Page 8 of Marcellus: House of Drakos

But Niko shot back. “Coming from a man who wants to destroy his own father,” he said, “that’s rich.”

That comment caused that grinning look to leave Boris’s face.

But Niko couldn’t care less. He was responding to Boris’s fascination with who his father was only to buy himself some thinking time.

He had to figure out a way to convince Boris to give that fifty up front or the deal would be meaningless to him.

The merger would fall through. And that wasn’t going to happen.

He entered the fashion world when he was twenty years old, as soon as he got that inheritance from his father, and he never looked back.

Despite some hiccups along the way, he made it to the top and stayed there for nearly five years.

But when Covid hit and subsequently after Covid, he’d been on a downward trajectory.

But he still knew how to roll. He’d been around backroom deals even before his inheritance.

Although he and all of his siblings shared the same father, most of them had different mothers.

And each one of their mothers were the kind of lovesick ladies who all seemed to care more about keeping their powerful father in their beds rather than getting away from him in the best interest of their children.

But whenever their father was around, which was almost exclusively during their always-required monthly family dinners, he taught them all about the ruthlessness of bargains.

And the one thing Niko leaned above all else was to drive the hardest bargain at all times, and to stay on that pedal no matter what.

To never slow down. To never back down. To be willing to walk away even if it meant losing momentarily.

Strength and nothing but, according to their father, always won out in the end.

But what Niko never learned was what to do when this was your last hope, and walking away wouldn’t mean a temporary loss, but an out and out permanent collapse of all he’d built up?

But he had to rely on what his father taught him. “Take it or leave it,” he said with clenched teeth, projecting that strength, “because a deal is a deal. Fifty million up front like we agreed, and fifty million when I deliver the shipments. And you know my track record. I will deliver.”

It sounded great, but Niko’s heart dropped when he realized Boris was more than willing to leave it.

“Take it or leave it,” Boris said as he and his partner stood up. Niko stood up too. Never let them see you sweat. But it was obvious he was sweating, physically and metaphorically.

Then Boris smiled. “Take it or leave it,” he said again.

Then he frowned. ”Who do you think you are dealing with?

I eat and spit out men like you for breakfast. Take it or leave it you say to me as if I am your punk.

I tell you what. Not only will I not take it, but guess what?

I am taking you.” Then he nodded at his bodyguard.

“Get him,” he ordered as he was turning to leave.

But Niko had been in tough spots many times since he’d been dealing with unsavory characters like Boris and his partner.

He knew he had to act fast or he wouldn’t get the chance to act at all.

He jumped over the table, knocking Boris to the floor.

As the bodyguard and the second man at the table all were coming for Niko, he pulled out his own gun and quickly moved Boris in front of him, to use him as his human shield while he was getting on his feet.

Boris’s bodyguard and his partner both had their guns drawn in the crowded club where nobody seemed to realize what was happening right away, but they couldn’t fire on Niko. Boris was in the way.

Niko took full advantage of the crowd and hurried backwards, his gun on Boris’s men and Boris as his shield, until he got to the exit doors.

“Come out and I’ll kill him,” he yelled to Boris’s men and they stopped their progression.

Then he removed Boris’s gun, threw it across the club, and walked out backwards with an angrily cussing Boris as his prisoner.

When he backed all the way to his blood-red Ferrari Roma, he turned Boris around, punched him so hard he fell backwards, and hopped in and took off.

He could see Boris’s men coming out and shooting as they ran toward his vehicle, but he was out of that parking lot and already near the end of the street before any of their shots stood a chance.

It looked like a clean getaway.

But it didn’t feel like one.

And true to form, his feelings won out as soon as he approached the intersection ready to speed past the stop sign. But he had to slam on brakes when he saw what was coming for him.

Cars came up on him from the left side and the right side as one came up behind him and another one crossed the lane and came in front of him, pinning him in.

Then he saw gunmen hop out of each of those cars, two or three per car, as they aimed their weapons squarely at him.

As if they’d been lying in wait for his ass.

As if Boris knew Niko’s escape would be an impossibility and that was why he wasn’t trying to fight for his life.

Because he didn’t have to. Because he already knew that Nikolas Drakos, the third-oldest son of billionaire aeronautics pioneer Marcellus Drakos, was going to be surrounded.

But if they thought Niko was a Drakos in name only, they were mistook. He never gave up. He never gave in. He pushed through.

He floored his Ferrari and slammed into the car in front of him, with its powerful engine flinging that car sideways, and then he sped through the barricade as a barrage of bullets began peppering his car.

But he ducked and dodged and kept on going. He left those cars and those gunmen in the dust. His fear-driven adrenalin even had him taking his fist and pounding his steering wheel in triumph. It looked as if he had prevailed and was getting away.

Until an SUV, a big silver Dodge Durango, sped into the next intersection he was speeding across as if that SUV had dropped down from the sky.

He slammed on brakes violently as soon as he saw it and swerved wildly to avoid a certain collision, causing him to nearly lose control of the steering wheel itself as his car swerved from one side to the other side in a double-overcorrection.

But none of his heroics were rewarded with an escape. He collided with that SUV anyway.

And as his airbags deployed and as he looked out of his rearview mirror and saw that every single one of those cars that had barricaded him one block back had already driven up behind him, he could feel the fight leave his body.

Those same gunmen were already out of their cars, their guns drawn, running to secure their prey.

He knew his back was against the wall once again, but only this time that wall was closing in on him fast.

He would have called his beloved father for help, but he knew his father didn’t give a shit.

He would have called his siblings, but they were barely on speaking terms too.

Niko was the black sheep of the family.

He’d always lived by his own rules and on his own terms.

There was no help on the face of this earth for him.

He closed his eyes instead. And resigned himself to his fate.