Page 198 of Cashmere Ruin

Carmine motions for one of his men to approach. He obeys the unspoken order and pulls out two combat knives from his belt.

“Here you go.” My father smiles as he tosses one to each of us. “Play nice.”

This is all a game to him.If I ever thought there might be something left there—a stray crumb of affection for the man who was once his son—that face tells me all I need to know.

Whoever dies tonight, he’s already won.

Yuri waits for me to pick my weapon. His expression is unreadable. If I weren’t furious with him for everything he’s done, I’d acknowledge the honor in his gesture: these knives come from Carmine. One of them might easily have been tampered with. By giving me first pick, he’s ensuring a fair fight.

But there’s nothing honorable in what he’s done.

And this fight will be anything but fair.

Because I’m the one who trained Yuri. I know his strengths, his weaknesses, which moves he can execute confidently and which he still struggles with. Even if he’s been training in secret, he’s no match for me. And while that might be true in reverse—because if I know his style, then he damn well knows mine—there’s still one problem.

He has never once defeated me.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s being suicidal. The same crawling feeling I got against Ivan makes its way under my skin. That this doesn’t make sense—that I’m missingsomething.

And that, if I don’t figure it out, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.

Why did you have to ask for this?I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white.You know you can’t possibly win, so why?

Why doIhave to be the one to kill you?

I grab my knife. Yuri grabs his.

“You should have taken the deal,” he whispers when no one can hear us.

“I don’t make deals with cowards,” I growl, my anger still getting the better of me.

We split in the middle of the room, then walk to the opposite ends. The Bonaccorsi men make up the perimeter of our makeshift arena, leaving just enough room to let four other people through: on Yuri’s side, Carmine and Vlad.

And on mine…

“Don’t look,” I warn April. Whatever happens, I don’t want her to see this.

But she just shakes her head, as stubborn as the day I met her, and fixes her eyes on mine. “Don’t die,” she whispers back.

I don’t get a chance to say anything else.

“FIGHT!”

As soon as the referee shoots his gun into the air, Yuri charges.

Our knives clash. The screech of metal echoes through the air as my blade parries his. “Stop fighting this!” Yuri grits. “If you surrender yourself, we can still?—”

“There’s no ‘we,’” I spit. “And if you’re pissing yourself that bad, you can just say so.”

His eyes harden. “Fine. If you won’t save our family, I will.”

Then he slashes downwards.

Pain explodes across my knuckles. We both jump back at the same time, my hand the same shade of red as his blade. It’s a superficial cut, but it’s enough to turn my grip slick if I’m not careful.

I lick the blood off, then roll the knife in my palm.

We circle each other like wolves. Carmine’s men are whooping behind us, launching into raucous stadium chants. Like this is a fucking football game instead of a duel to the death.

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