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13 November 2016 @ 04:07 am
Poisk Istiny [Finding Truth] - Chapter One B  
Castiel’s Office
403 Brightwater Avenue
Brighton Beach, NY

Castiel had tried his best not to run from the bar, but he didn’t stop moving until he was through the service doors and on his way into his office. Never, in the twelve years he had been Pakhan, had Castiel ever felt uncomfortable in his club. He never should’ve stayed sitting there when Dean fuckin’ Winchester scented him correctly… First off, what in all Hell was that about? He had recognized the Don, a little older than the photo Gabriel had showed him, but it didn’t seem like Winchester had any clue who he was. The audacity of the Don trying to pick up the Pakhan in a bar was almost laughable. Except for the fact that somehow, some way, Dean knew.

If he had actually run from the bar, his Bykis would’ve been on ‘John’ in a heartbeat. It shocked Castiel even more when Dean used his late father’s name, but then it was clear that the young Don didn’t have a clue as to who Castiel really was, he decided to continue their conversation out of curiosity. That and the fact that Winchester was sexy as hell with his strong jawline and his light brown hair artfully spiked.

Castiel hadn’t noticed the day before just how attractive Dean actually was when he had looked at the Alpha’s file. The grainy mugshot had definitely not done him justice. He would have never guessed there’d be freckles spattered across his nose and cheeks which only drew further attention to his eyes. Such a beautiful green. It reminded him of the moss that grew in the forests of Russia when he was a child... It had also been far too long since anyone had found Castiel attractive instead of terrifying.

The conversation was taking an interesting turn, and Castiel had felt things he hadn’t ever felt before, but the moment ‘John’ had laid his hand over his, all rationalization flew out the window. Castiel had felt hot, too hot, his skin starting to tingle. It couldn’t be that time already, it was too early, wasn’t it?

Although Castiel didn’t have a heat every three months like most Omegas, thanks to his extra strength heat suppressants, he still found himself feeling more irritable at that time; his skin would feel prickly, like he was being pierced by thousands of needles, and he always felt overheated. Castiel mentally did the math in his head and sure enough now, now was the time he should be in heat. And Winchester sitting next to him seemed to have amped it up.

Then, as if ‘John’ scenting him and knowing he was an Omega wasn’t bad enough, Castiel got to experience something he never had in his life since being told he would be presenting as an Omega: he felt himself get slick. And Winchester, dammit, had smelled him, had known what was happening to him! If he closed his eyes he could still see the feral smile on the--unfortunately, extremely handsome-- Alpha’s face, his moss colored eyes blown wide with arousal. Castiel shifted, uncomfortable in his suit as he pushed open the door to his office.

He threw himself into the room and just as he slammed the door behind himself and leaned against the glass panel on the side of the door frame to cool his heated skin, Gabriel’s voice broke through his panic. “Castiel… are you... horny?” He jumped and spun around to see his brother sitting in his chair, an amused expression on his face.

Castiel stared at him indignantly. “What the fuck are you doing in my office? And sitting in my chair?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Trying to find some peace and quiet from the club for a few and I knew no one would disturb me in here.” Gabriel leaned forward and scented the air again, a flash of worry crossing his features. “Castiel, are you slick?”

“Yes,” Castiel growled.

Gabriel furrowed his brows. “How is that even possible? The suppressants you’re on are supposed to stop slick production... This has never happened before! What were you doing when,” Gabriel waved his hands in the air, “you know, when it happened.”

Castiel huffed. “I was having a drink, at the bar… with an…” Castiel paused and felt his already hot face flush. “With an Alpha.”

“An Alpha?!” Gabriel roared. “Who the fuck was this Alpha, Castiel?”

“Watch your tone, brother,” Castiel warned before he continued, “He approached me at the bar, but he knew, Gabriel. He knew I was an Omega! How the fuck did he know, Gabriel? Is there something off with my scent?”

Gabriel shook his head no, subtly scenting the air. “I smell slick, but if I didn't know you were an Omega I would think you just fucked one. Your scent is the same; all I can smell is Alpha from the cologne you wear.”

“Then how did he know, Gabriel?”

“Maybe he was mistaken, Castiel.”

Castiel slammed his hand on his desk. “No, he knew Gabriel, he even called me out on covering up my scent with the damn cologne! Now I demand to know how this Alpha was able to fuckin’ figure it out!” Castiel sighed and pushed forward, hating to give up this next part of information. But he knew Gabriel needed to know. “It wasn’t some random Alpha, Gabriel... That alone would’ve be bad enough.”

