27. Matvey

27

MATVEY

I keep my composure. I don't even rise from my chair, just gaze into Ivan's eyes with a calm I don't feel. "Name your prize."

"Control of the Groza Bratva."

More whispering. Hushed, frantic. "Sit down, Ivan."

"No!" he barks. "I won't."

I clench my fist on the table. "Sit down now and I'll forget you spoke. I won't ask again."

"Are you saying you refuse the duel?"

It's like the room explodes: suddenly, no one is whispering anymore. It's so loud, it feels like being at the center of a beehive.

Did you hear that?

The pakhan 's refusing ? —

Does that mean…?

I slam both palms on the table and stand. "Don't mistake my mercy for weakness. You are my oldest vor . You served my grandfather before me. That is the only reason I'm extending you this courtesy right now. So do yourself a favor and back off."

It's taking all my self-control to keep my anger in check. Of all the people I'd expect to be on my side—of all the people I'd expect to be loyal?—

I never thought I'd have to watch my back from Ivan.

The others? Of fucking course. Those hungry jackals are waiting for nothing but a sign of weakness from me to seize my share of the spoils. If they could strip me of everything I've built in the past two decades, they wouldn't hesitate a goddamn second. From them, I'm always expecting a knife in the back.

But not from Ivan. Not from the man who stood next to my grandfather through every step of the first Groza Bratva, from the rise to the fall to the oblivion that followed. The oblivion that I then dragged us out of.

If he'd only come to me in private, we could've solved this without invoking the old laws. Hell, I might have even looped him in on the mole hunt. It would have been a risk, but a calculated one.

But he didn't come to you—he did this . And now, there's no turning back.

"No," he growls to my final mercy.

"Then at least give me a reason."

He scoffs. "You promised us change and you didn't bring it. You promised us war, but where is it? You ignored all my warnings, and now, you have the guts to demand reasons? To offer me mercy?"

Warnings? "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Or did that whore fry your brain as well as your cock?"

The room falls silent. No one dares speak another word, the whispers dead. And something else, too, is dead beyond saving: my desire to give Ivan grace.

Criticizing me? Questioning my leadership? As if there isn't a vor every quarter who does that. It's the oldest power play in the world, but it can be handled. A disgruntled employee can always be put back in their place. I won't kill someone for speaking their mind to my face, no matter how out of line.

But the second you touch my family, you're done.

I clench my jaw. "As pakhan of the Groza Bratva, I accept your challenge."

Ivan doesn't seem surprised. "Good. We'll set a time and a place?—"

"No. We'll do it here and now."

Everyone's stares are on me. Ivan's thrown, but it only takes him a second to recover. A second for his eyes to ice over again. "Fine. First blood."

"No."

A frown. "No?"

I walk to my weapons cabinet and pluck out a box. The smooth, lacquered black surface returns the reflection of a man barely holding back. A beast, howling against the constraints of its human-shaped cage.

I slam the box on the table and unlatch it. "Only one kind of duel is worth the name."

The vory crane their necks like a bunch of nosy swans. Across from me, Ivan is silent, eyes trailing along the edges of my weapons of choice.

Daggers .

"To the death, then?"

It's a message: If you're going to stab me in the back, you'd best finish the job. I don't give a shit about first blood and old laws: you want me gone, you make it happen. You want me sentenced, you swing the sword. You want to spit on my family's honor?—

You deal with the fucking consequences.

My consequences.

"To the death," I confirm.

No one dares speak another word.

As the headquarters of the Groza Bratva, our offices aren't simply offices. And the top floor, the one reserved for the vory and the pakhan ?—

It is not, in fact, the top floor.

There's a code to the elevator. If certain buttons are punched in just right, it will take you to the ghost floor of the building. The true final floor, just under the rooftop.

And on that floor, there is a ring.

Most of the time, it's a training space. The vory aren't all exactly combat-oriented, but their men have to be. That's where they spar, bleed, and practice.

And that's where any disputes are settled.

"Are you sure about this?" Yuri asks, kneeling before me on the changing room floor. He's bandaging my hands before the fight, but I can't help noticing that his own are shaking. "Killing Ivan?"

By contrast, mine are perfectly still. "He left me no choice."

"Maybe you can still work it out. He can apologize formally for the insult, or…"

"Yura."

My brother looks up from his task. "Yes?"

"If I fall today, the Groza Bratva is yours."

His face goes as white as a sheet. "Don't say that. You'll win."

"I might not."

It's the truth: out of all the vory to duel, Ivan is the worst possible match for me. I fight with instinct and rage; he fights with calculations and a mind that's sharper than any blade. I'm strong, but he's older. I've got youth, but he's got experience.

And if that wasn't enough, he knows me. My moves, my tactics, everything.

After all, he was the one to train me.

I want to win. I am going into this to win . But I can't afford to be reckless. Not against Ivan.

And Yuri knows that, too. "Motya?—"

"But if that happens, make no mistake: I'll take Ivan down with me. No matter what."

He shakes his head frantically. "Matvey, let me talk to him. Let me talk to you both. I think I know why he's so mad. I'll make things right. I'll?—"

"No, you won't. Because this isn't your doing."

"Matvey, just listen. Please."

I squeeze both his shoulders. "I know I've been putting a lot on you lately. That was my mistake. I kept holding onto a grudge that didn't matter anymore, and for that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to see it."

His eyes are lucid now. Goddammit, what a crybaby brother I'm leaving in command. I'd better win this thing after all.

"You don't have to apologize," Yuri rasps. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did. And you've been warning me this entire time."

Don't alienate the vory ; don't make them mad; don't lose them. All along, Yuri's been pointing out my biggest blind spot: not my enemies, but my allies. The ones I should have kept closest.

"I didn't think it would come to this," he whispers.

"I know, brother."

I take off my pakhan's signet ring and drop it in Yuri's waiting palm. We don't speak another word—we don't need to. That one gesture says it all.

"What—" he calls after me as I start walking to the ring. "What should I tell April? If…?"

April. I've been trying not to think of that. If this truly goes south, I can't imagine that anyone would be angrier than her. I can almost hear her in my mind: "Losing your life for a Pacman dispute? Are you kidding me?"

Somehow, that makes me laugh. Even here, even now, April always manages to bring out the bright side of things. The bright side of me . Before her, I didn't think I had it—a part that wasn't darkness.

"Tell her to take care of our daughter."

Then I step into the ring.