Dark Deception

Being brought up a certain way forces certain expectations.

Sometimes, they’re the easier type where all you have to do is go with the tide. Others, it’s all about taking action.

I learned early on that taking action is proportional and depends on a set of predefined circumstances.

Acting too soon or too late can cause tragedy.

Refusing to take action in the first place is the main cause of self-annihilation.

Being birthed by monsters and raised among them had taught me a valuable lesson.

Never let my guard down.

If I do, other creatures of the dark would feast on my weaknesses. They won’t hesitate to drag me down to the road of no return.

Or so they wish.

They’d have to reach me to touch me. They’d have to possess the ability to look me in the eyes and not tremble in fear.

They’d have to reach my level of power.

After losing everything as a kid and being raised in the ranks of the New York Bratva, I had to be smart about acquiring power. I couldn’t be too obvious because that would trigger my father’s suspicions.

He’d think that I’m after his rank and title, his power and assets. And while that’s true, it’s not even the beginning of it.

Georgy Volkov is one of the brotherhood’s four kings and has been for decades, from before I was born. He shares an easy friendship with the Pakhan, Nikolai, and the rest of the leaders.

They look up to him with a reverence that he earned by massacring traitors in cold blood. Even if one of those traitors was a defenseless woman.

While I’m his only son and heir, Georgy is smart enough to be wary of me. His guards watch me more than they watch outsiders, and he’s often shipping me off to Russia or Eastern European countries, so I don’t grow roots here.

The last exile was my enlistment in the Russian military special forces with the guards that he recruited to keep an eye on me since I was young.

That was his mistake.

While the Spetsnaz was brutal, it hardened my mind and purged out whatever humanity lurked inside me.

It made me the monster he wanted me to be since I was a boy.

And unfortunately for my father, monsters don’t give two fucks about who they eradicate in their path toward their goals.

Monsters take until there’s nothing left.

He’s older now, in his fifties. It’s time for me to take over willingly or unwillingly.

I sit beside him in a closed meeting with the Pakhan, the other leaders of the brotherhood, and some heads of the Italian families.

Dozens of guards occupy the private restaurant room, all armed and scowling even when their bosses are drinking and plotting an upcoming drug shipment.

I wouldn’t usually be allowed in these meetings, but I’m the one who brought forward intel about a coup being plotted in one of the South American cartels.

In my plot to bring down my father’s reign, I’ve been investing in hackers and behind-the-scene players. I’ve been slowly but surely building my arsenal with the help of my confidant and right arm, Kolya.

My father assigned him on a mission to watch me, but it’s been a long time since Kolya switched sides.

When we found out about the South American cartel, I didn’t hand that information to my father on a golden platter and instead spoke directly to the Pakhan. Nikolai appreciated the gesture and has been looking at me with respect.

Something I’ll use in my favor.

The brotherhood and the Italian leaders are arguing about whose side to pick in the upcoming battle. Some are saying that we should stick behind the current boss because he’s been ruling for a long time and has several loyal lieutenants. Others are arguing that we should back the coup because he has more ammo and traitors within the cartel.

My father is on the first side. He always went for the most obvious solutions, even if it meant destroying everyone’s lives.

In the midst of all the bickering and arguments, the Pakhan’s sharp gaze falls on me. He’s older than my father and his features are covered by a sheen of the wisdom he acquired over the decades.

Nikolai Sokolov has been one of the founding members of the bratva in Russia back in USSR’s times and his line is considered nobility in the Bratva. A fact everyone in this brotherhood brags about.

Nikolai twirls his drink. “What do you think, Adrian?”

I can feel my father stiffen beside me as silence echoes around us. Since I’m under Georgy Volkov’s umbrella, my opinion shouldn’t matter to the Pakhan, and yet, he asked for it. The reason is simple: I proved myself worthy to have an opinion.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” my father hisses under his breath so only I can hear.

He knows I’m a threat.

Good.

This isn’t the first time that I brought something to the table and Nikolai skipped over my father to ask for my opinion.

“Neither,” I say calmly.

Others start to argue, but Nikolai raises a hand, demanding quiet. “Explain.”

