Heart of Fury - Stone and Fire # 2 [17+]

Chapter 32

sry yall i went to nyc

i also got chased by a squirrel 

Mikhail's POV

Nikolas was the last to walk in. 

He was also the first to take a seat in the Pakhan's empty chair.

The whispering came to a halt. Glasses became half-drunken statements of salute on the table, and one by one, bodies rose to standing positions while my brother remained seated. It was the silent declaration of new order.

My brother was asserting himself as the new Pakhan, and whether they liked it or not, every man in this room now pledged their life, loyalty, and dignity to Nikolas Volkov.

Imagine my surprise when the old Pakhan's body had shown up at my brother's door, in a casket engraved with diamonds as if only to mock our- let's face it, inconsequential loss. The Khishchnik had guts, I'll say that. Weak ones, but he still had them nonetheless. No other man would've dared to use his bullet on the Bratva's prized leader, one with years of brass authority, too. A daring man, this one. It was almost like he didn't give a fuck about the consequences, as if he'd much rather wipe out a bloodline than aim before his shot. 

Nikolas's first motion comprised of calling this meeting. Either that, or we'd suffer with the wildfire-like repercussions of letting the news spread to the people outside of this room first.

"Sadit'sya." His voice echoed like a hollow knock on the decade-old walls. The room had the familiar and prominent smell of leather, freshly-ironed suit jackets, and metal from various cufflinks slid onto men's wrists. Men who were old, young, tall, short. All with the ability to pledge allegiance to the higher authority- regardless of the fact that the last one had taken his leave. Stained glass windows reminiscent of a church up above shot in bars of light, now duller with the red-coated reminder of the man that once held this group of men above standards. 

"What of the body?" 

This time, the Pakhan's 'funeral' had consisted of me and Nikolas supervising the coffin's descent on the grounds he'd entrusted my brother with. Far away, with no scapegoat for bastards to dig his corpse up and light him on fire like they did with one of our other commanders.

"It's been taken care of, like everything else."

I scoff, dragging all the tense attention to myself. "Bullshit. The Khishchnik has no place in our books of accomplishment. He's been killing for months, with no trail of bread other than a goddamn piece of paper with his name on it."

Along with the Pakhan's coffin at our front door, it'd taken a miraculous amount of patience to read the half-monstrous handwriting on an old scrap of paper. Written was his name, dripping crimson instead of ink. Plus the added scripture of a smiley-face.

Pavel's voice rose from the other end of the table. "Might we not install more guards? There's been hundreds of new droves arriving from training stations across the city."

Nikolas shook his head. "Not reliable enough. They need to have at least three years of combat experience and gun use."

"I'd be willing to supply guards." Valerian's rich, uncommon voice seemed like it was sucking out all the air from the room. He was the quietest yet the most dangerous, with a deep scar tearing through his left eye, and a bundle of them slicing across his neck. It was almost like he didn't have secrets with how well he hid them. He'd always chosen the quiet life of crime, and opposed day-time errands other than meetings. A real-life vampire, in a way.

Nikolas rubbed his chin, contemplating, then nodded. "The Westside deal's been closed. That means more drug supplying through New Jersey's line. They'll be parking at a different border this time, and with more guards to ensure maximum security. More of our men, along with the new collection of Dragunovs, will be transported by Luciano."