Page 54 of Declan

“Not untouchable,” I say, straightening and rolling my shoulders. “Just better than you.”

He roars and charges again, swinging wide. I duck, driving my fist to his left side. He grunts but doesn’t stop, slamming his elbow against my shoulder; a spark of pain runs through it. He seems to have the upper hand, shoving me toward the table in the corner.

“You’re not so tough now, Irishman,” he says, his voice dripping with cockiness.

I let him think he’s winning, waiting for the right moment. He throws another punch, but this time, I catch his wrist mid-swing, twisting it sharply. He screams in pain as I slam my fist into his jaw, sending him walking back; blood flies from his busted lip, his eyes turning red with rage.

Before he can recover, I sweep his legs out from under him and drive him to the ground, pinning him with my knee on his chest and my hand pressing on his throat, right on his pulse.

His face turns purple, and I let him breathe a little, loosening my grip as my knee presses more into his chest; I can feel his heart beating like a drum under my knee.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” I say, still gripping his throat just tight enough to make him suck in a breath, “let’s talk. Where the fuck is Aleksandr?”

Ivan struggles, his confidence crumbling as he realizes he’s lost. I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

“You can either give me what I need or…”

“I’m dead either way, you fucking Irish,” Ivan smirks at me, but his eyes betray him. There’s a crack in his tough-guy armour.Not fear of death, that much is clear, but fear of how he’ll die, just like Maxim.

“You’re right, Ivan. You are dead,” I say, my voice cold and deliberate. “But I can kill you fast, no pain.”

My fingers dig into the side of his throat, nails breaking the skin. He grunts in pain, his hands clawing at my arm, desperate for air. I let him catch his breath for a second, then grab his right hand. With a swift motion, I twist, snapping his wrist.

The sickening crack echoes through the empty room, followed by his screams of agony. The sound bounces off the concrete walls, sharp and haunting.

The fucker’s tough, though. His left-hand swings up, catching me square in the mouth. Blood bursts into my mouth, metallic and warm, dripping onto my shirt. I spit crimson onto the ground, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“I’m done with this shit,” I hiss.

Grabbing his shoulder, I rotate it hard, pulling until I feel the bones grind and snap like dry twigs. The sound is sharp and brittle, like stepping on eggshells. Ivan’s scream pierces the air again, tears streaking his bloody face.

“As I was saying, Ivan,” I lean closer, pressing my knee harder into his chest, keeping him pinned, “I can kill you fast, or I can keep breaking every bone in your body.”

I drop my voice to a near whisper, leaning into his ear, “And after I’m done, my brothers and I will pay a visit to your lovely Lilibeth.”

His entire body stiffens beneath me. His muscles lock, and his breath catches. That’s the reaction I wanted. Connor did his homework. Lilibeth, his twenty-one-year-old daughter, is studying at a university in New York.

The panic on his face is pure gold. His tough exterior crumbles, replaced with raw fear. “Your choice, Ivan.”

I loosen my grip just enough for him to nod, but my knee stays firmly planted on his chest. Blood trickles from my lip, and the copper tang fills my mouth again. I shake my head, knowing Viviana will notice the cut later. The questions will come, questions I don’t want to answer. Fucking fantastic.

“Aleksandr hasn’t been in town,” Ivan finally rasps, his voice hoarse and weak. “We went to Canada. He has someone here who handles everything.”

“Who?” I demand. “Another Russian?”

He shakes his head, his body trembling as he lets out another pained groan. His bloodied lips twist into a grin, his teeth smeared red like some fucked-up vampire. “No,” he chokes out, coughing wetly. “An Italian.”

My heart lurches, the walls closing in around me. The name Giovanni burns in my mind like a brand.

“The Koslovs have a grip on you, and you don’t even know it,” Ivan laughs, spitting blood. His laughter grates on me, a taunt that snaps my control. My hands close around his neck, and before I can think twice, I twist. His neck breaks with a sickening crack, and his body goes limp beneath me.

For a brief moment, the image of Viviana flashes in my mind: her soft moans last night, the way her raven-black hair looked in my hands as I gripped it, her lips parting for me…

“Fuck!” I bark, stepping back from Ivan’s lifeless body. My chest heaves as I try to regain control.

Kian places a hand on my shoulder and offers me a towel. I take it, wiping my bloodied mouth. My lip still bleeds, staining my shirt further.

“It’s Giovanni,” Connor says from the corner, his voice steady but grim.

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