Chapter 82: Mariana's Pov

One word.

Fuckers.

No, let's make it two words.

Misogynistic fuckers.

They've kept me in here for hours, scrutinizing me, digging into my soul in their fruitless attempt at finding the truth of what truly happened to my husband.

Alejandro too is seated here as a high ranking made man and a member of this family.

Surprisingly, my father, mother and brother are here too. Not inside the parliament room, but they're right outside the door, waiting for when the chaos escalates so they can stand in for me.

It warms my heart.

"Let's go through it again," one of the elders says, "what did you say happen to your husband? Tell us that story again, in detail."

"I. . ."

I open my mouth to speak but Alejandro's thick, aggravated voice resounds, cutting me short.

"I believe she has told that story more times than we all can count."

"Yes, we know that," another elder says, his russian accent thick. "But we need to hear it again."

"Why?" Alejandro asks, "why are you poking a woman who just lost her husband?"

"Because we need to know that she's telling the truth of what really happened!" Another voice thunders.

Fuckers.

I sniffle and force tears out of my eyes, pretending to play the part of a dutiful wife who just lost her husband.

"She is telling the truth." Alejandro affirms matter-of-factly. "I was there to witness her in a panicked state. I personally took out the man who took out our Pakhan."

A humorless chuckle rumbles. "It's very convenient that the both of you would have the same story, seeing how your affair has not been so discreet."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" Alejandro growls.

"Something is amiss. Perhaps she's lying and you're covering up for her. Or you're lying and she's covering up for you. But one out of the both of you is not been exactly sincere about what truly happened to Radimr."

Alejandro chuckles, incredulous. "Why would she lie about this? She just had a baby! Her son is just two months old!"

"And that is the point! It's too much of a mystery that the most protected man in Russia was assassinated in his bedroom the very day he named his son the heir to his empire?"

Murmurs of agreement erupts. Other murmurs of disagreement erupt. And the division causes another wave of chaos to encase us. There's cursing, screaming, insults echoing across the room.

And I sit quietly through it all.

One of the elders clears his throat, his voice rising, cutting the argument short. "Enough." His accent is thick, his tone final. "The matter of Radimir's death will be discussed in due course. Right now, we have a more pressing concern. Leadership. We need to decide who takes over."

Leadership.

The word rings in my ear, heavy, loud, disorienting my present state of calm. My mind runs in circles, trying to determine how I can present myself without seeming too desperate. My fingers curl tighter around the edge of the table, knuckles whitening.

"His son," I say firmly, my voice cutting through the room. "My son. He is the heir. Radimir named him as such the very day-" My throat tightens, but I force the words out. "The very day he was taken from us."

"Your son?" Another elder leans forward, his face lined with suspicion. "Mariana, your son is two months old. You would have us entrust the leadership of the Vastlav family and the Bratva to an infant?"

"He is not just an infant," I retort, my voice thick with authority. "He is Radimir's blood. He is the rightful heir to this empire. And until he is old enough to take his place, I will stand in for him."

My words are like slaps to their faces.

The room erupts.

Voices overlap, accusations and arguments flying fast and thick. I hold my ground, staring down at the men who doubt me. Their words buzz in my ears like angry hornets, but I don't flinch. I can't afford to.

I will wait, I will be patient until I get what I want, then I will make them pay for the many times they've thrown insults at me.

"This is madness!" One elder finally roars, slamming his fist on the table. "This is not some family business where a mother steps in for her child. This is the Bratva. Power is earned, not inherited. A woman, an Italian woman married into the Vastlav family, will not reign over us."

"I have been running this family for months! Radimr knew nothing of this business, and when the former Pakhan died, I ran this business behind the scenes. How is that any different from this?" I ask.

"Oh it is different." One of the elders affirms.

"How different," Alejandro's voice thunders. "I'm listening. I would really love to know who you all have in mind. Someone who's not just physically capable, but also has the mental strength to push us higher."

"What about you, Alejandro, huh?" The elder looks at him pointedly. "Don't you want to lead? Are you incapable of carrying this family's affairs on your shoulders?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not interested."

A chuckle rumbles. "Since when?"

I lean forward, my voice low but steady. "What will it take, then? What do I have to do to prove myself? To prove that I am deserving of this power?"

The room falls silent.

A minute pass, then two, then three. The elders share awkward glances, some murmuring, humming silent words to themselves.

I lean back, my narrowed eyes watching the exchange.

I know what they'll ask of me will be difficult, but it's a difficulty I'm willing to face.

The elder who spoke before smirks, his eyes narrowing as if he's been waiting for this moment. "The ritual of the death fight," he says slowly, savoring the words, teasing my fear. "You will fight made men in the cage. The last one standing becomes the head of this family and all of Bratva."

The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and for a moment, I can't speak. I glance at Alejandro. His jaw is tight, his eyes blazing with anger. I shake my head subtly, pleading for him to rein his anger in.

The room watches me, waiting for my reaction, their silence heavier than the accusations they hurled moments ago.

"You want me to fight?" I say finally, my voice laced with disbelief. "To kill my way to the top, like some barbaric spectacle?"

"It is the only way," the elder replies, his smirk widening. "Unless, of course, you admit you are unworthy."

I clench my fists under the table, my nails biting into my palms. My mind races, weighing my options. But before I can speak, Alejandro's voice cuts through the room like a blade.

"She won't fight." His voice is calm, but there's an edge to it that silences everyone. He rises to his feet, towering over the table. "I will fight in her place."