“Then who?” Gabriel’s brows rose in surprise, knowing his brother was not one to socialize. “You know him?”

Castiel shook his head as he paced, “No. Recognized him… It’s Dean Winch--”

“Oh, fuckin’ hell!” Gabriel exclaimed.

Exactly.” Castiel rubbed at his chin, feeling a sudden headache at the forefront of his head. “This is not good! What if he outs me Gabriel? And why the Hell wouldn’t he?” Castiel blew out a breath, slightly panicking now. Was there a way he could buy the Alpha’s silence, would the Don give them any warning? Castiel shook his head, clearing those thoughts. “This can’t happen again.”

Gabriel nodded and watched Castiel lean against his desk for a minute, reflecting, before rounding it and unlocking the bottom drawer to pull out the brown paper bag that held his heat suppressants and scent blockers. He tossed them onto his desk, then pointed at them. “I started taking those today - they have to be faulty. There is no other reasonable explanation; it’s the only thing I can think of.” Castiel grimaced as he went to sit down and felt the wetness between his ass cheeks. “Gabriel, go to the Platinovyy Komnata and retrieve my suit from the closet. Then call Crowley, ask him for new medications, tell him these are either tampered with or expired.”

The Sovietnik stared back at Castiel for a moment, obviously contemplating. But he shoved whatever thoughts he had away and nodded as he left Castiel's office. Castiel leaned against his desk and ran his fingers through his sweat damp hair; he still felt overly heated, and his skin crawled, but unlike before he felt the slight burn of desire, of want. He could still smell the Alpha, the rich aroma of pine mixed with his own musk and deep down he liked it. Castiel growled; what the fuck was it about that Alpha? He made him feel like... like an Omega and Castiel hated that feeling. It made him feel weak.

Gabriel returned with his suit a few minutes later and Castiel could still tell his was biting his tongue as he grabbed the suit from his hands. He nodded a quick thanks and went into his office’s private bathroom to change. When he came out he had a trash bag in his hand that held his tainted suit. He threw it by the door and pointed at it. “Take that when you go and burn it.”

Gabriel nodded. “I spoke to Crowley, Castiel, and he assured me the meds were neither tampered with nor expired. He said they are from the same batch as last month and you had no problem with them.”

Castiel growled. “Clearly something is wrong with them. I want a new batch and not from the same as those came from! And I want them tonight. I have an important meeting tomorrow and I will not be taking any chances, Gabriel. So you will call him back tonight, and he will meet you and give you replacements. I don't give a fuck what's he's doing… This is now his number one priority! I'm going home, you can bring them to me there.” Castiel picked up the medications and tossed them into the trash bag with his ruined suit. “You can burn them too.”

Gabriel stood, picked up the trash bag and followed Castiel out of his office with his cell phone already in hand, ready to call Crowley and let him know of Castiel's ‘request’. “You're the boss mladshiy brat.”

Zoloto Komnate
403 Brightwater Avenue
Brighton Beach, NY

Castiel arrived at the meeting room over an hour early. He was sitting at the head of the long table and he felt jittery as he tapped his pen over and over on the dark wood, his leg constantly bouncing up and down. Gabriel had stopped by his house at one o’clock in the morning to drop off his new batch of meds. Even after that, sleep still didn't come easily. Castiel tossed and turned, all kinds of different scenarios running through his mind. What if it wasn't the medicine? What if it was him? Or even a combination? His body could be rejecting the medication because he’d been on it far too long... Hell, he had never had a heat, and Crowley bitched at him constantly about how that that wasn’t good for an Omega’s body.

The first thing Castiel did upon waking up from his measly three hours of sleep was take his new medications and douse himself in his spruce Alpha cologne. He wasn't taking any chances today, especially since he had his meeting with Don Winchester. Castiel didn't feel any different, but hell, he had felt the same as he always had yesterday when Winchester scented him. Orange blossoms, he said he smelled like orange blossoms. Was that his true scent? He never got the chance to know, and no one had ever properly scented him before yesterday.

The Pakhan’s head snapped up when he heard the door open and he saw Gabriel was standing there. “Mladshiy brat, you look like shit. Did you get any sleep last night?”

“That you for your brutal honesty, Gabriel,” Castiel deadpanned. “I managed to get about three hours.”

