“Give me a good fight, old man,” I snarl at him. “I’m aching for blood tonight.”
5
Artem
We circle each other. Budimir’s men form a tight ring around us.
I’m no fool. I know there’s no I can walk out of this ring, whether or not I win.
But hopefully, if I can get Budimir at my mercy, I can use him as leverage to get myself out from under their fire. That’s the murky plan forming in my head as we size each other up.
I try and read the intention in Budimir’s face, I try and predict his next move, but his eyes are black pits of determination.
“I thought of you as a second father,” I hear myself say in a low voice.
“I know you did,” Budimir says. “You were meant to. I worked carefully to maintain my relationship with you. I didn’t want you getting suspicious. Of course, I didn’t have anything to worry about once your head was turned by that woman.”
Marisha.
“You should have known, Artem. Women exploit your weaknesses, and if they don’t, they make you weak.”
“The time for talking is done, old man,” I snap. I’ve had enough of his preaching. “Let’s get this over with.”
Budimir laughs. “The impatience of youth. That’s where we differ. See, I like to take my time.”
Then he lunges.
I bolt to the side, grab his outstretched arm, and twist it back.
He manages to slip out of my grasp, taking advantage of the fact that my wrists are stiff and vulnerable from the restraints.
The moment he’s free, he swings at me, decking me square in the jaw before I can get out of the way.
The punch was badly placed. It only succeeds in pissing me off.
I move forward with a vengeance and hit him once in the stomach. When he keels over, I strike him in the face.
Blood blossoms around his nose, but I know I haven’t yet broken it.
I grab his neck viciously and force him to double over. One well-placed blow to the back of the head will send him to his knees. I cock back, ready to end this right fucking now.
But it’s all too easy. Too quick.
Budimir’s men are quiet as they watch us. Even in the face of their supposed don’s approaching defeat, they remain damn near impassive.
My instincts warn me a second before I see the glint of a steel blade.
Budimir’s arm lashes out and buries the blade in the side of my stomach.
Pain bursts in me like fireworks. I grunt and stumble backward as it radiates through my torso. My hands scrabble at my side and find the blade still buried to the hilt in me. Blood gushes endlessly.
Gritting my teeth and refusing to drop to my knees again, I grip the hilt of the dagger and draw it out. It’s pure agony.
Budimir stands where I left him, still hunched over, a trickle of blood running from his nose into his beard.
I raise my hand, ready to fling the dagger right into Budimir’s heart.
He nods at someone behind me.
And a gunshot pierces straight through the hand that’s holding the dagger.
The knife clatters to the forest floor. A sensation like a red-hot poker drills through my bicep. The hand on that arm goes limp and useless.
I don’t bother turning to the man who shot me.
Instead, I keep my eyes on Budimir. I have to channel all my remaining strength into staying on my feet. Even then, I barely manage it. I’m swaying back and forth like a drunken sailor.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” I spit. The pain is clouding all my senses, pressing in around me from all sides. “How could a man like you know anything about an honorable fight?”
“This is exactly why you would never make a good Don, nephew,” Budimir sighs. He wipes the blood off his face. His men move closer, flanking him on either side. “It’s not about honor or loyalty. It’s about power and the men ruthless enough to wield it. I will do what I have to, to get what I want. And those who cross me will die. Just like you are about to do.”
Budimir reaches out his hand. A gun is placed against his palm. His fingers curl around the grip and he raises it to my forehead.
“Say hello to your father for me, will you?” He grins triumphantly.
I close my eyes and picture my wife. My child. My best friend.
I’m leaving them all behind. I wasn’t good enough.
Forgive me.
6
Artem
“What the fuck is that?”
I open my eyes.
Budimir is still holding the gun to my forehead. He hasn’t pulled the trigger. The pain of the stab wound and the gunshot are overwhelming. I strain against my thundering heartbeat.
That’s when I hear the noise that stopped him.
Running footsteps and the crunch of leaves underneath heavy boots.
A gunshot blasts through the air. Instantly, one of the masked soldiers crumples to the forest floor, blood spurting from his neck.
Budimir ducks, falling behind his men who converge around him. I duck away too, but his men surround me, their guns jabbing into my blood-soaked ribs.
In the darkness surrounding the clearing, a flash of yellow-gold.
Then another bullet slices through the air.
One of the men standing in front of Budimir drops to the ground, his eyes wide even in death.
The soldiers jump into action. Guns clack as they are racked and aimed. The nearest troops pour into the shadows.
I hear the sound of a fist meeting flesh. A grunt—so achingly familiar.
No.
No, no, no.
“Bring him to me!” Budimir commands. His tone is black with anger.
From the trees, a pair of soldiers re-emerge into the moonlit clearing.
They’re holding Cillian’s limp, bloodied frame between them.
My shoulders sag at the sight of him.
He’s going to die with me here. All because he cared enough to try and save me.
Against all odds. Against all reason…
He tried.
“Ah, the Irishman,” my uncle groans in exasperation. “I should have known he was up here with
