“What about the other dons?” I fill in. “What will they have to say?”
“They have all agreed to the exile,” Stanislav replies. “None of them want their brand tarnished with this mudak.”
“He will not just slink away and disappear.”
“No,” Stanislav agrees. “He will continue to operate, certainly. But not in my fucking city. Not on my fucking turf. If he comes back to Los Angeles, he knows what’s waiting for him.”
I can see my uncle’s teeth grinding together, but just as swiftly as his anger had come, it’s dissipated. “You are right, brother. Forgive me. We do not need zasranec like that staining our territory.”
Stanislav nods and leans back, satisfied.
I pick up the file that’s sitting on my father’s massive table. When I open it, I see the images of all the children who’d landed in Kovar’s net.
I see ten-year-old girls in red lipstick and silky negligees. I see their wide, shocked eyes staring into the camera with a hopelessness that’s chilling.
I turn the page and see more children. Dead children, stripped and sliced and mutilated so their organs can be resold for a profit.
It’s fucking sickening. Even that word doesn’t do it justice.
“We don’t need his fucking money,” I growl.
Budimir’s eyes turn to mine. Dark, hooded, searching. His expression is hard to read at first.
And then he nods slowly. He smiles.
“Indeed,” he says. “You are your father’s son, Artem. His son, through and through.”
* * *
Had that been the moment—the one when Budimir made his choice?
The memory makes my blood run hot.
Fuck Kovar. Fuck Budimir.
They’ll both pay for everything they’ve done.
And unfortunately for them, “exile” is no longer a word in my vocabulary.
I said it on that mountaintop months ago, when my body was broken and my world shattered:
My name is death now. And death is what I have to offer.
“The other dons might not have been warned about this invite,” Maxim suggests. “They won’t like it.”
“It won’t matter,” I reply. “The Bratva still controls the entire Western coast. No matter how powerful they may be, their combined strength doesn’t come close to the Bratva’s.”
Maxim nods, acknowledging that I’m right about that.
“Budimir is going to make a show of power,” I continue. “He’s going to force them to stay silent and fall into line. They may not like it, but they won’t directly oppose him.”
“Well, then,” Maxim says, “it’s up to you to give them a choice.”
At that, the adrenaline starts to course through my body.
It’s gametime.