Gabriel came in, shut the door behind him, and sat down by Castiel. “Is this about what happened yesterday? I'm sure it was a fluke… you got your new medications and you smell like pure Alpha. So don't worry about that, focus on your meeting with Don Winchester. Plus...” He paused, mulling over what he wanted to say.


Gabriel gave his brother a quick smile. “I don’t see what purpose it would serve Don Winchester to out you. They’re coming to you, to us, for help. So,” he stood back up, “just focus on the meeting.”

Castiel nodded. “You are right, Gabriel. That needs to be my number one priority.”

“And, for fuck’s sake, relax! You’re practically vibrating out of your skin,” his Sovietnik chided.

“It's not just the scenting and this meeting causing it,” Castiel growled.

Gabriel huffed and rolled his eyes. “Great, it's that time. Ugh, you are more of a dick than usual during your pseudo heat.”

Castiel glared daggers at Gabriel. “If you were not my favorite brother I would have ended you long ago.”

Gabriel smirked. “Guess it's a good thing I am then.”

Castiel waved him off with a smirk. Looking around, he made sure the room was set to his advantage. In the middle of the room, and where he was sitting, sat a large rectangular oak table, stained and sealed more times than Castiel cared to think about due to the ‘use’ it received at some of the more rough meetings. He was impressed with how well his cleaning crew worked and knew that unless you looked very closely, you wouldn’t be able to see the multiple dings and holes carved into the table. Lining each wall were extra Queen Anne chairs for when the Bratva met with larger families. Don Winchester had chosen to only bring his Consigliere, Underboss and two guards to their meeting today, so there was no need to drag out the golden swathed chairs.

He took in the rest of the arrangement. Per his request, his bar staff had placed an assortment of bottled beverages and a large coffee urn on the marble side table that sat at the head of the room. All of the glasses and mugs were gold plated-- it was the Zoloto Komnate after all.

He smiled. Even as a young boy, the room had always impressed him. Its black lacquer walls interspersed with glowing amber and orange panels, the smell of the black leather seats, the framed Chagall’s and Kandinsky’s on the walls - it all spoke of a rich heritage that he was proud to be call his own. He wondered what Don Winchester would think seeing him in his own element, in charge, proving to him an Omega can lead just as efficiently as an Alpha. Castiel quickly dismissed the idea. It didn’t matter what the other family’s opinion was - just that they realized the Krushnic’s wielded power.

Castiel walked over to one of the shadow boxes inset into the wall and picked up his favorite Faberge egg, the ‘lost’ Chariot Egg. Opening it, he let his fingertip trail over the small angel pulling a jeweled egg in a golden chariot. It was his good luck charm, for lack of a better term, and he always seemed to draw strength from the figure depicted amidst the gemstones.

As the meeting time grew closer, the rest of the Bratva started to arrive. Castiel regarded them as they took their seats around the table. He watched his brothers-- Michael was talking to Lucifer in a hushed tone, while Balthazar lit a cigar. His cousins and Boyeviks, Gadreel, Inas, Malachi, and Ephraim were laughing quietly as a staff member brought them the strong coffee they preferred. His attention was drawn to the door as more cousins came in. He grimaced slightly as he saw his Torpedo, Virgil, elbow his Shestyorkas, Samandriel and Ion, out of the way to get one of the remaining seats. Lastly, bringing up the rear and taking their position by the doors were his Bykis, Constantine and Bartholomew, also cousins.

Gabriel took a look around the table at the Bratva and clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “Well the gang's all here, so what do you say I go get the Winchesters so we can give them a proper Russian welcome?” The Sovietnik glanced over to Castiel and he nodded. With confirmation from his Pakhan, Gabriel stood and exited the room to retrieve the Winchesters.

Gabriel made his way through the empty club and up the service elevator to the hotel floor. He took his time as he strolled down the corridor, knowing his brother could use the extra few moments to compose himself completely before meeting the Winchesters. He approached the first door and knocked gently, knowing that Robert Singer had been up since dawn, just like he himself had, to prepare for this meeting.

"Ready?" The man's gruff voice greeted as he opened the door and stuck out his hand. "Robert Singer."

"Gabriel Krushnic," Gabriel replied and accepted the older man's hand in his own. "Pakhan Krushnic is ready to meet with you and your Don."

Singer nodded and turned back around, finishing pinning his cuff links to his wrists and straightening his tie before he followed Gabriel into the hallway and to the adjacent room. He knocked once and Sam Winchester, Underboss to the Don, exited the room and smoothed down his jacket. He held his hand out for Gabriel to shake.

