The price for our freedom came with conditions. Vladimir was one of Moscow’s most valuable players, and to protect their investment, the Bratva sent a pair of specially trained watchdogs to permanently reside at our estate. A man and a woman living undercover as husband and wife took residence in our guest house, under the guise of working as Vladimir’s personal assistants. He assured me this was a good thing because our family was safe and protected like royalty, but it also meant Moscow knew every detail of our lives—where we went, who we spent time with, and how we managed our household.
Publicly, Vladimir was the CEO of Ivanov Enterprises and had an eclectic portfolio of technology companies and real estate investments around the globe. He played the part of a business savvy billionaire, and no one suspected his true identity as a lifetime member of the Russian mob. Moscow kept him busy, and he traveled frequently to New York, Russia, and London to work on important technical assignments with his partner in crime, Maksim. The two of them were forced to put aside their differences and work together in the cybercrime division.
Pasha and Dmitri were also lifetime members of the Bratva, and like my husband, they were forced to lead a double life. They moved downtown and shared a lavish penthouse suite on the Cincinnati side of the Ohio River. The guys appeared to be hardworking young professionals who moved to America to stay close to their family, which was true, but their involvement with the Russian mafia was disguised behind an upstanding public persona.
Dmitri’s cover was on point as a retired Russian boxer turned entrepreneur, who specialized in security training. He bought an old building downtown and transformed it into a training facility for private security firms. He offered tactical sessions for professionals during the day and hosted self-defense classes free of charge in the evenings. My big-hearted, handsome brother-in-law had earned a reputation as a sexy, uncatchable businessman, and every single woman in Cincinnati flocked to participate in a hands-on training experience with the ex-fighter with a delicious Russian accent.
In the Bratva, Dmitri kept his role as a protector, but on a larger scale. Moscow was impressed with his loyalty and promoted Dmitri from being my personal bodyguard, to the head of security for the pakhan—which was a position of honor and a huge undertaking. Moscow deployed a specially trained security crew of military trained Russian soldiers to Cincinnati to work under Dmitri’s leadership. He was charged with transporting Vladimir to and from secret work sites, back and forth to the airport, and he made certain my husband never went anywhere without a team of bodyguards in tow. Having Dmitri in charge of Vladimir’s security was reassuring, and I was thankful he would always be a part of our lives.
As for Pasha, he was a financial genius and Vladimir appointed him CFO of Ivanov Enterprises. Pasha ran the money side of the business for his brother, and privately, he handled financial transactions for Moscow. He was also Vladimir’s new sovietnik—his personal advisor. He traveled with Vladimir everywhere, counseled him on matters of business, and served as his confidant within the family—the position Boris once held.
My father-in-law was still a major player in the organization, but to everyone who knew him, he had retired to spend more time with his family. Boris filled his days by volunteering at the Russian church with his wife, Anya, and spending time with his grandchildren. Officially, though, Boris’s experience landed him an important role that required patience, covert spying skills, and years of special ops training. He was assigned the role of protecting the wife of a high-ranking member of the family—me.
Boris became my personal bodyguard, and when Vladimir was out of town, he packed a suitcase and moved into our home. Like the good old days, Boris tracked my every move and spied on me while I was playing tennis at the club, volunteered at the girls’ school, and spent time with my friends. The difference now was I enjoyed his company and appreciated his stalking skills. I had been assigned an important job in the Bratva too, and I relied on Boris to keep watch over me.
The job I had been assigned was handed down to me by the number one man in Moscow—Semyon Volkov. After Vladimir had returned home, the Bratva boss flew to the States to have a private sit down with me. He commended my strength during Vladimir’s absence and admired my undying loyalty to my family, and especially my commitment to Vladimir. He questioned me about the children, how I was doing personally, if I was happy, and how I was handling our new lifestyle, which turned out to be the most terrifying conversation of my life.
When Semyon seemed satisfied with my answers, he dropped a bombshell on me. He told me the reason he wouldn’t allow Vladimir to contact me was not to punish him for his sins against the family, rather it was a loyalty check for me.
And I passed the test.
Semyon’s parting words were, “Keep your family together, Mrs. Ivanov.”
The strength of the Bratva was only as strong as its weakest link, and the secrets hidden in the underworld had to remain in the confines of our family. Staying loyal to my husband, never doubting he would keep his word and return to me, and keeping my mouth shut about all the crimes and illegal activity I’d witnessed was the ultimate proof that I was prepared for my new role in the family—and ready to begin my forever life with the pakhan.
***
The Ivanov Bratva…
Sunday afternoons had become an official weekly holiday at our house—the one day we aligned our busy schedules, put aside our work, and gathered as a family to share a meal, watch sports, and have fun with the kids. While every get-together brought a flurry of activity, this particular Sunday was extra special because we were celebrating a birthday. Anya and Babushka had taken over the kitchen, and the smell of fresh baked bread, simmering borsht, and creamy casseroles wafted through the house. Pasha and Boris were out on the deck manning the grill and puffing on stogies. The girls were seated at the breakfast nook with Dmitri, making cards and drawing pictures as we waited for our guest of honor.
Vladimir held George on his lap and beamed with pride as his son babbled in baby talk while his family doted on him. I got out my camera and took some pictures, and then a member of our security team announced the arrival of our guest. Vladimir and Dmitri both got up to greet him, but I called them off to do the honor myself.
I took a deep breath, exhaled a cleansing breath, and opened the front door.
“Privet, Mrs. Ivanov.” Maksim crossed the threshold with an armload of gifts and greeted me with kisses on my cheeks. The scent of his cologne lingered on my skin. “Am I crazy, or are you more beautiful every time I see you?”
My experience with the Russians had taught me a valuable lesson. Fear is a weakness, strength comes from within, and when faced with adversity—do your job and get over your bullshit.
“Spasibo, Maks.” I crossed my arms and gave him an admonishing glare. “You’re not allowed to bring presents. It’s your birthday party.”
His lips twisted into a wry grin. “Don’t be angry, love. You know I can’t resist spoiling you and the kids.”
“I know, Maks. Self-control is not one of your strong points.” I placed my hand on his arm and led him to the kitchen to join the celebration. When Semyon had told me to keep my family together, he didn’t mean my immediate family, he meant our Bratva family—which now included Maksim. Vladimir assured me that what happened in London was only business, and now that he was a member of Team Ivanov, I had nothing to fear. By forgiving Maksim’s transgressions against me, I was doing my job of keeping our family together.
When the kitchen door swung open, my family gave our guest of honor an enthusiastic welcome. The girls dropped their crayons and ran to “Uncle Maks” with open arms. They chattered in unison about everything important that had happened in their lives since they’d seen him last and led him to the table to see George.
Maksim pulled up a chair next to Vladimir and fawned over George, praising him for growing strong and being a good boy for his mama. George’s big blue eyes sparkled as he mirrored his papa’s smile. By the time Vladimir and Maksim exchanged pleasantries, Babushka had made him a plate of zakuski, and Anya swooped in and delivered a generous pour of his favorite single-malt scotch. Boris and Pasha came in from outside bearing trays of grilled meat and veggies to add to the bounty of food spread out across the bar.
I stood back and admired the perfect family scene playing out in our kitchen, from the smiles on my children’s faces, the joy of being with loved ones, and the comradery between the guys. The bad blood between us was in the past, and our happiness and well-being depended on staying together as one big Bratva family. Our lives would always be entangled with Maksim, but the war was over and at last our family could live in peace—forever.