“If we take any side, it’ll be a gamble because, at this point, both leaders have enough allies to eradicate the other. In case of our involvement, we might pick up enemies we don’t need, especially with other cartels we plan to collaborate with in the future. I suggest that we wait some more, watch the scene, and only when we’re sure the favors are dipping to a winner do we pick a side.”

Appreciative murmurs break in the room. My father visibly clenches his hand around his glass of whiskey, and I can almost hear the earful he’ll give me later for not telling him about my argument.

The times where my father took credit for my contributions are over.

“We will go with that,” Nikolai announces ever so casually. “Adrian, keep an eye on the cartels’ internal affairs and report back to me.”

“Will do.”

“I can do it,” my father interrupts.

“Adrian will.” The Pakhan stands, swiftly indicating the end of the meeting.

The shuffle of feet mingles with chatter as everyone stands up.

My father glares at me over his shoulder as he follows after his boss. I take my time and only exit the room after the rest of the leaders.

I’m not worried about Georgy’s attempt to persuade Nikolai. Once the Pakhan has made a decision, it’s absolute.

“Congrats, Boss,” Kolya whispers, falling in step right behind me.

He’s a tall man with thick muscles and a permanent scowl. His blond hair is still buzzed short from the special forces days.

“It’s not the time to celebrate yet, Kolya. This is only the beginning.”

“A very promising one. The Pakhan didn’t even think twice before giving you the mission.”

Which is why my dear father is scared.

At this rate, his ending is near.

We join everyone in front of the restaurant. I pause when I make out a black van slowing down near the entrance.

“Everyone down,” I yell in Russian.

It happens fast.

The van’s window lowers and then the loud bangs of gunshots reverberates in the fucking air.

I stare in Nikolai’s direction since he’s usually the target of assassination attempts. The strongest pillar always is.

My father doesn’t hesitate as he jumps in front of his boss, using his body as a shield.

I watch as the first bullet punctures his chest, then the second follows, and the third. I stop counting after the fifth.

His blank eyes roll to the back of his head as the guards pull Nikolai from behind him, leaving my father’s corpse lying on the floor.

He’s dead.

My father is dead.

And yet, I feel nothing.

It’s all thanks to him, really.

The only reason I’m unable to mourn him or feel any sort of grief is because he killed that side of me when I was a kid.

I don’t think twice as I rush to my car waiting for us not far from the van that’s now speeding down the road.

Kolya and I are barely inside as the driver kicks the vehicle into gear.

“Follow that van,” I order with a calm that sounds twisted, robotic even.

We leave the chaos behind as we chase the van. It doesn’t take us long to corner them.

They’re not really that professional and must be some small-time bastards who have a grudge against Nikolai.

When you’re powerful, the world is your enemy.

Life is your bitch.

That’s exactly what I strive to be.

We corner the van near an empty, industrialized road with abandoned warehouses.

They open fire, but Kolya and I are faster. Our shots hit their wheels and they swerve before banging against the wall of a warehouse.

We storm out of the car, not giving them a chance to recover. Two men stumble out of the van, shaking their bloodied heads and holding AK-41s.

Kolya shoots the first between the head and he drops dead. I don’t blink or attempt to take the kill.

I might use violence to my benefit, but I don’t get off on it or seek it out.

Violence, just like everything else, is a means to an end.

A method to get things done.

Those who thrive on it become addicted to it, and I don’t allow myself to get consumed by anything.

Or anyone.

Kolya easily disarms the other guard and hauls him to his knees in front of me. I don’t even bring out my gun.

“Who sent you?”

“Fuck you,” he snarls with an accented English then spits blood at my leather shoes.

“Fuck you isn’t an answer. Either give me one or I will find your family and make them watch as they’re being tortured and killed.”

That does it.

Bringing up the family always breaks them. And it’s why people like me can climb the ranks higher.

We have nothing that weakens us, no beloved ones to go back to, and certainly no people that control our fate.

We always go up while everyone else stays down.

After he finishes selling out his boss, the bastard in front of me stares up. “Go ahead and kill me, but one day, you will be killed, too, Volkov.”

“That day isn’t today. Thank you for killing my father for me.” I bring out my gun and shoot him between the eyes.

Now, nothing and no one will stop me.