"They grow them tall in Boston..." Gabriel muttered under his breath and Singer gave a short laugh before quickly clearing his throat and moving on to the other door.

When the Don emerged from the room, Gabriel didn't know what he had been expecting, but Dean Winchester wasn't it. The man was tall, with fine features, almost pretty, and if Gabriel wasn't smart, he would've underestimated him immediately. If Castiel as his Pakhan had taught him anything it was that looks, and gender, meant nothing as far as brutality. In fact, it made people like Castiel and Dean Winchester that much more terrifying.

"Good morning." Dean held out his hand, meeting Gabriel's with a firm handshake.

"Good morning Don Winchester, I'm Gabriel Krushnic, the Sovietnik to Pakhan Castiel Krushnic. He is ready to see you now." Gabriel gestured towards the elevator. "If you gentlemen will just follow me, we have the Zoloto Komnate set up for our meeting." Once the men had boarded the elevator Gabriel pushed the bright button that lead back down to the club.

Gabriel could feel Don Winchester’s eyes on him and made a point to stand straight backed, as tall as he could. The silence made Gabriel wonder why they never installed some damn elevator music and he filled the space by clicking the cherry hard candy in his mouth against his teeth as he rolled it with his tongue. He smirked when the sound caused Dean Winchester to clear his throat, obviously irritated, just before the elevator dinged their arrival.

Gabriel stepped out with the Winchester brothers and the Consigliere. The club looked so different in the light of day. No loud music, no grinding bodies; the smell of sex barely lingered. The only sound that could now be heard was the clicking of fine Italian dress shoes as they made their way past the bar and through the service doors. They walked down a long hallway that had offices and various rooms on each side. They paused in front of a door with a plaque that boasted the name of the room.

"Here we are," Gabriel motioned to the large, golden door. Dean looked over his shoulder and gave his brother a short, rigid nod. Gabriel took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Castiel straightened in his seat as the men entered the room. Gabriel came in first, his figure blocking Castiel’s view of the man behind him, the man Castiel recognized as both Don Winchester and ‘John’ from the night before. Castiel stood and smoothed down his black suit jacket as he walked around the table.

Gabriel side-stepped and stood between the Don and Pakhan to make introductions. Castiel’s eyes narrowed in unspoken challenge. Castiel's heartbeat picked up before he quickly schooled his features to hard stone.

This Don from another Family, albeit an allied Family but still, knew Castiel's deepest darkest secret. He could ruin him. Castiel took a deep breath, which proved to be a horrible mistake, as the delectable scent of pine and a hint of something sweet and spicy that Castiel didn't recognize overtook his senses. His head started to spin being this close to Don Winchester. It was making his blood boil and skin tingle, just like it had last night. He needed to get introductions over with quickly so he could take his seat at his end of the table and the Don at the opposite end, far away from him.

Gabriel started to make introductions starting from the lowest rank. “Pakhan, this is Robert Singer, Consigliere to Don Winchester.”

Castiel gave the older man a long look and a quick, curt nod. Bobby didn’t flinch under the young Pakhan’s glare and kept his voice neutral as he said, “Pleasure, Pakhan Krushnic, thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice.”

Castiel smiled. “It seems we have a common enemy that is in much need of being taken care of.”

Castiel turned to the younger Winchester and Gabriel spoke. “Pakhan, this is Sam Winchester, Underboss to the Don.”

Castiel greeted him in the same manner he had the Consigliere. “It's an honor Pakhan Krushnic.” Castiel gave him a small smile.

The Pakhan turned his attention to the Don and waited for his brother to make his introduction. Gabriel cleared his throat. “Pakhan Krushnic, this is Don Winchester.”

He looked up into Dean’s eyes and could see the challenge there. He knew he should, but he just couldn't offer his hand. Sharing a handshake with the Don was out of the question. The last time Dean had touched him, Castiel's body betrayed him and he could not take the risk here, not in front of his men, his Bratva. Castiel gave him the same curt nod he’d given to his brother and counselor. Dean returned the nod in kind and let a small smile curve his lips. “It truly is an honor to meet with you, Pakhan Krushnic,” Dean stated as he raised an eyebrow.

Castiel hummed and mimicked Dean’s raised eyebrow. “You too, Don Winchester.”

The two continued to stare at each other, their eyes challenging, until Gabriel cleared his throat once again. “How about we take our seats and get down to business? That's why we are here.”

