Page 77 of The Sound in Silence

Yeah, me too.

Caladin

I’ll be the first to admit I never expected her to do THAT. Admirable. Firecracker beneath the silence, huh?

Me

You’re the second because I’m the first. But yes, she’s stronger than she lets on.

I assume you’re on your way over? I’m pulling up to the gym. Considering you’ve been talking with me instead of enjoying your “sure thing,” she can’t be that great.

Caladin

I’m leaving. Fucker.

After a drive faster than I’d risk with Ariella in the car, I park in front of theFamigliagym in Brooklyn. It’s an old warehouse that was converted into a space for us years ago, only a half block away from the one we use to torture enemies in.

I exit my car, which had anyone else owned, would be attractive for thieves in this area of the city, but this isFamigliaproperty and New Yorkers know better than to even glance at this stretch of land.

I head inside to change into shorts and a workout tee I leave here for this occasion and head to the far corner, with the blue mats, to begin stretching and warming up. Sending slow punches to the hanging punching bags, bouncing on the balls of my feet to prepare for my scrap with Caladin.

Within thirty minutes, the doors open and my cousin walks in, grinning in the infectious way he does. Fucker loves this shit. While I race, he’s one of the top fighters in our underground rings. When he’s not doing his job, his free time is at this gym, constantly training and working out.

He’s already changed and after tossing his metal water bottle to the side of the mats, he steps up, jerking his chin toward me. “Shouldn’t you be off caring for your wife?”

My fists slam a final time into the punching bag, my breaths coming heavier with my warm-up when I speak. “Fighting you means not hunting the Russians.” Which would be a battle I wouldn’t win without proper preparation.

“Got it.”

“Warm-up?”

He scoffs. “As if.Youwill be the warm-up.”

He’s likely correct. We’re evenly matched in terms of bulk, but he fights a lot more than me. He’s always preferred the physical over the weapons that I usually revert to. When we spar, I have him pinned first maybe only two percent of the time. He wins the rest. It doesn’t bother me though.

Knowing his tells and his moves, I swoop in, reaching for his legs. Caladin fights a lot of people who make the obvious choice of where to attack first, so he shouldn’t be expecting me to follow one of his own moves.

He goes high, while I go low, as expected, and a shoulder into his gut has breath whooshing out of him. Throwing my bulk at him, I knock us both to the ground, my arm reaching for his neck.

He evades me and rolls to his feet, walking back two steps and surveying me as I’m slower to straighten. “What has you in a fighting mood?” he asks between slow pants.

I circle the mat, studying his form, debating how best to attack this time. “My parents pissed me off. They’re pulling so much shit in hopes I’ll divorce Ariella and send her back to Montreal to get with the Volkov girl.”

Caladin curses and drops his arms for a second. This is usually how our fights go though. One punch, one hit, and it leads into a whole conversation. “Your parents are dicks. No offence.”

With his arms lowered, it’s clearly a tactic because once I’m in range, he throws a leg up, roundhouse kicking me in the side. I stumble before righting myself, throwing myself onto him again but narrowly missing him. My trajectory takes me down to the ground and before I right myself, a shoe’s pressing heavy into my back.

“I win.”

Reaching behind me, I yank at his ankle, but he sees it coming and skips to avoid the grab. But his quick steps make him unsteady and he nearly trips over me. It does what I need though, and with a roll and a swipe of my arm, I trip him.

He lands beside me, panting, the fight momentarily paused as we both catch our breaths. After another moment, he sits up, legs crooked, palms positioned in the mat to keep him upright as he studies me.

“What do the Volkovs have that your father wants so badly?”

“Beats me.” I wipe drops of sweat off my forehead with the edge of my shirt. “Power. Weapons.”

“Personally, I think you made the right decision. For one, the Bratva’s known for backstabbing and I doubt being married to the Boss’s daughter would protect you for long. They’re ruthless, so as fast as you’re sayingI doto her, Ursin’s getting stabbed in the back and replaced by someone else, in which case, all your dealing might be for nothing. Smarter to have the Canadian connection since they’re closer. More useful. That’s not even comparing the two women.”

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