“Oh,” I say like I’m just now understanding. “So you don’t have her?”
Budimir frowns. “You’re saying you don’t either?”
“The last time I saw her was in the clinic right before your men stormed the place,” I tell him. “I came back but you had already taken the clinic and she had disappeared.”
“Ah, yes,” Budimir recalls. “I do believe you left me a message.”
I remember the blood message carved into the traitor’s skin.
Tvoi dni sochteny.
Your days are numbered.
“You never did come for me, though,” Budimir muses, almost as an afterthought. He sounds almost disappointed. “I really expected more from you. I expected you to want revenge.”
“I do.”
“Really?” Budimir asks. “As far as I can see, you’ve been hiding up here in the mountains all by yourself.”
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
Budimir smiles. “As I said to Stanislav enough times, you are nothing more than a disappointment. The girl should have been married to me. I would have used her to full advantage.”
“Another request that my father obviously denied?” I ask.
I try to hide how my blood boils at the thought of Esme in Budimir’s bed. His nasty fingers over her skin, threading through her hair…
Over my dead fucking body.
“Stanislav was blind when it came to you,” Budimir goes on. He’s feeling very fucking long-winded tonight, it seems. “You always thought he was hard on you. And he was, to an extent, but mostly to your face. Behind closed doors, he fought for you. Why, I don’t know. I think he was trying to preserve his legacy. And I suppose he wanted to see you happy.”
It feels like a knife, shiny and cold, is being plunged into my ribcage. I can feel the chafing around my wrists where the skin has started to tear down against the rope.
But I welcome the pain.
I need the distraction.
“Don’t you worry. You won’t have to bear the weight of the Bratva any longer,” Budimir reassures me. “Once I’ve dealt with you, I will find your pretty little wife and make her mine. And in doing so, I will solidify whatever connections her father maintained. The Bratva will live on under a true leader.”
“You will never be don,” I snarl at him. “Not truly.”
The wrinkles on Budimir’s face deepen as he turns on me, black hatred etched across his face. His eyes are dark and beady, but bright with assumed victory.
“In case you haven’t noticed, nephew,” Budimir drawls, “I am already don. The powerful take what they want. And I took the Bratva.”
“Then you’re a fool,” I fire back. “You’re right about me. I was unfit to lead the Bratva, but that was then. I am a different man now. I have grown up, I have matured, and most of all, I have learnt. And the most important lesson I have learnt is that some things can never be taken by force. Loyalty, for instance. And trust. Your men follow you not because they are loyal, but because they’ve been made promises. And when a better offer comes along, they will stab you in the back the same way you stabbed my father in the back.”
Budimir considers my words carefully.
I can see that I’ve got under his skin just a little. That makes me bear down, unwilling to let go of the miniscule edge I’ve gained.
“You want to prove you’re the rightful don?” I go on. “You want your men to die for you if need be? Well, then prove to them that you’re willing to die for them.”
Budimir’s eyes glimmer. “And how would I do that?”
“Fight me,” I say instantly. “Just you and me. Hand-to-hand combat. No weapons.”
Budimir’s eyes narrow. I anticipate his refusal. I don’t truly believe he will entertain the thought for a moment, but I do want to humiliate him in front of his men.
If nothing else, it will eat at him like my father’s laughter still does.
“A fight for the Bratva?” Budimir asks mildly. “An archaic tradition.”
“But simple,” I retort, “and straightforward. Unless, of course, you’re scared, uncle.”
His eyes flare with anger. I know I’ve already bruised his wounded ego. It doesn’t take much, apparently.
There is so much I should have been before now. I have been blind.
“Very well.”
The words are flat and dark. I can only stare back at Budimir.
“What?”
“You want a fight?” he asks. “You’ve got one. You and me, hand to hand combat, no weapons.”
He’s got something up his sleeve.
I know enough about Budimir to know that he never enters into a fight he can’t win. Which means he’s confident he’s going to kill me.
But he’s never come up against me before. If this is the only chance I’ll get, then I swear to see him on his knees before me before the night is done.
“Cut his restraints,” Budimir orders.
There’s slight hesitation amongst the ranks that forces Budimir to issue the order again.
“Cut his restraints,” he barks. “Now!”
I don’t know what the old man is playing at, but I’m certainly not going to waste this opportunity.
He thinks he can fuck with me?
I’ll just have to fuck him over first.
The moment I’m cut loose, I get to my feet, stretching slowly so that my muscles loosen up again. Blood flows to my hands and my ankles as I try and shake off the unsteadiness.
Budimir looks at me through eyes that have narrowed into slits, but he looks remarkably calm for a seventy-year-old man who’s about to take on someone less than half his age.
“You don’t mind a quick pat-down first, do you nephew?” Budimir asks politely.
I grunt in response. Immediately, two of his men come forward and pat me down quickly. They remove the knife in my boot and the one in the waistband of my pants.
I am left bare, completely unprotected. The only weapons at my disposal now are my fists and my mind.
My uncle steps forward and shrugs off his dark jacket. His white shirt is impeccably crisp and taut against his torso.
I have to admit—for an older man, Budimir is in good shape.
“I