Castiel strode back to his spot at the head of the table and stood behind his chair, his hands gripping the back of it, internally fighting to remain in control of his body. “We will get down to business in a moment, Don Winchester, but I have some other business I need to tend to first if I may.”

Dean gave a short nod, following Gabriel as he led the three of them to their seats at the opposite end of the long table. “That's fine, Pakhan Krushnic, take care of what you need.”

Castiel turned to his Bratva, eyes scanning over each one of them. His voice was hard as he addressed the rest of the room and despite being pitched low, he knew he had everyone’s attention. “As you all know, someone has been skimming from the club for three months now. I took it upon myself to go over the books yesterday and I compared the nights we were short with the employees that were working those nights. There was only one name that was constant, and that predatel', is here, in this room.”

The Bratva began to murmur amongst themselves, looking around. Castiel slammed his fists against the table, effectively silencing them.. “You can not begin to understand how disappointed I was to discover that this thief, this predatel', is my own flesh and blood! Moya sem'ya!.”

Castiel stalked around the table and all eyes were on him. He paused behind one of his Boyeviks, hearing the sharp intake of breath from the men before him that couldn’t see where he’d stopped. He smirked and then leaned forward, placing his hands on the man's shoulders. He dug his fingers into his flesh and bent down so their faces were level.

“After all that I have done for you and your family, Malachi. This? This is how you choose to repay me?”

A soft murmur went around the table, the rest of his Bratva whispering among themselves, but Castiel was focused on one man alone. The Alpha in question shook his head quickly. “I swear Pakhan, it wasn't me.”

Castiel gripped him by the chin forcing his to meet his eyes. “You are really going to sit here and lie to me, to me!? Your Pakhan?! I swear to you, Malachi Batishchev, if you do not come clean with me I will kill your wife, both your pups, and make you watch, make you watch them beg me not to!” Castiel snarled, his eyes burning with rage.

Malachi grabbed Castiel by the arm and began to plead. “No please, please, okay, it was me. I have been skimming from the club on the nights I tend bar. I'm sorry, Pakhan, it will never happen again, I swear. I promise I will pay you back every penny… with interest.”

Castiel pulled out of his grip and shook his head. “I don't want to be paid back, Malachi, at least not with money. I gave you the job because you said your family needed the extra money. Did the money you stole from me at least go towards your family?”

Malachi nodded. “Yes, Pakhan. All of it, every single dime.”

Castiel hummed and stared at him with a cold gaze. “You need to be taught a lesson for your betrayal, put both of your hands flat on the table.” Castiel leaned in. “Do you know what they did to predatel' in our grandfathers’ time?” Castiel pulled back and slammed a knife into the back Malachi’s right hand, pinning it to the table.

The Alpha howled. “Please, Pakhan! No, no, don't do this.”

Castiel sighed and brought another knife down into Malachi’s left hand. The man screamed, and Castiel raised his voice to talk over the wails of pain. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer. Do you know what they did to thieves back in our grandfathers’ time?”

Malachi shook his head, whimpering as his fingers twitched feebly against the wooden table. Castiel paused, the entire room staring at the blood welling from beneath the man’s palms.

“Well, let me educate you,” Castiel said slowly, reaching forward to tap one of the knives and causing Malachi’s entire hand to twitch and the man to scream again. “Their hands,” he flicked the knives again, ignoring the wails of pain, “were cut off.” He pulled Malachi’s face around to look at him in the eyes. “It seems like a fair punishment fitting the crime.”

Castiel turned to look at Dean. “What do you think Don Winchester?”

“I think you should deal with your family as you see fit, Pakhan Krushnic,” Dean replied, his eyes flicking from Malachi’s hunched form to Castiel’s steely blue gaze. Castiel watched as the Don gave him a small smirk that showed he was both impressed with the way Castiel was handling the issues in the Bratva, and also challenging to see if the Omega would actually go through with punishing the man.

Castiel nodded and looked at his Sovietnik. “Gabriel, get me my saw.” Gabriel stood and walked out of the room.

“No, God, please no,” Malachi begged.

Castiel backhanded him across the face and blood flew from Malachi’s lips, splattering onto his brother Inias who was seated beside him. “Stop begging, do not disgrace this family! You will die like a man, you will die with some God damned dignity.”

Gabriel walked back in and up to Castiel, giving him a speculative look before handing him the small circular saw. Castiel looked down at Malachi. “Is there anything you would like to say?”

