Nightfall - A Mafia Romance

DMITRY

T

he footage is grainy. Dots and whirls of gray and white flutter around the screen as though I'm seeing the scene through a snowstorm.

Still, it isn't enough to disguise his face.

"It's Sevastian," someone says.

I don't respond. I already know. Plus, I don't want to look as surprised as I feel.

Sevastian Nikitin has been one of my closest friends since I was a kid. We practically grew up together. The Bratva is a family, but within that family, I considered Sevastian a brother.

And now, I'm watching him spill his guts to the FBI.

"Who knows what he told them," someone whispers. "We could all be fucked."

I glance down at the stack of papers on my desk-pictures, dates, and locations. All of it proof of Sevastian's meetings with federal agents.

When I first got word that he might be a rat, I didn't want to believe it. So, I had him tailed. For weeks, he was monitored and followed, and I hoped it would turn out to be nothing more than a Bratva rumor. Maybe even a case of jealousy. Another member wishing they had Sevastian's close connection to the boss.

But now I know the truth.

"We can't let this stand."

I look over my shoulder and see Rurik Zaytsev standing behind me. He's leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His face is half hidden in shadow, but he stands tall when he sees me looking.

Next to Sevastian, Rurik is my second most trusted lieutenant. Though, with Sevastian's betrayal still fresh, I wonder whether I can truly trust anyone.

"Obviously," I say, sharp enough that the rest of the men in the room straighten their spines. "Do I strike any of you as a forgiving man?"

The question is rhetorical, but a few men shake their heads.

"A good leader is merciless to those who betray him and his family. You're my family and Sevastian has betrayed us all. So, he must die."

There's no room for emotions in the Bratva, especially for the leader. There are relationships, but they're founded on trust. When that trust is broken, the relationship breaks with it. If I want my men to respect me, I have no choice but to kill Sevastian.

I can't give him an opportunity to defend himself-because there is no defense. There is nothing he could say that would excuse the fact that he met with federal agents on numerous occasions without once telling me.

My father before me, and my grandfather before him, led the Tsezar Bratva with an iron fist. Ruthless. Unforgiving. They had no time for regret or disappointment. There was only anger and a sense of satisfaction when justice was dealt.

I intend to lead in the same way.

I pause the video, my office plunging into silence except for the nervous breathing of my men.

I point to Rurik. "Send for Sevastian."

Rurik answers with a sharp nod. "Should I tell him