7. Ezra

Chapter 7

Ezra

Although the elevator to the mayor's penthouse is large enough to fit twenty people, the box is stifling with only the three of us inside. Mikhail is pacing the six-foot mirror at the back, and Andrei's mask of passivity radiates a cold I haven't seen from him since Tolkotsky was alive.

Mikhail's anxiety is too abundant to keep hidden, while Andrei is determined to bottle up his emotions and bury them as deep as possible. The center of the earth wouldn't be deep enough. Mikhail, on the other hand, looks ready to shout from the rooftops if it means finding Valentina.

It's enough to add another painful throb to my constant headache.

As the elevator dings with each floor we pass, I thumb the pill bottle in my pocket. My brothers know I keep a stash of uppers for emergencies, but I've been so high up that a crash is coming soon. A big one.

Unless I stave it off a little longer.

I pop the cap and mouth two pills, swallowing them dry.

Andrei's mask slips as he frowns, but he doesn't say anything. Mikhail's the one who shoves my shoulder from behind. "You're gonna kill yourself with those things."

"It is temporary." Which it is. I'm only taking them until we find Valentina—then, I'll give it a rest and sleep it off for a week or two. Hopefully, with our woman tucked safely in my arms.

Mikhail scoffs. "She's not gonna like it."

I glance up at the floor level. Two more to go. "She does not need to know."

"She'll notice if you're strung out on some military-grade bullshit. You're like a walking time bomb."

"I am fine."

Andrei's comment is much less patronizing. "Don't pass your limits. Keep a cool head." He rubs the back of his neck, stifling a groan. "Just be careful."

"I am." Always.

When one floor remains, we each pull out our guns. We came up with a plan when we first regrouped: Mikhail will block the exit, I'll sweep the perimeter, Andrei will head straight for the heart.

If the mayor's home, he'll wish he wasn't.

I can feel each steady beat of my heart with every passing second. This is it. The moment we finally get some answers. The past few days have been nothing but chasing rumors and navigating threats to the Bratva—there haven't been enough results for all the effort we've put in. Mikhail with his bribes and deals. Andrei with his negotiating and information-seeking. Me, with my orders for our men to sweep the entire city. I've been along for the hunt, but it hasn't been satisfying enough. Not enough results.

We can't raze our own city to the ground if we don't know where our enemies lie. There would be too much innocent blood flowing through the streets.

Now, though, we have direction. Now, we have action.

The elevator doors slide open. As I step outside, I catch a bulky silhouette in black armor standing in the main room, a gun slung casually over the man's shoulder and a grim set to his mouth.

Our plan falls apart before it begins. I lose sight of our mission and take a step closer to the man—someone I thought we'd lost years ago.

Mikhail curses somewhere behind me, but Andrei flanks me as I advance. My voice catches when I speak, more of a grumble than words. "I thought you were dead."

Thanatos inclines his head. "Maybe you're seeing a ghost, brother." He doesn't look like his name suggests—a god of death—instead, age has blessed him with defined cheekbones, chiseled musculature, and an even sharper gaze in his amber eyes than before.

If he's been away fighting his demons, it looks like he beat them into submission. But every soul within the Bratva knows that our demons are never truly vanquished—they bite at your heels and cackle at you from the dark, taunting you with their presence, until they finally dig their hooks in and start tearing.

We all know the risks when we join the Bratva. Inner demons come with the territory of being a made mafia man. Much like the ink on our skin, our demons brand us, twisting our hearts until there's little man left behind the monster that remains. I've seen it happen to both righteous men and sinister ones—they either drink to keep their demons at bay, or they drown in other abuses. Women. Drugs. Violence. We offer support programs and hold meetings for the ones treading water, but it's a constant battle. Some learn to cope.

Others burn out.

But most men battle demons of the past still haunting them. Wrongs they've witnessed. Crimes they've committed. People they've lost or let down.

What makes Thanatos and his three younger brothers different from the rest of the Bratva is that their demons are of the flesh. Still breathing. Left unpunished for their sins.

The eldest brother left five years ago to track their demon down. To see Thanatos back within the city walls means he either succeeded . . . or his demon has returned to the city to settle unfinished business.

That puts his brothers in danger. And Thanatos will do anything for those boys.

Even return to a Bratva he deserted.

I ignore our plan and approach Thanatos directly. He's armed, but after all we've been through, I know the man won't shoot. Riot gear hugs his body from head to toe—brand new gear, unscuffed and still shiny, barely worn in. If it's his, he hasn't been wearing it long enough to break it in. If it's not, that means he's been hired by someone wealthy.

Like me, Thanatos is best as either a bodyguard or an enforcer. It's why he was my best man five years ago. Put us side by side, and we intimidated the hell out of these streets and kept our people in line. I've managed without him, but I'd be lying if I didn't say his departure hurt us.

But what matters more than our shared history is rescuing Valentina. If Thanatos is here, that means the mayor must be involved in Bratva business.

Thanatos doesn't work with outsiders.

And the Baranova Bratva didn't hire him.

He eyes me cooly as Andrei and I approach. "Your woman is interesting."

