“Yeah,” he says, rubbing a hand across his brow. “Right. Let’s go see the asshole before we go to the meeting.”
“Where is he?” I don’t need to ask him who he’s talking about.
“Thought he was still in the infirmary,” he says. We walk to where we left Erik, only to find he’s gone, and we have no more time to look now. We had back to where we were instructed to meet for our induction, a private room hidden behind a large dining room and a kitchen. We take a staircase that leads us upstairs, and as we ascend, the sound of voices gets louder and louder.
I’m shocked at the number of people here. There must be three or four dozen men filling this large space, each one of them marked with Bratva ink. It’s too dark in here to see more than a sea of faces. We enter the room and head to Tomas, who sits at the head of a long mahogany table.
“Welcome,” he says with a stern nod. “Sit.”
We sit, and when Tomas does, the rest of the room follows. They wait in silence for him. There’s an air of anticipation in here.
“You two have done well,” he says. I focus on Tomas, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. The less they know about who I am, the lesser the chance there is of anyone identifying me. “The third…” his voice trails off and he shrugs. “We will see.”
I share a look with Yakov. Erik may not be inducted in as we suspected. Will he retaliate if he isn’t?
“You’ve brought us the virgins requested. Difficult to acquire, but you followed instructions.”
He points a remote to a large, flat panel on the wall to his right, and they light up. I sit up straighter. He’s turned on direct footage to the rooms where Marissa and Yvonne have been placed.
Of course they have hidden cameras in there.
“This one is exquisite,” he says, zooming in to show Marissa, propped up on her bed, a book in hand. I hold my breath. I don’t like that she’s on display for all these motherfuckers to see. The threat of him playing footage of my visit to her is real, but it isn’t my only focus. I hate the thought of anyone in here looking at her with anything more than brotherly affection. Yakov’s bitter reminder that these two are here to share doesn’t help.
“Brothers, welcome our new recruits.”
Cheers and greetings erupt in the small room, some in English and others in Russian. I wonder what the induction ceremony is like in this brotherhood. Some are brutal, demanding new recruits be subjected to vicious acts of violence to test their mettle. Others will not allow entry without blood relatives or marriage, and still others are hand-chosen by their pakhan.
I’ve met every requirement they’ve demanded so far, and if I can meet what they demand next, I ensure that the steps I need to take to make Marissa safe are that much closer.
“Tell us a little bit about yourselves.”
Fuck.
I was not expecting this. I school my features and remain seated upright, reminding myself of who I’m supposed to be. I can’t betray any of the facts that will lead them to believe I came from the Atlanta Bratva. I hardly listen to Yakov give his introduction, until I realize the room has grown silent, and they’re waiting for me.
“Aleks Ambramov,” I state out loud. “I’m twenty-nine years old, former Russian military.”
“Which branch?” Tomas asks me, his eyes boring into mine as if probing for truth.
“Spetsnaz,” I tell him. That much is true. The room buzzes with a murmur of approval, and I sit up straighter. Most respect Russian special forces because of our rigorous training and defense of mother Russia. Tomas smiles at me, and it’s the first time I’ve seen his stern facade crack. The smile is genuine, reaching his eyes, when he says “Lyubaya missiya, v lyuboye vremya, v lyubom meste.”
Any mission, any time, any place. It’s the Spetsnaz motto, one I used to have written across my back. Was he Spetsnaz, too?
“You, too?” I ask.
He nods and fist bumps me across the table. “Welcome, brother.”
Hope rises in me. This might be easier than I feared, if I have a friend in the pakhan.
“And why did you serve time?”
My jaw clenches. I don’t like lying about this. “Racketeering. Extortion. Theft.” And the reality is, I’ve done several of those things. I’m not proud of it, but the Bratva gains power and control by illicit means, and I’ve always been dedicated to the success and advancement of my brotherhood.
Tomas nods slowly, and faces the group. “I think these two would serve us well. What do you think?”
The room erupts in cheers. Yakov meets my eyes and gives me a grim smile. We both know it isn’t that easy. Over Yakov’s shoulder, someone gets to his feet, his eyes wide, and he takes a step toward us. I freeze. Fuck. Does he recognize me? He opens his mouth as if to say something, but Tomas is holding his hand up for attention. I turn away so the man looking at me doesn’t meet my eyes, so he doesn’t find anything identifying at all, but my pulse gallops in my veins. If someone in this group knows me, I’m fucked.