Maria
As we drive away from the inn, I wonder how she did it. How did Paige Barinov convince her husband to leave the Bratva? I zone out as my father and Mikhail debate Vito’s offer to set up a meeting with the Lanzzare. It won’t be long before Vito contacts us with their decision.
As the SUV approaches the Sorokin estate, I shiver as I gaze at the imposing, solitary fortress overlooking the ocean. The melancholy estate looms ahead of us, and I start to regret suggesting we return here, but where else could we go? I hope Uncle Vito is successful, but meeting with the Lanzzare is also riddled with risks. I glance at Niko, his gaze fixed on the road, and then at Dad, who tries to hide his unease behind a mask of indifference. The tension in the car is stifling, and I wonder if I’ll go mad before all of this ends.
We round a bend, driving along a narrow road barely wide enough for our SUV. A lone man appears beside the road, dressed in black clothes and holding a rifle. He eyes us for a second, making sure we see him before he vanishes between the trees along the road.
“Who was that?” I ask, attempting to make light of our dire situation.
“Our host welcoming us,” Mikhail replies tersely. “Exactly as I predicted.”
The SUV idles as the massive iron gates open with a scratchy creak, allowing us entry. Mikhail and Dad forfeit their guns, and when the guard looks at me, Mikhail shakes his head. If I wasn’t so scared, I would laugh. I don’t have a gun. The man continues to stare as we drive toward the castle. The car pulls up to the front door, and we step out, greeted by Sorokin himself. Are we about to make a deal with the devil to keep us safe?
“You are welcomed as my guests,” his voice is emotionless. “And I place you under my protection.” His eyes scan each of us, lingering on Zakhar with a solemn glare.
“Thank you, Radomil Ivanovich,” Niko replies, bowing his head slightly. I follow suit, not wanting to disrespect our host despite his less-than-warm reception.
“Come inside.” Sorokin leads us through the entrance hall, past his armed guards, and into the dining room. The table is set with a light meal consisting of abundant charcuterie boards loaded with cold cuts, imported cheeses, and cut vegetables. Sorokin gestures for us to sit, and he takes the seat at the head of the table. We wait patiently as his staff serves us, submerged in our own thoughts. The silence is thick with an uncomfortable stillness-no one wants to start the difficult conversation.
“Your visit is unexpected,” Sorokin finally speaks, addressing Mikhail. “I had hoped to hear a report of your successes before I saw you again. But instead, this.” He spreads his hands.
“Radomil Ivanovich,” interrupts Zakhar. “There have been new and dangerous developments.”
Sorokin’s cruel gaze shifts to Zakhar, his face set in a scowl. “Did you really expect to be welcomed back with open arms, Zakhar Sergeyevich? Especially after your … antics have left the Ivanov Bratva, and by extension, all of us, at such a disadvantage?”
Zakhar shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding Sorokin’s piercing gaze. “I didn’t come here for a warm welcome,” he says defensively. “I came here because we need allies.”
“Your loyalty has always been … questionable,” Sorokin responds, his words laced with animosity. “Now that you’ve jeopardized the Ivanov Bratva, I hope you understand that there will be repercussions.”
My stomach churns at the implication of his stern words, and I notice Mikhail tensing up beside me. He knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t guessed the extent of the risk we’d place ourselves in by coming here. The feeling of foreboding I felt earlier grows stronger.
“My feud with Zakhar Sergeyevich has been settled.” Mikhail’s voice is steady with confidence.
“Congratulations,” Sorokin declares. “You have the father’s blessings, but kidnapping another Lanzzare backfired this time. There are other matters that concern me more. I’ve heard rumors that you have switched sides, like Zakhar Sergeyevich here. ”
Niko’s jaw tightens, but he maintains his composure. “My brigadiers are not to be trusted. What has happened was orchestrated by them starting from the day of my brother’s murder. They’re turning my people against each other and weakening us from within.”
Sorokin leans back in his chair, unimpressed. “The problem always ends at the pakhans, Mikhail Ivanov. A pakhan must rule, not blame. We had an agreement-you were supposed to handle the Lanzzare situation quickly and quietly. But this,” he flings his hands dramatically in the air, “is anything but discreet, quiet, or quick.”
My heart pounds in my ears as I watch the two men arguing, both refusing to back down. There has to be another way out, but now we have no choice but to go through with this. I wrack my brain for a way to convince Sorokin that we are doing the right thing.
