Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“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.