“I'm sorry I betrayed you and the Bratva,” Malachi stated after clearing his throat and resigning himself to his fate.

Castiel gave him a stiff nod and turned on the circular saw, watching the four inch silver blade spin to life. He brought it down first to Malachi’s left wrist. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering part of the table, a few members of the Bratva, and it coated Castiel as he worked his way through Malachi’s wrist. Castiel's crisp white shirt was stained red, his hands and face were covered with the thick crimson fluid. He inhaled deeply, grateful for the thick, coppery scent as it drowned out the rest of the Alpha scents in the room-- Don Winchester’s included.

Malachi fought hard not to move or speak but it was obvious that the pain was becoming too much to bear as Castiel pushed down, the Pahkan’s full weight on the saw now grinding through bone. The man howled and wailed and the sickening crunch could be heard throughout the room as Castiel made it completely through the carpal bones.

Castiel drew the saw back once the hand was completely detached, the saw flinging blood from its still spinning blade. Malachi face was pale, ashen from the loss of blood or perhaps even shock. His eyes were glazed over and he looked like he was going to beg again, his mouth falling open in a silent plea, but snapped shut with one look from his Pakhan, the man he betrayed. Castiel started in on the other wrist and the entire room watched. Castiel had half a mind to be grateful that their guests had been seated at the opposite end of the table and away from the blood’s trajectory.

Once Castiel had detached the other hand from the predatel' body, he shut off the saw and looked down at the man he had just condemned to death. Admiring his work, he walked back around the table and took his seat, setting the saw beside him on top of the table. He looked at Malachi’s brother Inias, “Are we good?” an unspoken question in that one sentence.

The man watched as his brother slumped forward in his chair, the blood continuing to pour from his wrists and spread across the table. Those closest to him had moved their seats back so they would not be covered any more than they already had been by the traitor's tainted blood. Malachi's hands remained pinned down on the table by Castiel's knives.

Inias looked up at Castiel and nodded. “He was a dirty traitor. He got what he deserved.” He paused a moment, then repeated in a whisper, “ Gryaznyy izmennik.” before he tore his eyes away from his brother.

Castiel returned the nod, pleased with the answer. “Contact your brother Josiah and tell him there is an opening for a Boyevik in the elite Bratva, tell him the job is his if he wants it.”

Gabriel rose from the table and walked to the back of the room, retrieving a towel from a cabinet. He walked up to Castiel and handed it to him before he took his own seat at the Pahkan’s side. Castiel wiped his face and hands, spreading the blood in thick streaks down his cheeks and neck. He laid the blood covered towel before him on the table and turned his gaze to Don Winchester before offering him a wide, white smile.

“Don Winchester, are you ready to get down to business?”

As soon as Castiel asked the question, a loud thump drew everyone's attention back over to Malachi. He had fallen face down on the table and Castiel smirked as he watched the blood spread across the polished wood. His brother reached over and took his pulse by pressing his fingers to the side of his throat. He shook his head. “He's dead, Pakhan.”

Castiel snapped his fingers and looked at his Bykis. “Constantine, Bartholomew, remove that filth from my sight and dispose of the body accordingly.”

They both nodded. Bartholomew threw the body over his shoulder while Constantine pulled the knives from the table and collected the hands. Constantine gave the Pakhan his knives back as he passed him and Castiel yelled at his Bykis’ retreating figures, “Have someone come in here and clean this mess!” He wiped the blood off of the knives and pocketed them before he looked at Dean once again. “Now, no more interruptions. Let's talk business.”

Dean nodded, settling back in his chair as he crossed his legs and then his hands over his knee. He cocked his head to meet Castiel’s gaze straight on and smiled. “First off, thank you for agreeing to meet with me and my associates, Pakhan Krushnic.”

Castiel laced his fingers together on the tabletop, impressed in spite of himself that Dean had taken the whole bloody show all in stride. “Pleasure is mine, Don Winchester. It seems we have a common enemy.”

“The 116th Street Crew has been a pain in my ass, as of late. Bellomo’s finally retrieved his balls from his mother’s back pocket and it’s causing quite a bit of trouble for me and my crew in Boston and Rhode Island. I can only imagine what he’s doing with my merchandise here in New York.”

Castiel smirked. “Well I know what he's doing with your coke. He has his pankis , his punks,” he clarified at the Don’s confusion, “peddling it outside of my club. It’s becoming very problematic and bad for business.” Castiel paused and raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean?”

