Page 73 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

Her scream makes me turn back to Volkov.

I just manage to move fast enough to get out of his way. I’m on the defensive though, and that’s not somewhere I want to be.

I run across the garden spot, my feet crunching on gravel. I need something. I can’t use a weapon, but I could use…

There’s a bench.

That I could use.

I turn back to Volkov, edging backward toward the bench. “Hey motherfucker!” I yell at him. “You think I’d go down that fuckin’ fast?”

Volkov snarls something in Russian, a language that honestly, I never fucking bothered with, and stomps toward me.

Good.

He’s dragging his back leg ever so slightly. I know that if I can get him to put weight on it, he’ll collapse.

And then I can knock him the fuck out.

“Yeah, that’s right, you giant fucking Russian piece of shit,” I yell. The more that I talk, the angrier he gets.

It’s a predictable reaction. Men like Volkov think they’re powerful.

They’re sensitive enough, though, to let words goad them into action.

“Yeah, that’s right, you ugly fuckin’ son of a…”

“Shut up!” He roars.

He’s one foot from me when I hop up backwards onto the bench. Using the height, I fly forward, connecting with Volkov’s shoulders.

Volkov roars, and I twist so that I’m behind him. One of my arms wraps around his neck while he tries to tear me off.

But he’s not very flexible.

Can’t forget to stretch after you work those pretty muscles, asshole.

I drive my knee into his kidney, and Volkov howls. I do it again and he staggers down. I push back, coming off of his back, and then stand over him as he falls to his hands and knees.

He looks up at me. He’s panting, and blood is pouring from his mouth. Split lip or internal bleeding?

I don’t give a fuck.

I bring my foot up, stomping him hard in the back again. He makes a sad, small noise, unusual for such a big man.

From this angle, I could stomp him in his jaw. Shatter the lower part of his face. I could…

“It’s over,” I hear a cold voice near my shoulder, and the sound of a safety being clicked off.

My chest heaves, but I look to the side.

Moretti is there, pointing one of his fucking big-ass pistols at my head.

I sneer at him, and he looks at me with flat, reptilian eyes. I’m not a fuckin’ biologist or nothin, but I can tell that this guy isn’t human.

Those are the eyes of someone dead inside.

I hold up my hands, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. “I think I won, asshole.”

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