CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
VIKTOR
The Sokolov nightclub was filled with sweating, well-dressed patrons who danced and drank to house music. On an ordinary night, Viktor would have been entertaining select guests in the VIP section balconies overlooking the dance floor.
This, however, was no ordinary night. While the crowd danced and the DJs played, Viktor sat in a private room at the back of the club. Behind a reinforced, soundproof door, the big names in the criminal underworld had gathered to assess the situation surrounding Boris’s death. The atmosphere was tense as the men remembered the outbreak of violence at their last meeting, in Viktor’s boardroom, and craved more violence still in apprehending Boris’s killer.
“I assume everyone here has been made aware that my father was poisoned?” Viktor asked with the expression of a funeral director. He grasped his hands behind his back and stood at the head of several folding tables which had been pushed together.
The group of men nodded out of time in response. When Viktor scanned the crowd, he saw narrowed eyes and tensed muscles. He continued speaking.
“Now, for what some of you may not know: Sergei Volkin was the one who stood to benefit the most from Boris’s death. He owed my father quite a sum of money, and his death could have taken eyes away from the Volkin family debt long enough that it might have been forgotten entirely.” Viktor’s eyes hardened with anger.
“Isn’t Sergei your new father-in-law?” someone in the group asked tentatively. With so much noise and so many faces, Viktor didn’t have a chance to see who had spoken.
“Yes,” Viktor said. “Yes, he is. Which makes getting to him even easier than it would have been otherwise. Sergei still doesn’t know that we suspect him, and will not see the hand of vengeance come crashing down on him. And his family.”
As he spoke, Viktor couldn’t help but remember Alexandra’s doe-eyed expression last night, when he had called her moya sladkaya—my sweet. He couldn’t help but feel a heaviness like lead in his heart when he thought about what might happen to his wife in the midst of vengeance for Boris, and even more heaviness as he questioned whether or not he had somehow betrayed the memory of his father by sleeping with the enemy’s daughter.
This was not the time for sentimentality, however, Viktor knew. He had a meeting to conduct, and in order to be respected, he must keep himself focused on the situation at hand.
“Your wife hasn’t told him? Hasn’t tipped him off?” another voice from the crowd asked, sounding suspicious already.
Viktor scowled at the nay-sayer—Rostislav—and walked leisurely toward him, hands still behind his back.
“No. She has not. I have made sure of that. So far, I have kept Alexandra in line.” Viktor ran his tongue along the front of his teeth. As he drew nearer to the nay-sayer, he saw the man sink down into his chair and avert his eyes. A good sign—he did not particularly want a second round of bloodshed at this meeting after what had happened at the last. These men didn’t need to know that Alexandra was keeping his suspicion quiet out of hope that she’d prove her father innocent, prior to him ever knowing his loyalty to Boris had been questioned, as opposed to out of loyalty to her new husband.
“And we haven’t heard anything else about the gunrunner? What was his name…” someone in the group asked, trailing off. Viktor had forgotten about the man from the last meeting, and listened raptly to refresh his memory.
“Anatoly. Anatoly Popov. And no, it’s been quiet as a mouse. He hasn’t caused any problems so far,” someone else clarified.
Viktor nodded. “Good. That makes things even more clear. We will deal with Sergei. If he does not cooperate, we involve his family. If he does cooperate, then depending on what we learn from him, we may still involve his family in the name of revenge.” Viktor paced as he spoke. Even though he’d kept his tone even, if not a little cruel, for the sake of the meeting, his mind continued to wander toward Alexandra.
Her family was so important to her, Viktor remembered. If Sergei refused to give him the answers he was looking for, or if Sergei fought back, things would go bad—and fast.
Even though he had stepped into his father’s shoes as new head of the mafia, however, Viktor felt conflicted about beating, or even killing, in the name of duty. What was the saying? ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.’ Spending time with Alexandra and trying to get information on her had taken an unexpected turn: Viktor saw Sergei and Darya Volkin as human beings rather than as names on a list, and their unfortunate connection to Alexandra was undeniable.
He did not want to hurt her, but he did not want to let his family down, either.
“And what exactly are you planning to do to them?” a raspy voice asked. Viktor’s eyes landed on the speaker like ice-blue spotlights. The question had come from Artur, an ‘old dog’ in the mafia. He remembered Artur from countless meetings with his father over a span of decades. Viktor wasn’t sure exactly how close this man had been to his father, but Artur had been working with the Sokolovs since Viktor had been knee-high. It was unfortunate that his alliance had not yet shifted from Boris to Viktor—the tone of his question spoke of distrust, like he believed Viktor wouldn’t see his statement through.
“Whatever needs to be done,” Viktor said coolly, despite his steadily rising blood pressure. He continued to stroll around the seated men, drawing gradually nearer to Artur.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Artur responded, and then he let loose with a dry laugh. “Very good. The tell-tale words of someone who has no idea what he’s doing. You’re married to the daughter of the enemy, it’s been several days with no action toward Boris’s killer, and when questioned about a plan of action, that’s all you have?”
Even as Viktor stalked closer to the man, he did not waver. Artur’s eyes creased heavily at the corners as he grinned, taunting him.
Viktor stared Artur down while he silently swallowed back a dry lump of remorse. He wanted to pronounce every Volkin dead in order to quiet Artur and solidify his position as Avtoritet. But Viktor hesitated. Should he put his wife in possible danger by ordering Sergei brought to him?
His mind continued to race. If it came to it, would he be able to watch his wife dragged off into an interrogation room? More importantly, would he be able to stomach being the one to order Alexandra’s containment or—Viktor felt ice in his veins at the thought— even her murder?
Confusion tugged at him, but he remained stoic in front of the men. Bad enough that he was uncertain how far he was willing to go; he didn’t need anyone to doubt him or his position as leader.
As though sensing Viktor’s thoughts, Artur chimed in again. “Glaring at me in silence accomplishes nothing, Viktor. You are in way over your head, stupid boy.”
Anger surged through Viktor. The room erupted in curious whispers and then drew silent, the atmosphere as thick in the air as fog as the rest of the men watched to see what would happen next. Artur’s self-assured smile reminded Viktor of the Cheshire cat; he wanted to punch the teeth right out of the man’s mouth. How dare someone insult him and question his authority, especially in front of the group?
Another example would have to be made.
“I’m not the stupid one, Artur. Do you not remember what happened at the last meeting?” Viktor made a ‘tsk’ sound and shook his head in feigned disappointment. He had sincerely hoped to avoid violence tonight. “Kostya. Break this man’s arms.” Viktor strolled casually back to the head of the table while his brother stood and cracked his knuckles in preparation.
Artur paled a bit, but didn’t move. His smile, though, went from being smug to forced as Kostya approached. Viktor watched as Kostya dragged Artur roughly out of the room. More whispers circled among the men. Viktor waited for it, and then—there it was.
The shrill cries of Artur’s bloodcurdling screams and the dull crunch-pop of bone, leaked through the gap where the door had been left open. Viktor closed the door with his foot, his face a mask of indifference when he turned once more to face the group of men who were meant to give him their allegiance.
Rage, confusion, and heartache mixed in Viktor’s chest like hot concrete had been poured into his ribcage, but he could not, would not, lose face with his men. He was a mafia boss above all else, and would do what had to be done to avoid further questioning. Their faith in him could not falter.
Viktor slammed his hand down on the table while his fearsome gaze swept over each person in the room. “Justice will come for Sergei Volkin. After all, I have his daughter.”