“Radomil Ivanovich, I understand your frustration with the outcome so far.” Mikhail tries to navigate the treacherous waters of Sorokin’s temper. “But I assure you, my loyalty remains with the Bratva. I can still salvage this situation with aid from the Lanzzare.”
Sorokin scoffs. He picks up a cracker from his plate and bites it in half. The sharp noise echoes in the room like an insult as he chews it.
“Your actions have already been questioned, Mikhail Ivanov. This cannot continue. I will inform Anatoli Popov and Dmitri Chuikov of what has transpired. They’ll decide how to intervene.” He pauses and then adds ominously, “You should choose your next steps wisely.”
My mouth goes dry, and I take a sip of water. We knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t anticipated this. If Sorokin tells the other pakhans about what’s happened, it may even ignite a war between the Bratvas, and our families will be caught in the crossfire. It’s clear to me that pleading with Sorokin is our only chance to avoid catastrophe.
“Radomil Ivanovich, please.” I speak up, desperate to salvage the situation, though I sense Mikhail glaring at me. “We just need your protection while Mikhail’s plan is being implemented. We need time.”
“Your presence alone is causing problems.” Sorokin’s patience is thinning. “The clock is ticking, and you’ve run out of time.”
“Please reconsider.” I speak calmly, though my knees shake under the table. “This conflict could escalate into a full-blown war, causing destruction that no one could have imagined.”
Mikhail remains silent, perhaps knowing that I might be able to sway Sorokin in a way he can’t. The weight of responsibility feels crushing, but I push through my fear.
“Give us seventy-two hours,” I negotiate in desperation. “Just seventy-two hours for us to sort this out before you speak to the other pakhans.”
Sorokin studies me with an inscrutable expression. A tense silence stretches between us, and I hold my breath, praying that he’ll see reason.
“Very well,” he finally says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Mikhail Ivanov will have seventy-two hours. But there must be a price if he fails. Something to ensure his cooperation in the future.” His gaze narrows, and he’s about to demand something unthinkable.
“Me,” I blurt out, surprising even myself. “I’ll be that price.”
What have I just signed up for? But there’s no going back now.
A dark look passes over Mikhail’s face, and I feel a shiver of unease run through me. “Maria, no!” Mikhail shouts. “You won’t do this.”
But Sorokin ignores him and focuses his stare on me.
“Very well, Maria Zakharovna.” A cruel smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “I agree to your offer. I will even be generous enough to take you at your word and permit yourself freedom in these seventy-two hours. And if Mikhail Ivanov fails to resolve this situation in time, you will surrender yourself to me, so that he will know to never do so again.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I try to process what I’ve just agreed to, but I force myself to meet Sorokin’s gaze with a solid determination that challenges his. I have to believe that we can put an end to this conflict before it’s too late-not just for Mikhail and Zakhar, but for Mercy’s sake.
“I promise,” I whisper, sealing my fate.
“No!” Mikhail’s voice booms as he disrespects Sorokin. “Her life is not a game for you to play with!”
Sorokin raises an eyebrow at Mikhail’s outburst, but his gaze never leaves mine. “I believe it was Maria Zakharovna herself who offered the exchange,” he remarks evenly. “In front of her father, no less. Not you.”
“My daughter shouldn’t have to suffer for our mistakes,” Zakhar speaks quietly. “It isn’t fair.”
“Life rarely is, Zakhar Sergeyevich,” Sorokin replies, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, something precious will ensure your commitment to ending this mess swiftly and efficiently. Perhaps this should have been the deal all along.” He touches his wineglass to his lips. “Your daughter will be my guest, not my captive. I’m an old bachelor who only wants to live the rest of his life in peace. Her honor will remain intact around me. You have my word, which is more than what I can say for either of you.”
I swallow hard with relief, but the dread is steadfast, and for a moment, I feel as if I will faint from the pressure.
“Go. Both of you.” My ego overcomes my fear. “I have faith that you will succeed in time.”
Mikhail opens his mouth to protest again, but Zakhar raises a hand to silence him. The anguish is etched deep in his expression, but he understands the necessity of my decision. We’ve come this far.
“Then we are agreed.” Sorokin stands from the table. “Your seventy-two hours start now. I hope you don’t come to regret your decision, Maria Zakharovna,” Sorokin says ominously. “I expect to see results at the end of seventy-two hours-one way or another.”