Page 29 of Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet 2)

“Expect all of the details soon, but his name is Petr.”

His brows pinch together. “Your consigliere?”

I nod solemnly. “The very same.”

“Shit,” he breaths.

Shit, indeed.

* * *

The two menare young and obviously members of the Italian Mafia. They wear their colors proudly. It’s surprising considering where they are standing.

On my corner.

I was driving to the club to put together the information for George and get him the full details on Petr when I saw the men two blocks up. I parked the car and watched them for a few minutes to be sure I understood what I was seeing. A young girl, barely sixteen if that, walked over to them while I waited, and they shook hands. Innocuous enough if you aren’t paying close enough attention, but I wasn’t fooled. Even after only a few minutes, I knew there was no mistake.

The Italians are dealing on my turf.

The corner was contested territory a few years before, but I long ago settled that dispute. Prior to Fedor partnering with the Mazzeos, the Italians knew better than to send their men to my territory. Yet, here they are.

I know Fedor is behind it. Just like when he had a man waltz into Molly’s apartment with Theo in his arms, he is doing this to show me that he can. To show me he will take what he wants without consequence.

Well, fuck that.

The intersection is one block removed from the busier road, but there are still a fair number of people on the sidewalks and in the road. I shift the car into park and blend in with them.

I cross the street, watching as the men laugh and joke with each other. They make suggestive comments to women as they pass and pantomime things they want to do to them.

They are children. Idiots. They’d have to be to side with Fedor in this fight.

Well, I’m going to show them what a mistake that was.

As I approach them, one of the men with a thick head of dark hair looks at me and then away. Just as he is turning back towards me, eyes wide with recognition, my fist connects with his face.

He flies sideways, hitting a metal sign before sinking to the ground. His friend stands in stunned silence when I hit him with a one-two, knocking his head back and forth like a bobblehead.

They aren’t well-trained. The second man throws up an arm to protect his face, and I kick him in the stomach. He doubles over and falls.

“Who the fuck sent you here?” I roar at them.

Distantly, I recognize people on the street are startled and fleeing. I can’t stay here long. The police will be along soon, and even though I have some of them in my back pocket, I know the Italians do too. There’s no saying who will show up, and I can’t afford to be arrested right now. Not when my Bratva is being divided and my top advisor might be betraying me.

Both men get back to their feet and jockey back and forth, ready to fight.

“Get out of here before you get hurt.”

“You leave before you get hurt, old man,” the dark-haired kid says. He pulls out a switchblade, flicking it open, and lunges towards me.

He moves slowly enough that I dodge what could have been a deadly blow and instead feel a burning sensation across my arm. I don’t need to look to know he got me. There is blood on his knife.

I drive my elbow up and over, hitting his arm and sending the blade skittering across the ground and into the gutter. He curses, and I drive my fist into his nose. Blood spurts down his face and over his lip.

“Leave. Now,” I command. “And tell Fedor if he has a message for me, to deliver it himself.”

The second man seems torn between running away and defending his friend, but he settles on grabbing the dark-haired man’s arm and pulling him towards a car halfway down the block.

Adrenaline is humming beneath my skin, keeping me from feeling the ache in my fist and the cut to my arm. I know I’ll feel it later.

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