtoritets to continue to pay what he feels is owed, regardless of any problems they might face.”
“Okay,” she says slowly.
“For the last year, we have created obstacles in the path of each of his revenue streams. We’ve helped new dealers infiltrate the streets, ensured shipments of guns went missing or were hijacked. We’ve freed hundreds of trafficked women and children and supplied information to the authorities on the families involved with the flesh trade in Russia and across the world. We have put up barriers at every turn, and while each family found their income streams interrupted, Polakoff still demanded his pound of flesh,” Dimi says, a proud smirk tipping his lips.
“Just as we knew they would, the families put their own wealth into the pot, unwilling to admit to the Pakhan how much they were fucking up. Now, months later, their criminal empires are on the verge of collapse, and their competitors are simply waiting to take over.”
“Let me guess, their competitors are the people you plan to have create the new Mafia once Orlov is dead,” she correctly guesses.
“Exactly.” Dimi nods. “This whole plan is a game of chess. Strategic actions, planned a dozen moves ahead. By the time we dangled the carrot of that rare whiskey in your sperm donor’s face, we’d already almost completely brought down his empire and he had no idea. He died, a painful, agonizing death, thinking that his name would live on forever. But instead, he’ll be known as the leader whose greed was the death of the Mafia.”
“So, what about Orlov?” she asks, absentmindedly picking at the fruit on her plate as she focuses on Dimi.
“We thought about poisoning him too,” I admit.
“Why didn’t you?” she asks, turning to look at me.
“Because he doesn’t deserve a merciful death. The things he’s done, poison was too clean for him,” Dimi says, a fierce anger lighting his eyes.
“We want to look him in the face as he takes his last breath,” Vik growls.
“Why?”
“I wasn’t an only child,” Vik whispers. “My parents had another child. A daughter, Ivanna. She was eleven years older than me. She’d just turned sixteen when the Pakhan ordered our families out of Russia.”
Alabama’s face pales, she knows what’s coming.
“He made us all leave, except her. He took her, and gifted her to Orlov for his loyalty. She was his first wife.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she whispers, reaching over and placing her hand on his knee and her cheek on his shoulder, comforting him.
“Our parents still had friends in the old country and they tried to rescue her. He had her chained in a room because she kept trying to get free. He raped her, beat her, tortured her, then he divorced her and put her to work in one of his brothels. By the time my parents’ connections found her, there was nothing left of her. She was nothing more than a shell. They got her out and tried to bring her to the US, but she died a month after they got her home. Her body and her spirit gave up on her, too broken to fight to stay alive.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, lifting her arms and hugging him.
After a moment, he buries his face in her neck and clings to her, silent sobs shaking his back.
“We’re going to kill him,” she says when Vik gets his emotions under control and sits back. “He doesn’t deserve to live. Tell me what we do.”
And just like that, she’s with us, as bloodthirsty and ready for revenge as we are.
CHAPTER 25
