Time Stood Still (Volkov Bratva #3.5)(2)

Then, there was the new position he had taken as the Pakhan over the Volkov Bratva now that his father, Mikhail, had been ex-communicated. It had been a calculated decision on his part, but one that needed to be done if only because he needed to make a statement to those that opposed him. It was rare that a Pakhan was forced from his seat—truthfully, it was unheard of—but with his track record, and the approval of the other Pakhans from the different organizations across the eastern seaboard, Mishca had it done. The ink of the cross—a symbol of his new position—had barely dried on his back before he’d had another placed on his chest, its rightful spot. Some of the others liked to remind him that he was far too young for the role, but with time, he was sure they would get over that assumption. Even still, he knew every move he made was being watched carefully.

Now that he had this mark of power, Mishca was still in the process of changing the very structure of the organization he was head of. Unlike his father, he needed people he trusted to stand beside him, not just those that were eager to spill blood in the name of climbing the ranks—excluding Luka who killed just to do it and not to receive any recognition for it. And more importantly, he only wanted people whose loyalty was to him alone. Some of Mikhail’s men had already walked away once they learned of his current predicament—that had taken care of at least a third of them—but that brought problems of its own as well, mainly because he had less bodies to put onto his territories.

This was why, even though he was unsure of why he’d come forth, Mishca had decided to take a meeting with Roman Pavlov, Viktor’s bastard son—a description that he, himself, chose to go by. Mishca had never particularly had a problem with him, but did make assumptions about his character based on his knowledge of Viktor and Roman’s mother, a woman that made Anya look tame. One thing he did know, however, Roman would be a good ally to have, if only until he betrayed him.

Roman was a part of the Pavlov Bratva, one that he headed himself though he had less notoriety than what he probably preferred. This was why he had suggested a partnership, an alliance of sorts that would send a message to their perspective enemies. It would only help their businesses in the long run so Mishca had agreed.

Now, they were moving on to the next stage.

“What are you suggesting?” Roman asked, voice even now that he knew Mishca was going along with what he wanted.

Mishca tapped his pen against the desk, meeting the eyes of the man that was family though he knew hardly anything about him. A little over half an hour ago, Roman had presented him with the business plan that he’d prepared. He could have done so without Mishca’s approval, so the fact that he was coming to him at all, told Mishca that Roman was planning to respect his role…at least for the moment.

Opening a gambling parlor was tricky enough since it wasn’t legal by any means, but Roman’s concept was solid, and could very well be profitable for the both of them.

“Green Hill won’t be easy,” Mishca responded. “The city is overrun with Colombians and Italians, but to my understanding, you already have a good working relationship with the Colombians, no?”

Roman looked very much like his father, same cold, gray eyes, square jaw, and slightly tan skin, and now he wore the expression of a man that was not used to defeat.

“I do, but even if I hadn’t, they wouldn’t be a problem.”

“See it done. I’ll pay you a visit in a few weeks.”

Nodding once, Roman stood, buttoning the front of his jacket, reaching to shake Mishca’s hand as he stood after him. “Give my regards to the missus.”

“Will do.”

As Roman was leaving, Mishca could hear voices out in the hallway, and already could feel the headache that those two were going to bring him before they even cleared his doorway.

Sure enough—as they always were it seemed—Alex and Luka came bursting through the door, whatever argument they’d been having tapering off to meaningful glares.

“What is it?” Mishca asked, aimed more towards Luka than to Alex.

Before Luka respond to his inquiry, Alex asked, “Why was Roman here?”

Mishca knew that their parentage was still a sore subject for her, and seeing Roman was probably a reminder of that.

“Business.”

He didn’t elaborate and wouldn’t even if he wanted to. She was fine, Mishca knew, though he did wonder how the trials of what she had been through still fared on her.

Alex met his eyes for a lengthy moment, shrugged, then walked over to the couch on the other side of his office. “Anyway, I came here to tell you what a shitty husband you are.”

Smirking, Luka went and took the seat Roman had just vacated, propping his muddy boots up on the table. Some days—on days very much like this one—Mishca still didn’t know why he kept Luka around.

Not too long ago, when Luka had made a call that Mishca hadn’t readily agreed with, he had reacted badly and as a result, Luka broke Mishca’ finger. It had initially pissed him off to the point that he had seriously considered demoting the enforcer, but he’d eventually gotten over it. And despite his rather eclectic personality—and a past he knew nothing about—he trusted Luka implicitly.

Contemplating pushing Luka’s feet off the table, Mishca knew there was no point since Luka would just put them back. Since he wasn’t going to like wherever this conversation was heading, Mishca tossed his pen down, counting backwards from ten in his head.