Sitting back in his seat, Kirill said, “So, Arziani…” He paused and took a sip of his premium vodka. I stilled, desperate to know what our insiders, what Zaal’s insiders, had managed to find out.

Kirill shook his head. For the first time ever, I saw a hint of worry in his stern face. My stomach tightened at this glimpse of concern. Kirill feared nothing and no one; he was so confident in our Bratva that it was borderline arrogance.

As he placed his glass on the table, his face morphed with anger. Clearing his throat, he said, “The Arzianis are an underground Georgian enterprise. But unlike anything I’ve heard of before. From what I can tell, Arziani runs his empire—because it is an international empire—like a new Stalin. His men are organized and military grade.”

Kirill reached into his pocket and threw a silver pin on the desk. I leaned forward, seeing an emblem of two swords, one lying over the other. Kirill pointed to the pin. “Their emblem. They wear it on their black uniforms.”

Zaal glanced to me. I could see the rage on his face, too. These bastards had him in their hold as a child. He wanted them dead and gone.

“To my knowledge, there are hundreds of these men all over the world. They live in secret. The very fact that they’ve managed to keep off our radar tells us everything we need to know about them—they’re good. Dangerous. Nothing like we’ve ever seen before. They don’t operate like a crime family, or any made men that we see in this life. They’re their own entity.”

We were all silent as we soaked up this information. My father sat forward and picked up the emblem. He ran his thumb over the swords and asked, “And how do we know of them now?”

Kirill pointed to Zaal. Zaal shifted on his seat. “One of my men has a cousin in Georgia that began worrying about one of his family members. He was sneaking off in the middle of the night. His father followed him one time. He said the boy was attending a rally. A Night Wraith rally, as they’re known. He said at the end of the rally his son pledged something to the male standing on a raised stage. His father questioned him about it when he got home. But the next day his son had vanished. He hasn’t been seen since.” Zaal met all of our eyes and explained, “They believe he was recruited by these Wraiths, and taken away to work for them.”

“The Blood Pit,” I said knowingly.

Zaal nodded his head. “I think so. That and the gulags, and any other routes they run.”

“Shit,” my father said, speaking for us all. “Are they a threat to us?” my father asked. I whipped my head round to look directly at him. My father met my furious eyes and paled. “Luka—”

“They deserve to die, threat or not,” I said coldly, my hands almost snapping the wooden arms of the chair. “They fucking forced me to fight. They took my memories with their drugs and they raped me. Over and over again, for years.” I fought to breathe, then growled, “Threat or not, I get near them and I’ll tear them apart.”

I felt Zaal radiating fury on his seat and he added, “And whatever’s left will be mine.”

My father’s eyes widened and he flitted his worried gaze between me and Zaal. “Luka—”

“We’ve heard rumors that they intend to come to New York.” My blood went from warm to scalding hot in an instant as Kirill moved the conversation on.

“Coming to New York?” I questioned darkly.

Kirill shifted to rest his elbows on his desk and said, “To establish a gulag. The Georgian scum intend to bring a death-match ring to my city, on my turf, and they plan to do it under my nose.”

“They come and they’ll ignite a war,” my father said coolly, but as I looked to his face I could see he was anything but calm.

“Unless we kill them first,” I offered. Kirill smiled at me with his coldest smile and nodded his head.

“Unless we kill them first,” Kirill echoed.

The room fell silent again. Kirill leaned back on his seat. “We have found out that Abram Durov was being paid off by a Georgian organization. At the time of his death, it was assumed it was a private business, because it wasn’t attached to any crime family. Now”—Kirill’s sharp face darkened—“now we know that he was paid off by the Arzianis. Paid off to keep them from our knowledge.” Kirill faced me. “Kept close so when the day came he had an out for the things his psycho of a son did to this brotherhood.”

“Me,” I stated. “He kept them close so he could send me away after Alik killed Rodian.”

The Pakhan’s face was like stone, and he sat before me as Kirill “the Silencer” Volkov. This was the man who ran the most successful crime ring in the world.

“How do we find out more about them?” my father said. Zaal leaned forward and pointed to the door.

“He’s sitting around the dining table,” he said, and pulled all of our attention. Zaal’s jaw clenched and he said, “Valentin. He knows about the Night Wraiths. The Mistress was Arziani’s sister. Unlike me, the drugs only worked temporarily on him, so he watched them. Studied them. He remembers everything.”

“What do you mean, ‘remembers everything’?” Kirill asked. That glint of excitement was back in his eyes when anyone spoke of Valentin.

“Everything,” Zaal pushed. “Names, ages, maps, locations, number of men our enemies have, weapons they use, schedules—everything. It’s all so strange to me, but he remembers details about everything he has experienced, has happened, in his life.”

Kirill smiled and said, “An eidetic memory.” Kirill faced my father. “A trained killer and assassin, an expert in torture, and he remembers everything he sees and hears. Including the Arziani Blood Pit.”

“But more than that,” I added. All eyes fell on me. I sat back in my seat and said, “They have his sister. The Master, Arziani, has an obsession with Valentin’s sister. She’s on the drug they use for their sex slaves and trafficked females.” I stared at the door of the office, like I was looking straight at Valentin. “Valentin will do anything to get her back.”

“A vicious assassin who will do anything to get his sister back?” Kirill’s skin flushed with the prospect of having someone as lethal as Valentin as a member of our inner circle. Kirill faced Zaal. “How loyal is he to your sister? We need this man. If we bring him in without a trial period, he could betray us.”

Zaal shook his head. “She is for him. He’s not leaving her. They are forever.”

“And he’s Russian,” my father added. “He knows of us. He respected us when he found out who we were.”

“And he needs a purpose. If he is to survive in this new life, he needs to do what he does best—kill. It’s what he’s been made into and there’s no going back.” I met Zaal’s eyes and said, “For any of us who have known that life.”

Kirill’s hands steepled. After several seconds of thought, he ordered, “Bring him in!”

Rising from my chair, I walked outside to find Valentin standing at the window of the dining room, staring outside. When I walked in, his scarred face turned toward me. I nudged my head. Valentin’s eyes narrowed.

“Come,” I said.

I saw Zoya stand up from the table and ask, “Where are you taking him?”

“The Pakhan wants to see him.”

Zoya’s eyes were suspicious. I glanced to Kisa, and when she saw me I nodded my head. Kisa rose from her seat. Placing her hand on Zoya’s arm she said, “He’ll be fine, Zoya. Let him go in; you sit with us.” Zoya stared at me in suspicion. I knew she didn’t entirely trust our family yet, but she would in time.

Valentin leaned in to speak into Zoya’s ear. Her shoulders sagged at whatever he said; then Valentin lifted her chin and kissed her on her lips. It still looked strange, a man so raw and ravaged with scars acting so soft with his pretty female.

He broke away and without looking back followed me. We entered the office. As we did, I watched his assessing eyes drinking in the room—committing everything to memory.

Kirill stood. As he did, Valentin tensed. “Valentin,” Kirill greeted, and pointed at a spare seat next to Zaal. “Take a seat.”