Mikhail
We turn off the Thruway and begin our approach to Sorokin’s estate. The castle comes into view before we pass through the iron gates. After Gunsyn’s ill-fated attack, trespassing is not tolerated. At the gatehouse, we are made to step out of the SUV and are patted down thoroughly. The SUV is then left at the gate, while a different car takes us deeper inside.
We’re shown in without much fanfare and taken immediately to the dining room, and as we walk, I look around for Maria. My gaze shifts to the top of the stairs, hoping to see her. Even a glimpse. But if I see Maria, I risk doing something stupid and rash. I have to be cautious. So, I shove my anger down my throat, swallow it, and force it to stay in my gut. She’s carrying my baby, and I will repeat those words to myself whenever my anger threatens to appear.
Sorokin, Popov, and Dmitri are waiting in the dining room, and their expressions are as grim as the atmosphere. Their judgment of me is already decided as I sit down.
“Even with Gunsyn out of power,” Sorokin begins without preamble, “you’ve proven yourself distracted and unable to function. You must cut all ties with Maria Budanov and the Lanzzare Mafia.”
The words twist my gut as if the old man is twisting a knife. “I did what was necessary to protect the Bratva. I ended a feud that has lasted for generations, and I rooted out three traitors who destroyed my family.”
“You used Lanzzare men to kill men within your own Bratva,” Dmitri interjects. “A clean break from the Lanzzare will signal to the Bratvas that you can be trusted again.”
“I had no choice,” I reply coldly, amazed by their reluctance to admit the position they helped put me in.
“You had a choice,” replies Dmitri. “And you chose to trust outsiders over your own.” He eyes Zakhar coldly.
“What will happen to Maria?” I demand. “She has nothing to do with this.” I snap.
“It doesn’t concern you, Mikhail Ivanov,” replies Popov.
“I’ll give up the Bratva for her and retire.”
“Retire?” Popov scoffs, shaking his head. “Manhattan is the jewel in the hilt of the sword, remember? Even if you want to retire, wewill not allow it. Give up the Ivanov Bratva, and we go to war to seize the remains. And you may not live to see the consequences of such an action.”
I look away, convinced I have no more choices.
Sorokin’s gaze pierces me as he speaks. “Recite the oath, Mikhail Ivanov.”
I stand, and my body trembles with anger, not at those who judge me but at myself. I knew what would happen if I went to the Lanzzare, but I went against my instincts anyway.
I hold my head up high and say each word with emphasis.
“You care for no one but the Bratva, and you shall love none other than the Bratva.”
“You love no one but the Bratva,” Sorokin repeats. “We will back you while you rebuild, but no more distractions. Do you understand?”
I process their unspoken ultimatum. I cannot be allowed to have Maria. Her smile, her warmth, her touch, all of it will fade to nothing but memories. She’s my light in the shadows. But my selfishness has undone us.
I clench my teeth. “I understand.”
Sorokin’s gaze penetrates as he delivers the final blow. “Swear, Mikhail Ivanov, that you will never see Maria again.”
I steal a glance over at a stoic Zakhar, whose life has been a lesson in pain and isolation. The thought of enduring the same fate terrifies me, but I swallow hard and do what I must for all our sakes.
“I swear it,” I say, my heart breaking with each word. “But give me one chance to say goodbye to her.”
Sorokin looks at the two men seated near him, who refuse to look in my direction.
“No,” he replies firmly.
“Just once,” I demand.
“No,” Sorokin repeats, his tone final. “You should have known better than to let yourself become attached to a Lanzzare.”
“Damn you all!” I curse. “Rot in your hell!”
“Your anger will do nothing to change your situation,” he says, unfazed by my outburst. “Now leave, Mikhail Ivanov. We have business to discuss with Zakhar Sergeyevich.”
“I’ll walk him to the door,” Zakhar says. We’re watched every step of the way, and guards circle me in, making sure I get into the waiting car alone.
“It’s okay, Mikhail Ivanov,” he says. “I’ll tell you everything they tell me.”
I nod as I settle in the back seat. My hands shake, and I bring them together until my knuckles turn white as bone. Resisting the urge to get out and fight for her, I remain seated like a coward.
Maria’s laughter, her touch, her heart and soul are haunting my ears. Yet even now, I can feel them fading from me. Like water slipping through my fingers.
I promised to protect her, and maybe this is the only way to do it.
Maria, I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.
I will always love you, even if I can’t be with you and our child.
I am chained by the Bratva Oath forever, and there is no turning back.