The entire family gathers on the fourteenth floor of the Sarkissian Building. I have Tigran set aside the biggest conference room we have. It’s large enough for an entire company to have an all-hands meeting, but it still feels cramped and packed with every blood relative and all the important Brotherhood members sitting around and talking with each other.
Nobody knows I’m here to fuck up their lives.
They eat lunch provided by an Armenian family that owns a restaurant near here. Kebab sliders, chicken shawarma wraps, vegetarian stuffed eggplant, and a host of side dishes. Everything’s set out in those ugly silver warming trays. Bottles of vodka and beer litter the table. There’s laughter and smiling. Only Tigran seems subdued along with some of the more perceptive captains.
If my brother’s not smiling, shit’s going down.
Lena laces her fingers through mine. She stays by my side as the family settles in and finishes their meal. I give them some time to digest while I speak quietly with some cousins. Lena remains there, practically in my lap.
Some of the aunts shoot her ugly looks. A Russian bitch married to their patron? The shame of it. The fucking nightmare.
“Are you ready?” Lena whispers in my ear once Tigran starts settling the crowd. “You don’t have to do this.”
“We both know that I do.” I kiss her quickly. Then I kiss her again, but slower this time. Why fucking rush it? Just because some old, prejudiced assholes are watching?
They’re about to have one hell of a shock.
“Own it then.” She nods sharply to me. Her pierced eyebrow’s healing nicely and her bushy auburn hair’s pushed back in thick curls. I’ve never seen a stronger, more beautiful woman in my life.
I push back my chair and stand.
Everyone’s looking at me. Men and women I’ve known forever. There’s cousin Vartan and his little brother, Greg. They always joke Vartan got the ethnic name while Greg must’ve been adopted. Beside them is Aunt Araxie and Uncle Haik. Last year, Haik cut the throat of a Russian and nearly did time for it when the cops decided to investigate. These are people I grew up with. People I fought with and people I’d die for.
And I’m about to drop a goddamn bomb.
“I want to thank you all for coming here. I know it’s not easy, mingling the family like this.” Sitting toward the back are Garen and Sona. Both look unhappy. They’re surrounded by the other members of the Brotherhood that allied with them during the civil war.
“Family is blood,” Uncle Michael shouts. A half-empty bottle of vodka is at his elbow. “Hail the patron.”
“Hail, hail, hail,” comes a chorus of voices.
I hold up my hands for quiet.
“These last few months have been a very trying time for the Brotherhood. The conflict with the Russians, my father’s death, our own internal struggles. They tested the bonds of our family. There was a time when I wondered if blood is enough.”
“It’s more than enough!” Uncle Michael cries, slurring and swaying.
I nod at Tigran. He stands, walks over to the drunk asshole, and punches him in the face. Michael grunts in surprise and pitches over. He hits the floor and doesn’t get back up.
Tigran returns to his seat. There’s nervous laughter all around.
“Michael’s wrong.” I meet surprised gazes. The smiles fade away. “Blood isn’t enough. It was never enough. Leadership and strength. Money and power. These things keep the Brotherhood from tearing itself to pieces. Our genes are nothing without strength.”
There are more than a few confused faces. But only Aunt Sona seems grim. She knows what’s coming.
I look to the side. Lena’s sitting there, her back straight and her chin raised. She meets my gaze and nods once, her hand curling into a fist.
Own it.
“I found out recently that my father was not my biological father. My true father is Boris Zeitsev, the former leader of the Zeitsev Bratva.”
There are murmurs and confused faces. Aunt Sarah speaks up. “I remember the day you were born,” she calls out. “That can’t be true.”
“I was raised by Aram Sarkissian and treated like his child. But it wasn’t my mother that gave birth to me. It’s not Aram’s direct blood in my veins.”
“Then who?” Aunt Sarah asks, clearly not sure what to believe. I don’t blame her. She’s one of the oldest members of the family, and she prides herself on knowing everything. The ancient gossipy crone.
“Sona Sarkissian is my mother.”
My aunt’s expression tightens. She sits up to her full height and doesn’t back down as the room explodes. Several aunts shout at her while more than a few uncles throw out rude comments.
Uncle Garen looks like he wants to kill me.
Not that I can blame him. The worthless piece of shit.
“How can this be true?” Aunt Sarah wails. “Tell us it isn’t true, Sona?”
“It’s the truth. You think your hands are clean, Sarah? We all know you’ve been stealing from the deli for the last twenty years and snorting it all up your fucking nose, you arrogant bitch.”
“How dare you?” Aunt Sarah stands and throws a glass. Sona barely ducks in time.
The table shatters into chaos. Several uncles are screaming at each other. Garen’s yelling right back. Sona remains seated, face stony and dignified.
I let them squabble. This is family. Pettiness and anger. Grudges and agendas. They speak as if blood is all that matters, but those are only words.
