The Bratva safehouse is a warehouse in Brooklyn, all concrete and shadows. I'm standing in the middle of a chalk circle, my karambit knife in one hand, Glock tucked away. The air's thick with sweat and cigarette smoke. Bratva guys line the walls, their faces hard, betting on blood. Dmitri "The Bear" Sokolov faces me, shirt off, his massive chest scarred like a roadmap. He's Nikolai's right-hand man, and he's called this trial by combat to prove I don't deserve to lead. My arm's still sore from the Queens fight, but I'm ready. Romanov's auction is tonight, and I need the Bratva behind me to hit it.
Nikolai's gone, gunned down, our gold stolen. Anya says it's locked in a digital vault, and a traitor in the Bratva has the key. Dmitri's been pushing the council against me, calling me weak. His meeting last night while I was dodging Romanov's drones set this up. He's loyal to the old ways, thinks I'm just Nikolai's pet. I need to win this fight, not just for me, but to keep the *Bratva* from cracking. Elena's here too, Nikolai's daughter, watching from the crowd. Her gray eyes burn, and I hate that she's seeing this.
Ivan, the council's old man, steps forward. "Trial by combat," he says, voice rough. "No guns, no tricks. Fight till one yields or dies. For leadership."
Dmitri cracks his knuckles, grinning. "You're done, Vitya. I'm taking the Bratva."
I twirl my knife, keeping my voice low. "Talk's cheap, Bear. Let's dance."
The crowd roars, bloodthirsty. Dmitri charges like a bull, fists swinging. I dodge, fast, slashing his arm. Blood drips, but he doesn't flinch. He grabs my jacket, slamming me into a crate. Wood cracks, and pain shoots through my ribs. I twist free, kicking his knee. He stumbles, and I cut his chest, shallow but sharp. The crowd cheers, but I'm not here for show.
"You're soft!" Dmitri roars, lunging. His fist clips my jaw, and I taste blood. I roll, dodging a second swing, and slice his thigh. He's big, but I'm quicker, trained in Systema to hit and move. He grabs a pipe from the floor, swinging it like a bat. I duck, the pipe smashing a crate behind me. Splinters fly, and I tackle him, driving my knife toward his shoulder.
He catches my wrist, twisting hard. My knife drops, skittering across the floor. The crowd gasps. Dmitri slams me down, his weight crushing my chest. "You're no Nikolai!" he snarls, fist raised. I grab a splintered board, smashing it into his face. He reels, blood pouring from his nose. I roll free, grabbing my knife, and spring up.
We circle, both bleeding, breathing hard. Elena's in the corner, her face pale but eyes locked on me. She shouldn't see this, but I can't stop now. Dmitri charges again, pipe high. I sidestep, slashing his wrist. The pipe clatters, and I kick his gut, sending him to his knees. My knife's at his throat, and the crowd goes quiet.
"Yield," I say, voice cold.
Dmitri glares, blood dripping. "You'll ruin us, kid."
"Yield, or die," I say, pressing the blade. My ribs ache, my jaw's throbbing, but I'm steady. I don't want to kill him, not yet. He's Bratva, Nikolai's man, even if he's a pain in my ass.
He spits, then nods. "I yield."
The crowd erupts, some cheering, some cursing. I step back, lowering my knife. Ivan nods, grudging respect in his eyes. "Viktor leads," he says. "For now."
Dmitri stands, wiping blood, his glare saying this ain't over. I spared him to show I'm not a butcher, but I know he's trouble. I grab my jacket, wincing, and head for Elena. She's shaking, but her chin's up, like Nikolai when he was pissed.
"You okay?" I ask, voice soft.
She nods, but her eyes are wet. "Is this what he did? My dad?"
I hesitate. She saw the real Bratva tonight—blood, blades, no mercy. "Yeah," I say. "But he kept you out of it. Stay away, Elena."
"I can't," she says, voice firm. "I need to know who killed him."
I want to argue, but Anya's waving me over, her laptop open on a crate. I leave Elena with Ivan, hoping he'll keep her safe. "What you got?" I ask Anya.
She's pale, fingers flying. "Auction's in an old subway tunnel, lower Manhattan. Romanov's got drones, mercs, traps. It's a fortress, Vitya. And the buyers—Triads, cartels, Russians. Big names."
My gut twists. Romanov's not just selling our gold—he's buying the underworld. "The vault key?" I ask, thinking of the traitor.
"No sign," she says, biting her lip. "But the auction's our best shot. Someone there might have it."
I nod, mind racing. A traitor in the Bratva, Dmitri's power plays, Elena in my way, and Romanov's fortress waiting. Sergei, that ghost from Queens, is out there too, working for Romanov but playing his own game. I don't trust anyone, just like Nikolai said.
Dmitri's watching me from the corner, talking to Yuri, another council guy. His nod at my win felt fake, and now he's whispering. I don't like it. "Anya, keep an eye on Dmitri," I mutter. "He's too quiet."
She glances over, frowning. "You think he's the traitor?"
"I don't know," I say. "But he's not with me."
Elena walks over, ignoring my glare. "I'm coming tonight," she says. "To the auction."
"No," I snap. "You saw this fight. That's nothing compared to Romanov."
"I'm not asking," she says, eyes blazing. "He was my dad, Viktor. I deserve this."
I want to send her home, but she's got Nikolai's fire. If I lock her out, she'll follow anyway, like in Queens. "Stay with Anya," I say, hating it. "You don't fight, you don't move. Got it?"
She nods, but I don't trust that look. Anya's staring at her laptop, avoiding my eyes. She's still hiding something, and it's eating me up. My phone buzzes—a text from Misha, the kid Dmitri saved at the bar. Council's split. Dmitri's pushing hard. Watch your back.
I curse under my breath. The trial bought me time, but Dmitri's not done. The *Bratva*'s fracturing, and Romanov's auction is my only shot to get the gold and the traitor's key. I need a crew, but who can I trust? Ivan's old, Yuri's with Dmitri, and Anya's got secrets. Sergei's out there, a knife in the dark. And Elena's in my head, reminding me of Nikolai, of family.
I clean my knife, blood flaking off. My ribs hurt, my arm's bleeding, but I'm the Blade. Romanov thinks he's won, sitting in his tunnel, selling my gold. He's wrong. I'm coming, and I'm bringing hell. But Dmitri's waiting, and the traitor's closer than I think. I head for the door, Anya and Elena behind me. The subway's calling, and blood's the only answer.