Andrei has always been a master at maintaining his composure. It unsettles people when you can stomach watching someone's fingernails get ripped out with needle-nose pliers, and Andrei has a perfect poker face in the interrogation room. I've joked before that he's a Russian sleeper agent, especially since he doesn't remember his parents or his past. He shrugs it off, but I know that's why he craves Valentina so badly.

Aside from me and Mikhail, he's never had a family of his own. Valentina was always meant to become not just the wife of a pakhan , but his wife. The woman sharing his bed, his heart, and every dream that comes along with it.

At the mention of his missing bride, Andrei's fingers wrap tighter around the grip of his gun, knuckles whitening, as his calm exterior frays at the edges. "Tell me where she is, and I'll keep your punishment light."

Mikhail scoffs, clearly displeased. "For which crime, pakhan , the desertion or the kidnapping?"

Thanatos' crimes are stacked high against him; even those two offenses are capital ones. Tolkotsky would have labeled him a traitor, killed him on sight, had a disposal team cut him up into little pieces, and fed him to the dogs. Such was the late pakhan 's way. Cross him, and die.

Things were simpler when the old man reigned.

Andrei doesn't want to rule with a bloodied fist. Some things can't be avoided—violence is a language that flows through the Bratva's veins—but he likes to reward as much as punish. Helping us retrieve Valentina will call for a reward that won't be so easy to give.

"I want a full pardon." Thanatos crosses his arms over his broad chest. "Then, we'll talk."

I'm not surprised by the request. The audacity speaks to Thanatos' unwavering confidence; the man always had unshakeable self-belief, like he walks the path of gods. The namesake has always been fitting. I clench my jaw as I force my gun higher and train the barrel at his head. Even though Thanatos is as much of a brother to me as Andrei, I know where my loyalties lie. Not with myself, but with my pakhan. "You do not give orders."

Thanatos remains unflinching as he meets my eyes over the threat of death hanging between us. "If you want your girl back in one piece, I do."

Mikhail growls from behind me. "What have you done to her?"

Raising an eyebrow, Thanatos flicks his gaze between us. "I haven't touched her, if that's what you're implying. She's been kicking up trouble, though, and not everyone likes it. She's more spirited than the pakhan 's wife should be, if you ask me. It's going to keep her in trouble until someone finally snaps."

"No one asked you for your opinion," Mikhail hisses. "And you're not getting a fucking pardon, you arrogant son of a bitch?—"

"A full pardon—" Andrei interjects, stepping too far forward to remain at a safe distance. If Thanatos wants to hurt him, all he'd have to do is reach out and strike with his fist . Andrei remains as unshakeable as Thanatos, drawing himself up to his full height in front of the other man. Unlike Thanatos, Andrei's power doesn't come from his body—it comes from his spirit. "—for all past grievances from this moment forward, granted when you take us to Valentina's location, ensure her safe rescue, and return to the Bratva in full, which means?—"

"Save the damsel in distress, kill the opposition, keep your runners in check, enforce Bratva code, strong-arm anyone who tries to pull shit, and protect our people at all costs." Thanatos' dark eyes meet mine, and all the years we spent working side by side reflect back at me. "I know how it goes."

Mikhail flanks Andrei's other side, tapping the toe of his shoe angrily against the marbled floor. "You can't be serious, Andrei. He left. You know the rules."

"Rules that I have no intention of keeping." Andrei clamps a hand on Mikhail's shoulder. "We shouldn't kill every man who wanders, Mikhail, especially when they return home."

"With gifts," Thanatos says, his scarred upper lip curving into a smirk. "A princess, a map—" He slips his hand into his pocket and produces something tiny. Tossing it to Andrei, he chuckles to himself. "A way in , gentleman."

The key in Andrei's hand is made to look antique, but it's not true iron. The black coating crumbles off the tip as Andrei thumbs over it. "What is this for?"

"The mansion." Thanatos reaches into the pouch hooked to his belt and pulls out a folded wad of paper. This, he tosses at Mikhail. "The mayor's secret hideaway, just outside city limits. It's marked in red."

As Mikhail unwinds the map of Baranova territory, I sidle closer to him. The mansion's location is circled in bright red ink, with trails of red leading down city streets. Multiple city blocks are circled in black, the red lines from the mayor's house connecting them all together.

"Oh, and one more thing." This time, Thanatos approaches me with an object in hand. He thrusts it against my chest, knocking my gun arm out of his way to do so. "She wanted you to have this."

It's a scrap of paper with from the desk of Henry Mastiff printed at the top, but beneath the vanity mark is an angry set of numbers carved deep within the surface.

I'm up to 99

Ink bleeds through the paper from the back, and I flip it over to read the rest of the message.

he dies at 100

Mikhail's request for Valentina to count her tears has seemed trivial up until this point. The fact that she maintained a count over the past week—that it's ninety-nine fucking tears —hits me like a shotgun shell to the chest. The three of us trade objects and come to a unanimous decision within seconds. This shit ends tonight, no matter how much blood spills.

We won't let Valentina count to a hundred.