Chapter 5: The Wolves of Moscow
991 Words
Long before dawn painted the Moscow skyline, Dimitri was already awake.
Sleep had become a stranger years ago.
The silence of the early morning suited him better than dreams ever could.
He stood alone in his private gym in the basement of his mansion, the rhythmic sound of leather gloves striking a heavy punching bag echoing through the room.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Each punch was precise.
Controlled.
Powerful.
There was no wasted movement.
No unnecessary aggression.
Only discipline.
Sweat rolled down his forehead as another combination sent the heavy bag swinging violently.
To anyone watching, it looked like ordinary training.
To Dimitri...
It was therapy.
The only thing that quieted the memories he refused to face.
The image of his mother's blood on the cold pavement.
Her lifeless eyes.
His father's expressionless face at the funeral.
He drove another punch into the bag.
Harder this time.
The chain above groaned.
A knock sounded on the door.
Anton stepped inside, waiting patiently until Dimitri removed his gloves.
"The Pakhan has called for a council meeting."
Dimitri reached for a towel.
"Reason?"
"He didn't say."
"The senior captains have already begun arriving."
Dimitri nodded.
"Who's attending?"
Anton answered immediately.
"Pakhan Maksim Aleksandrovich Volkov."
He paused.
"Sergei Maksimovich Volkov."
Dimitri's expression remained unchanged.
Only Anton, who had known him for years, noticed the slight tightening of his jaw.
"The others?"
"Pavel Morozov. Nikolai Petrov. Mikhail Lebedev. The regional captains."
Dimitri tossed the towel aside.
"Prepare the convoy."
"Yes, Boss."
Anton turned to leave before remembering something.
"The young woman has settled into the east wing."
Dimitri merely nodded.
"Good."
"She refused dinner but accepted breakfast this morning."
"Make sure the staff continue treating her with respect."
"Understood."
Without another word, Dimitri walked toward the changing room.
His mind was already on the meeting ahead.
---
An hour later, a convoy of black armored SUVs passed through a series of steel security gates before entering a heavily guarded compound hidden deep within the forests outside Moscow.
This was the headquarters of the Volkov Bratva.
No outsiders entered.
No enemies left alive.
Inside the council chamber, some of the most influential men in Russia were already seated around a long oak table.
Conversations died the moment Dimitri entered.
Several captains greeted him with respectful nods.
He acknowledged them quietly before taking his usual seat.
Across the table sat Sergei Maksimovich Volkov.
Tall.
Well dressed.
Confident.
His resemblance to the Pakhan was unmistakable.
He leaned back in his chair with an amused smile.
"You've kept everyone waiting."
Dimitri adjusted the cuff of his black suit.
"The meeting hasn't started."
Sergei chuckled.
"Still as arrogant as ever."
A few captains exchanged amused glances.
Sergei's smile faded.
Before either man could speak again, the massive doors opened.
Every person in the room rose to their feet.
Pakhan Maksim Aleksandrovich Volkov entered without haste.
Age had silvered his hair, but it hadn't diminished his presence.
His piercing gaze swept across the room.
"Sit."
The order was obeyed instantly.
The Pakhan rested both hands on the table.
"Our organization has survived wars, betrayal and governments."
His voice was calm but commanding.
"It will not fall because of carelessness."
No one interrupted.
"Three nights ago, one of our weapon shipments was intercepted before reaching the western border."
The room grew tense.
"Only a handful of people knew the route."
His eyes moved slowly around the table.
"Someone spoke."
Silence.
Then Sergei broke it.
"Perhaps we're dealing with incompetence instead of betrayal."
Several heads turned toward him.
Dimitri remained quiet.
The Pakhan looked at Sergei.
"And your evidence?"
Sergei hesitated.
"I..."
Before he could recover, Dimitri spoke.
"Perhaps it's something else"
Every eye shifted toward him.
"The route was changed six hours before departure."
He folded his hands on the table.
"The ambush occurred less than an hour after the change."
The room fell silent.
"That information couldn't have spread by chance."
Pakhan Maksim nodded once.
"What do you conclude?"
"We have a leak."
Sergei scoffed.
"A bold accusation."
"It isn't an accusation." his tine a little bit colder.
Dimitri met his gaze evenly.
"It's a fact."
"And who is the traitor?"
"I don't know."
The honesty surprised several captains.
"But I intend to find out."
Pakhan Maksim leaned back.
"How?"
Dimitri answered without hesitation.
"We feed different information to different circles."
He pointed to the map spread across the table.
"Each group receives a different shipment route."
"When another ambush happens..."
He paused.
"...we'll know exactly where the leak is."
The room remained silent.
Then Pavel Morozov spoke.
"Elegant."
Nikolai Petrov nodded in agreement.
"So the traitor exposes himself."
A faint smile appeared on the Pakhan's face.
"Very good."
He looked around the chamber.
"The investigation belongs to Dimitri."
Sergei's jaw tightened.
"Father—"
The Pakhan raised a hand.
"I wasn't asking for opinions."
The interruption stung more than Sergei cared to admit.
" With that being decided, the mouse will walk right into trap and anyone being caught will face my wrath."
A few more information was dispersed and a few discussions were made .
The meeting ended soon afterward.
As the captains filtered out of the chamber, Sergei caught up with Dimitri in the stone corridor.
"You enjoy embarrassing me."
Dimitri stopped walking.
"No."
"Then why answer every question before I can?"
"Because hesitation gets men killed."
Sergei stepped closer.
"You think my father will choose you."
"I think he'll choose whoever keeps this brotherhood alive."
For a long moment, neither man spoke.
Finally, Sergei smiled—a cold, dangerous smile.
"Then one day we'll see whose name these men follow."
Dimitri held his gaze without flinching.
"I look forward to that day."
Without another word, Dimitri walked away.
Sergei watched him disappear down the corridor, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
For the first time in his life...
He feared that his greatest enemy wasn't outside the Bratva.
It was the man his own father trusted most.
- Writer
