Page 68 of Sold to the Bratva
I step closer, the gun still raised. “You think I’m vulnerable?”
Oleg arches a brow. “If you don’t give us what we want, you’ll leave behind a widow and a fatherless child. I know that isn’t what you want. So, yes. I’d say you’re pretty fucking vulnerable right now.”
I hold my ground. My finger twitches on the trigger, but I know they’re not alone and more of their men stalk the house. My thoughts race to Katya, and I pray Mikhail got her out in time. Viktor’s promises mean nothing. She could still be caught in thecrossfire. Too many things could go wrong, leaving her hurt or worse.
“You should be thanking us,” Oleg says, dragging my attention back. “We gave you a taste of domestic bliss. We gave you something worth fighting for. That’s more than most men in our line of work ever get.”
“Don’t you fucking talk about her,” I snap. “You don’t even deserve to say her name.”
“Fine.” He shrugs. “But the moment you’re out of the picture, I’ll be sure to offer her a nice, warm seat beside me. Maybe she’ll come to her senses, see how much more powerful she could be with the Grinkovs permanently.”
Fury ignites in my chest, white-hot and blinding. “You’re not touching her,” I grit out.
Viktor clears his throat as if bored by the theatrics. “Let’s end this quickly, Isaac. As we’ve said, it’s not personal. Surrender now, and you might live long enough to see your child born.”
“I’ll never surrender,” I snarl. “So you can get that fucking farce out of your heads right now.”
“Then you’ll die,” Oleg says, his smirk chillingly detached.
Their weapons come up together, but I fire first, slamming a round into the ceiling. Plaster rains down, and they jerk their gazes upward, barrels dipping just enough for me to seize their attention. When they look back at me, confusion clouds their eyes.
“If you want to take my livelihood,” I say, my voice a low growl, “do it like men. Use your bare fists. Don’t hide behind guns like cowards.”
The air stills for a beat, even the gunfire outside hushes beneath the tension stretching between us. My Glock dangles at my side, forgotten. Oleg’s smile slips. Viktor’s eyes narrow.
I hurl the opening punch. It cracks against Viktor’s jaw, and he staggers, unprepared for my speed. I pivot, ducking a wild swing from Oleg. He’s slower than I expected, too accustomed to sending others to do his dirty work. Good. That works in my favor.
I ram my shoulder into his gut, driving him backward into a bookshelf. Wood splinters. Books tumble. The room dissolves into fists, shouted curses, and flying debris, and the rage inside me erupts.
Viktor recovers quickly. He lunges at me, catching me across the cheek. I taste blood. I welcome it. Every hit, every scrape, every impact of knuckles against skin only feeds the inferno in my chest.
How dare they! How dare they come into my home, plot against me, manipulate their own blood, and act like this is just business? Viktor didn’t just betray me, he betrayed his own daughter.
I picture her walking down the aisle in that damned black dress that drove me wild. She fought hard against this marriage, begging her father to reconsider, trying to keep him from selling her off to a stranger.
She’ll be devastated when she learns the truth, and the thought only fuels my rage. Betraying me is one thing, but betraying my wife is unforgivable.
I slam Viktor into the wall, my hands locking around his throat. He struggles, but not hard enough as age and arrogance haveslowed him. I’m driven by something stronger than revenge, the primal need to protect my family.
Oleg barrels into me from behind, and we crash to the floor. Viktor gulps for air, then joins the fray, and their combined weight overwhelms me.
Fists fly, elbows crack against bone. I cover up and swing back, fighting like hell to keep them from beating me senseless, barely processing the chaos around us.
For a heartbeat, I believe this is it, that they’ll overpower me. Katya and our baby flash through my mind, and I picture them struggling without me, our child growing up fatherless.
A roar rips from my chest as I heave upward, hurling Oleg off me with every ounce of strength left. He lands with a grunt but scrambles back, charging again with everything he has.
Just as the room tilts and the lights smear at the edges of my vision, he’s blindsided, tackled.
Mikhail materializes out of nowhere and slams into Oleg like a wrecking ball. They hit the floor hard, bone cracking against marble. Mikhail snakes an arm around his throat, wrenching him into a chokehold, and Oleg thrashes but can’t break free.
Blood trickles down my temple. My knuckles are split and raw. Viktor leans against the wall, panting and dazed.
I could kill them both. My Glock lies within reach. I could put a bullet in each of their heads and call it a day.
But I don’t.
I stagger to my feet and slam Viktor to the floor. Once he’s down, I pin him with a boot to his chest.