Dean nodded and his eyes flickered down to Castiel’s hands before trailing back up to lock eyes with him. “I can see how that would be bad for your business, yes,” Dean agreed and then smirked. “Your club was quite entertaining last night. I think we all enjoyed ourselves.”

Castiel stiffened at the mention of last night; was Dean fucking with him? He flashed his best fake smile and replied, “I'm glad to hear it. My bar staff reported you leaving early... was everything not up to par with your standards, Don?”

“Oh, the entertainment and alcohol was prime, Pakhan. The company I met, however, left much more to be desired.”

Silence fell over the table and Castiel heard as Sam Winchester kicked the underside of his Don’s chair. Dean appeared not to have noticed, didn’t even flinch, and kept his eyes firmly glued to Castiel’s.

Castiel gritted his teeth and smirked icily at Dean. “Let's get back to business, shall we?”

“Of course,” Dean replied and eased himself back against the chair. Behind him Castiel saw both Robert Singer and Sam Winchester relax as well and he forced himself to clear his throat before continuing. It wasn’t as if he wanted Dean Winchester anyways, it didn’t matter what the Alpha thought. He just needed to stay on the cocky asshole’s good side so that he wouldn’t blow Castiel’s cover. The sooner this was over with, the better.

“Bellomo,” he continued, “has become a problem to my Bratva as well. For many years we had no problem from them, but in the past six months his family has grown and the 116th Crew has been trying to take over my territory. I have lost good men, family, at the hands of Bellomo and his Crew, and I don't plan to lose anymore.” Castiel stopped and leaned further back in his chair. “So, Don Winchester, what exactly can I do for you? You must have something in mind? Or you would not have requested that we meet.”

Dean shifted in his seat matching the Pakhan’s relaxed posture and slowly nodded his head. “I want information. I know most of Bellomo’s family lives right here in Brighton Beach. And I am sure you have a better understanding of him and his family than I and my associates.” Dean paused a moment and Castiel clicked his tongue softly in acknowledgement. Dean nodded, then continued, “I would appreciate the opportunity to share your docks so that I can retain at least some of my merchandise. I would appreciate being able to unload here in the city and will provide my own transport for my goods back home.”

Castiel nodded slowly, mulling over the idea of sharing his dock with the Patriarca family. On one hand, it would keep Bellomo’s crew from hanging around and selling near his club-- the man he’d sent back as a warning would only last so long before they tried again. But it would also mean that the Don would have business here in New York, would mean that he could be coming here often. The thought that Dean would be here, knowing his secret, was actually quite terrifying…

“Of course,” Dean started again, and Castiel glanced up and waited, not giving away any of his thoughts. “I will still deploy some shipments to the Harbor-- Bellomo isn’t so stupid as to not notice all of my shipments coming here, but I will be making arrangements for better transportation.

“I will have three of my Capo’s and their crews relocated here in New York for the time being for protection of my product. I would not expect you to provide any additional security. I’m sure once Bellomo catches wind of you helping the Winchesters… Well,” Dean grinned slightly, flashing his trademark half smile, “he won’t take too kindly to it. Although...” Dean trailed off and looked over to the congealing blood on the table where Malachi had died. He raised an eyebrow as he looked back up and met Castiel’s steely gaze. “It does appear that you can take care of your internal affairs quite effectively. Still, they can be here to assist your Bratva move my merchandise back to Boston, and assist you in whatever way you deem necessary.”

Castiel clucked his tongue again and furrowed his brows deep in concentration. “Everything,” he looked piercingly at his ally, “you have requested seems doable, but in return for the information and the use of my docks,” Castiel steepled his hands, “I want a twenty percent cut of your profits on the firearm and drug sales.”

Dean swallowed hard, his eyes widening at the bold request. “Twenty percent?” he repeated, frozen in his spot as he stared at Castiel’s face. “I believe that’s a bit high considering you’ll have extra hands with my Capos and soldiers, don’t you Pakhan?”

Castiel shrugged and smirked at the Alpha. “Twenty percent seems reasonable to me to assure that you get your product. It’s going to be twenty percent to me or a hundred percent to Bellomo. Your choice, Don Winchester.”

Dean licked his lower lip slowly, contemplating, before he turned to look over his shoulder to meet his brother’s eyes. The younger Winchester appeared to be deep in thought-- probably crunching their numbers, Castiel realized-- and he was impressed at how much stock Don Winchester placed in his right hand man, much like he himself did with Gabriel. When Sam locked eyes with Dean, it was only seconds later that Dean turned back around, stood and held out his hand.

