Gavril
I walked into the building, Anatoly at my heels, and ignored the men gathered. Word had gotten around that the Pakhan was back in Russia, and my whereabouts were now public knowledge.
In a sense, the streets around the car were clogged with people, some wanting to talk to the Kirilenko leader for business or patronage. It always happened whenever I came home that people who wanted money, drugs, women, or a business alliance would find me and try to discuss matters. Sometimes I set up meetings with a few worthy men or women, trying to keep the peace among my own people before heading back to America.
Tonight, I wasn’t there to do that. “Pakhan,” one of the men near me said, inclining his head. “Right this way.”
Anatoly moved to my side, his hand touching the gun at his hip as we
