Page 11 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
“He didn’t,” Maxim replied to the elder. “He ran like the coward that he is.”
I set the file on the table, my eyes narrowing at the photo of Franco with ill intent. “Those Italian swine burned our warehouse to prove they aren’t afraid to play with fire.” I raised my head, my gaze darting across my men’s faces. “Let’s show them what an inferno really looks like.”
They nodded, exchanging glances amongst themselves.
***
Later that evening, Max received intel from one of our moles in the streets that Franco and a few Italian goons were carrying out an operation down an alleyway.
At first, Max thought it was a reckless move to confront the bastard alone. He believed it was better to sit this one out or perhaps take my brother Egor with me. But Egor had some business he needed to take care of, and I, for one, needed to blow off some steam.
Max and three of my most trusted men tagged along with me, each one ready for whatever the evening would bring.
The narrow alley, boxed in by bricks and shadows, reeked of piss and rot. The painful grunts of someone being beaten up mercilessly a few feet ahead filled the stinking air.
Four men, huge and broad-shouldered, threw heavy punches and kicks at their victim, a skinny man with a disfigured face. One big guy trapped the vic’s arms from behind while the others beat the hell out of him.
“Hey, asswipes!” Max called out, standing flanked by my side. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
They paused, letting the vic’s bruised body fall to the ground, deep groans escaping his lips.
“My, my, my,” Franco said, turning to face us, wiping his bloody hands with a white handkerchief. “Look who we have here, boys.” His lips curled into a cocky grin. “If it isn’t the Chicago prince himself. Wonder what brings him around these parts.”
Those Moretti mutts exchanged glances, a glint of fear flickering in their eyes the moment they realized who I was.
Good. They should be afraid.
Franco let out an arrogant chuckle and then stepped forward, flanked by his men. “I don’t suppose this is a social visit. It never is when a Tarasov’s involved.” He halted in front of me.
“I won’t ask you again, Franco; back off,” I said, my voice calm and collected but laced with venom.
“What, you mean literally?” the idiot joked, flashing that stupid smirk in my face.
Maxim glanced at me, then chipped in quietly. “You’ve been warned: you and your boss. Stand down before things get bloody.”
“Shoot first, ask questions later. I thought that’s how you boys roll. Yet, here you are….” The sarcasm in his voice couldn’t be more glaring. He looked me dead in the eyes and said mockingly, “If you ask me, I’d say you’ve gone soft.”
The statement was barely finished when my fist connected with his jawbone. His head turned dangerously at the impact, a bloody tooth flying out of his mouth. Franco stumbled backward, nose and mouth spraying red across the alley wall.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Maxim warned Franco’s men before they could withdraw their weapons, his pistol pointed at one of them. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He cocked his gun, as did the others with him.
Two more heavy punches in the right spots had the lazy-ass Franco already on the ground, struggling to breathe. He groveled at my feet, bleeding and wheezing, too weak to stand.
“Not so arrogant now, are you?” I asked, calm and gentle as I crouched beside him, fingers tangling in his hair before yanking it backward.
He winced, his head jerking up to face me, my eyes, cold and hollow, boring into his. “Tell Moretti to back off. I won’t ask a second time.” I let go of his hair and slowly rose to my feet.
The others looked terrified, unsure of whether they’d leave this alley alive or dead. I shifted my gaze across their faces. Pathetic.
Without another word, I turned around and left, my men doing the same without turning their backs on the enemy.
***
Back at the club, I slouched into the leather chair in the dimly lit office like nothing had happened. I wiped the blood stain on my knuckles with the back of my hand as a thread of smoke curled around me.
I lifted my eyes, meeting my brother’s gaze. “What?”
Egor sighed, rubbing his forehead, and reclined in the chair across from me. “You and I both know that this thing’s only gonna escalate—especially now that you’ve put Franco in the hospital.” He paused, letting the words sink in for a moment. “Yeah, my guy in the street said the bastard got messed up real bad. It appears his nose is severely damaged.”
