“Who, sir?”
“The girl.”
His eyes widen and he stares at me in disbelief. He doesn’t know us yet, and he likely suspects his punishment will be enacted on her.
“Why?” he asks, but Yakov cuffs him.
“You answer your pakhan when asked a question,” Yakov chides.
Ilya flushes beet red. “She’s in a hotel room in the city,” he says. “I wanted her safe.”
“Safe? A hotel room in downtown Boston is safe, when she’s affiliated with one of Boston’s underground criminals?” I let the weight of those words settle. “You left her there unattended? Do you have any idea what’s at stake?” He doesn’t meet my eyes. I take in a breath and let it out again.
Stupid, stupid.
“You go get her,” I tell him. “Bring her here. You do not have a woman tied in any way to the brotherhood outside the vicinity without heavy protection. Do you understand me? You shouldn’t have even brought her here. You’ll be punished for that.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, nodding vigorously. “I’ll go now.”
“You’ll go when I fucking tell you.”
He flinches as if struck by a whip. Good. He needs to learn this lesson. It’s humiliating to be dressed down by your pakhan in the presence of your brothers, but it needs to be done. There’s too much at stake to half-ass any of this.
“From now until the weekend, you can be on kitchen duty,” I tell him. “Let’s see if Lydia finds you as charming as your girlfriend.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, looking down. I watch his reaction carefully. Anger when being chastened and publicly humiliated by a pakhan means he’s someone who can take correction. Humility means he’s willing to be corrected and rise to the challenge of brotherhood. Meekness and power go hand, or ought to. A leader who can’t learn from his mistakes will let his authority go to his head.
We are old-fashioned men with old-fashioned principles. Assigning Ilya what’s traditionally “women’s work” will be suitable punishment. I nod to one of my men. “Attend him, please. And perhaps while you’re on your way you can explain to him how allegiance to the Bratva works, brother.”
“Yes, sir.” He nods sternly to Ilya, and the two of them leave. I wait until they’re gone before I get the attention of the others in the room.
“There’s something we need to discuss,” I tell them.
They sit up straighter, focused on me. Nicolai sits at my left and Yakov at my right. I feel their attention on me. These two would fight to the death for me.
Would all of them?
“My new wife,” I tell them. “She’s revealed information to me that will impact the next few months. Our course of action.”
Nicolai gives me a curious look. Yakov sits up straighter. I don’t have a plan of attack, but I need to tell my men what I ultimately plan on doing.
“As many of you know, Caroline came from San Diego.” They nod, and everyone’s attention is on me. “Her brother Aren is brigadier. Have any of you noticed a scar?”
They nod and none look away. It’s nothing to be ashamed of in our line of work, but a telltale sign of someone who’s experienced tragedy. Often, our scars unite us.
“The scar was given to her by her brother’s best friend.” My blood heats, my voice shaking while I try to relay what Caroline told me without losing my fucking mind. “Andros sexually assaulted my wife. And he will pay for this.”
“Fuck,” Nicolai says. “Was he with her when she arrived?”
I shake my head. “No. Her brother likely knew he’d protest.”
“Of course. Jesus.”
“They will pay for this,” I tell my men. “Both of them.”
No one responds at first, and a hush settles in the room. Some no longer meet my eyes, and I’m surprised by their reaction. Do none see how imperative it is that we defend her honor? That we seek retribution for what they’ve done to her?
Nicolai is the first to speak. “Tomas, what do you want from us? As pakhan, if you start a war with another group…” He looks uncomfortable, looking away from me.
“What do I want from you? Your support. I will not allow their crimes against her to go unpunished.”
Yakov clears his throat. “With all due respect, Tomas, my concern is that you’ve only just met her. It takes months to truly know someone with an arranged marriage. What if—”
“Are you suggesting my wife is a liar?” I’m on my feet, glaring at him. I can’t believe none of them see my point of view.
“He’s right, Tomas,” Nicolai says. As my closest brother, he challenges me when others would back down, but he needs to see my fucking point. “We can’t go to war over an accusation someone you’ve only just met makes.”
I glare at him, my anger taking over. “We can fucking go to war whenever I fucking say we do.”