“Enough,” I say but my voice is lost in the chatter. Two cousins are actively punching each other in a corner while several more aunts try to break them up. “Enough,” I say again, louder this time.
Tigran stands and fires a pistol three times in the air.
The sound is deafening. Drywall drifts down from the holes in the ceiling like snow. Everyone freezes and stares at my brother in horror as he holds the gun loosely in front of him, face impassive.
“Your patron is calling for order,” he says.
Slowly, the cousins break apart. One’s got a bloody nose while the other’s shirt is torn down the side. They’re both sent away from the room with two aunts in tow. Once that’s settled, the remaining family is seated, and the tension is vicious and sharp.
Guns are going to be pulled soon. Blood will spill. All that precious fucking blood.
“The Brotherhood is going to change,” I tell them. “We will always and forever be run by the Sarkissian family, but we will no longer obsess over lineage. My wife is Russian. I’m half Russian. We will no longer punish those that stray outside of our ethnic clan to find happiness. Those days are over.”
“We’re a fucking proud Armenian organization,” snarls Uncle Haik, a square and hairy guy. He’s normally quiet, but this must be too much for him. “How dare you try to change that?”
“We will always be Armenian, but the old ways are officially dead. The structure of the Brotherhood will change as well. There will be new captains, all of them elected on merit, not on fucking relationships. And to start that, I’m going to name a new member of the Brotherhood’s leadership team.”
Dead silence. More than a few unhappy stares.
I gesture toward the far end of the table.
“Aunt Sona is officially nominated as my top Brigadier. The third highest position in the new Brotherhood.”
Nobody speaks. Everyone turns toward her. Aunt Sona is as surprised as everyone else, but she stands stiffly.
I think she’s going to turn me down. Her face is pale and hard. Her eyes are set in a scowl. Her nose twitches. Uncle Garen looks like he’s going to try to strangle me to death.
“I accept,” Aunt Sona says. “Hail the patron.”
“Hail the fucking patron,” Tigran shouts, and there are a few echoes, but none are enthusiastic.
“Sona deserves this position. You all know she’s as clever as anyone in this room. Her promotion is based on her talents, not on her relationship to me or to anyone else. This is the first step toward healing our family. No longer is blood enough. Strength will guide us.”
“Strength will guide us,” Lena says by my side, looking proud and smiling broadly.
“That’s all. Finish this good food. Drink as much drink as you like. Tomorrow, the new Brotherhood moves forward.”
I hold out a hand. Lena accepts it and stands by my side. For a moment, I linger with her, letting my family see their future.
They might not like it, but they will obey.
We leave together.
Lena leans against me in the hall. “You did great,” she says, nuzzling into me. “I’m so proud of you.”
“They’re not happy.”
“You knew they wouldn’t be.”
“I’m not sure they’re going to come around.”
“They will. Trust me.” She gets on her toes and kisses me. I pull her tight and want to stay there for a few minutes, but her eyes focus on someone over my shoulder. “Turn around,” she whispers.
I release my wife and look back. Sona’s standing a few feet away. She’s alone and stiff. Her hands brush awkwardly over her bracelets, the gold and diamonds glittering. Lena pats my arm gently and retreats to give us some space.
Aunt Sona approaches. “I didn’t know you were going to do that.”
“You deserve it. Lesser men have been promoted over you for much too long.”
“It was cleverly done too. Drop that juicy bit of gossip then raise your enemy and make her an ally.”
“The war is behind us now.”
“You’re right.” She rubs her hands together and glances away. “It was never about you, you know.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
“I wanted to be in your life, but Aram insisted I keep my distance. Especially as you got older. I felt some resentment toward him, and I let that affect the way I treated you. It was never your fault. It was always my own shame.”
I breathe in deep. I know that already, but it’s good to hear her say it.
“We’re on the same side now,” I tell her and hold out a hand. “They won’t like all the changes we make, but I have a feeling we’ll figure out how to keep them in line.”
“I have a feeling you’re right.” She takes my hand. Her fingers are thin and bony. We shake softly. It feels weird, touching her like this. I still remember her as my aunt. But she’s my mother too. Except I doubt we’ll ever have that kind of relationship.
When she’s gone, I find Lena waiting at the end of the hallway. She steps into my arms and buries her face in my chest. “How’d that go?”
“I think it’s going to work out.”
“Yeah? Minimal suffering?”
“We’ll see about that.”
She snorts slightly and tilts her chin up. “Take me home now, please. I’m tired. I want your odd poisoner to make me some pancakes.”
“You really shouldn’t call her that. If she ever hears it, she just might take up her old occupation.”
I’m teasing and Lena knows it, but her face drops anyway. “Seriously? You think so?”
“Of course not. That woman adores you.” I wrap my arm around Lena and steer her toward the elevators. “I adore you too. So will the whole Brotherhood once they get to know you better.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Then I’ll kill them.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
I kiss her eyebrow. “I’m not.”
“Crazy bastard,” she says, leaning into me.
