Embers

Anya listened to her father arrange another assassination of another rival through the thick door that lead to his study. It was not the first time or the last time she'd hear such a thing. He was the
"Pakhan" for the entire region and it was not uncommon for the group to remove rivals with prejudice, weapons, poison, or cement at the bottom of a river. She had grown up with the casual cruelty that being the daughter whose father was a head figure of the Russian Mafia. The Brigadiers stopped and ruffled her hair where she was drawing at the table as they left.
"Good drawing, Iskra" one of them chuckled. Spark. It was their affectionate nickname for her. She didn't realize until she was older that it was not usual for hitmen to come to your birthday party.
 
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It wasn't that Anya didn't love her family. Her father and mother doted on her. She loved her brothers. But the constant need to watch your back had gotten old, quick. But you couldn't really -leave- Bratva. Or could you? She was twenty one. She'd hawked her jewelry for money and saved her allowance - a substantial one given her family's lifestyle. She looked at the small suit case next to her. Maybe if you ran far enough..
 
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She had enough for the downpayment on The Blue Note. It wasn't a great club but it was hers. And after years of watching her father operate the actual legal portions of their business she knew how to run this. In reality, Anya wasn't precisely on board with always following the law, she just drew the line at her father's level of activity. Too much death and killing. But the <i>Derzhatel Obshchaka</i> had used clubs as a front for the money the Bratva brought in from the drugs and the illicit trade.
 
What she wasn't expecting was the fire...