“You have a deal, Pakhan Krushnic. How about we shake on it?”

Castiel ground his teeth and gave a short nod and stood. He took a deep breath and started walking towards Dean when his attention was drawn to the door as one of his Shestyorkas from the security group came in wide eyed and bloody.

“Pakhan!” His voice was loud, panicked, and his eyes flickered around the room, lingering on Gabriel before he focused back on Castiel. “Pozhaluysta izvinite menya, Pakhan… Pozhaluysta izvinite menya,” he gasped, begging to be forgiven for interrupting. His eyes flashed and he sucekd in a sharp breath when the Pakhan made no move towards him. “The 116th has sent us a message…” he stopped talking and stopped short a foot or so from the head of the table, his eyes darting back over to Gabriel.

Castiel glared at the man that dared interrupt him during a meeting, and to just barge in here? Clearly, Castiel would have to teach him some manners later. “What the fuck is so pressing that could not wait until after my meeting with Don Winchester? It better be really damn important for your sake,” he growled threateningly.

Sozhaleyu, sozhaleyu,” he said apologetically to the Pakhan. “They left her hanging outside, and the blood… Once we realized, we knew you had to know…. It’s… Pakhan, Ona mertva, ona mertva. She’s dead, Pakhan… she’s…!”

Castiel stopped advancing on the Shestyorka and glanced over at Gabriel before asking, “Who? Who is dead?”

Ona mertva, ona mertva, ona mertva, …” the man repeated, shaking his head quickly back and forth until Castiel stepped towards him and slapped him hard across the face.

“I asked you a question! Who’s dead?”

The man met Castiel’s eyes and shook his head before he tore his gaze away and found Gabriel’s. “Kali,” he whispered, quickly blessing himself and pressing his hands together in prayer. “Ona mertva, Pakhan.”

Gabriel stood quickly, his chair crashing to the ground as he strode over to the Shestyorka. He gripped his shoulders shaking him. “Izhets!” Gabriel spat. “You’re lying! No, no, not her! It can't be her!”

Castiel pulled his brother off the Shestyorka and glanced around the room at his men. “I want you all out there now, figure out what the fuck is going on.”

The Bratva remained seated in shock at the news.

“Now! That’s an order from your Pakhan!”

They quickly snapped out of it, nodded and disbursed.

Gabriel tried to pull out from his grip but Castiel held his arms tighter. “Let me go, Castiel! I’m going with them! She was my wife! My beautiful zhena. Brother, you can't deny me my revenge.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m not denying you anything, I’m just not going to let you go out there halfcocked and get yourself killed!”

“She was pregnant,” Gabriel whispered. “They took my wife, Castiel! My zhena and my child! My child! I will kill the men who did this, I will rip their fuckin’ hearts out while they’re still breathing!”

Castiel growled, “We will kill them and their families for taking yours from you.”

Castiel sighed and let go of his brother who was barely holding it together. “Im tak zhal’ brat , I am so sorry.” He grabbed Gabriel and pulled him into his chest before whispering in his ear, “I need you to go to my office and under no circumstances are you to go off on your own.” Castiel pulled back, placing his hands on Gabriel’s face and forced him to meet his eyes. “Do you understand me? This is not a request from your brother but an order from your Pakhan.”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched his brother stagger from the room, only then did he realize the Winchesters were still there. “Meeting’s over. Go back to your rooms and you will be contacted soon about the arrangement we have made here today.”

Dean nodded quickly and the three of them headed to the door. Dean stopped, waving his brother and Consigliere off as he moved towards Castiel. “I apologize for your loss… and your brother’s.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you, Don Winchester, I promise to be in contact.”

“I have no doubt.” Dean nodded and stood, waiting. “Listen,” he said finally, breaking the silence once more. “About… last night?”

Castiel bared his teeth and growled. “I said this meeting was over, Don Winchester. I suggest you get the fuck out.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and shook his head slowly. “Well, I can already tell this is the start of a wonderful partnership, Pakhan. If not wonderful, at least… interesting.”

Dean leaned forward, catching Castiel off guard as he scented him quickly. With one last look, Dean turned on his heel and headed towards the elevator where Singer and his brother were waiting for him.

“Fuck!” Castiel yelled to the now empty room before taking a few calming breaths and heading up to his office. Gabriel needed him now.

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