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I should cut out her tongue for threatening my brothers, but I know she’s all bark and no bite. Just a helpless lamb surrounded by wolves.
“Such a poetic threat. It’s adorable.” I run my thumb over my brass knuckles. “Now, want to hear my promises? When we go back to the house, I’m going to chain you in the basement myself. You’ll roll in your own piss and shit like a fucking animal. And only when you’re desperate enough to give me what I want, maybe—just maybe—I’ll let you have your room back.”
She’s got fire, this one. The kind that reminds me of the old stories about her mother. Isabella wasn’t just a soldier—she was a strategist. “You’ve got it,” she told me once after I’d handled a particularly messy situation for her. “Patient. Calculating. Remember that when you’re running things someday.” Sometimes I wonder if Alessa inherited more than just her mother’s looks.
Fear flashes across her face. Her defiant stance crumbles, and her features soften as she exhales. The moment of vulnerability reveals a crack in her armor.
“You can just kill me,” she whispers, shoulders slumping. Her gaze meets mine, and I notice pink raised marks around her neck and bruises covering her arms. I frown, wondering if the stress of the past few days is showing on her body. Because I know I didn’t put those marks there.
I open my mouth to respond when a commotion outside interrupts me. Deep male voices cut through the air, making Alessa flinch. The voices don’t belong to my brothers or my men. Something’s wrong.
“What the fuck is it now?” I grab my gun from my waistband. I head for the door but turn back to Alessa, who’s listening to the chaos outside. “Stay here.”
“I’m—“
“For once in your fucking life, Alessa, listen to me.” I point the gun at her. She swallows hard and nods. “Say it.”
“I’ll stay.” The words come out like they’re physically painful for her to say.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
She flips me off, and I smirk as I walk out the door to see what fresh hell awaits me. I’m actually looking forward to punching someone. Otherwise, I might lose what little control I have left and give Alessa exactly what she deserves.
I move silently toward the main hall, gun ready.
“We told you we’re coming back for more, Harold, my man,” a voice says, the thick Russian accent immediately telling me who’s crashed my club.
Fucking Dashkovas.
The Dashkova triplets think we’re cut from the same cloth—power-hungry men with short fuses, too many guns, and never enough cash. Except I have all those things—power, guns, money, and a hell of a temper. And after the day I’ve had, my patience is thinner than a razor’s edge.
These bastards aren’t Bratva or whatever bullshit they sell on the streets. No real Russian mob would touch these losers. They’re just thugs in white tank tops stained with cheap smetana sauce, wearing loose jeans that show their boxers like it’s still the ’90s.
I see TJ in the middle of the room, gun pointed at them, with Harold cowering behind him. My head of security is at a disadvantage.
“This again, really?” I step out from my hiding spot. The triplets’ heads snap toward me, eyes widening in surprise. “Didn’t I tell you I never wanted to see your faces again?”
Last time I encountered these motherfuckers, I was checking a shipment of bootleg suits. One of them is missing an index finger thanks to that night, and after I threatened to cut off their dicks and shove them down their throats, I haven’t seen them again. Until today.
“Gianelli,” the center one calls, the heaviest of the three. Fear flashes in his eyes. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Look, dumbass,” I massage the bridge of my nose. “I have a guest in the back, and I don’t want to keep her waiting. Why don’t you, Dumber, and Dumbest crawl back to whatever shithole you came from, and I’ll forget you were here.”
TJ doesn’t lower his weapon, and neither do the Dashkovas, who now have their arsenals ready—one with a revolver, one with a knife, and the other with a nail-studded baseball bat.Cristo, please don’t tell me I have to exterminate these idiots today.
“No!” Dumber screams. He’s the tallest and the shakiest of the three. “You cut off my brother’s tongue last time. It’s payback time.”
Oh. That was a tongue? My bad.
“I didn’t even remember that,” I glance at Dumbest, the tongueless one. “Shame. And here I thought you’d learned your lesson.”
“Kill this motherfucker!” Dumber charges at me with his knife. The mute brother follows suit. Dumbass points his gun at TJ and fires, but my head of security dodges just in time before turning to the two rushing me and pulling the trigger.
Dumber screams as he falls, blood gushing from his calf. “Blyad!”
Harold runs from behind TJ toward the counter, seeking cover. When my security chief turns to Dumbass, the coward’s already disappeared among the overturned tables and chairs.
I focus on Dumbest as he swings his bat wildly at my face. The air whistles as the weapon misses by inches. I duck just in time, adrenaline sharpening my senses. In one fluid motion, I rise, twisting toward him. Before he can register what’s happening, my fist connects with his face, brass knuckles enhancing the impact.