Page 90 of My Mafia Queen

Whichever way Salla reacts, the outcome is equally bad.

Damaso knows it, and Vadim knows it too, and that’s why he tilts his lips into a smirk.

“Women come and go, Salla. At the end of the day, they have beautiful legs we like to spread from time to time so we can put our dicks into them, but other than that, they’re not worth the wars we start for them or the money we lose because of them. You should know that better than me. And in her case, I’m still not convinced she’s not an informant.”

“Interesting comment coming from you since one of your men had spent some time with the FBI.”

“He was trying to protect himself.”

And just like that, the truth flows freely into the silence.

“Protect himself?”

“Yeah. He was convinced she’d set him up. That’s why he did what he did. He scored some points with the FBI. Checked their pulse. And brought them to your business. See? You have things to worry about. Things other than expanding your influence here in Reno.”

I expect him to take a break from pushing out all this crap on Damaso, but no, no.

“I’m surprised she’s still with you,” he says, gesturing faintly at me. “No pussy is worth that headache or the money you have spent with her.”

I flick my eyes to Damaso to gauge the impact of Vadim’s words on him, but I don’t get the chance to read into that as he lurches forward and clocks the Russian straight between his eyes with his fist.

Someone yanks me back, and I lose my balance, falling into someone’s hard frame before a brawl ensues.

Wobbly and with a stunned expression on his face, Vadim struggles to regain his poise as he comes out swinging, hoping to score points as well.

He gets punched in the face again before trying to deflect and counteract.

“Let’s get out of here,” the man who’s caught me says, dragging me toward the door.

“No. No,” I protest. “I don’t want to leave him.”

“You’re not leaving him. He’s instructed me to take you out of here. You’re not safe,” he barks over the noise of broken glass and chairs crashing into the table.

A few moments of confusion follow, and it’s my fault for stalling him when someone cocks their gun and points it to the head of the man behind me.

The one who is supposed to keep me safe.

“Don’t move,” says the man behind him with a thick Russian accent before talking again. “Take her,” he barks at another of Vadim’s men, and someone else wraps their hand around my neck, cutting off my air supply and making my screaming impossible.

I push my lungs out, trying to call Damaso, when a hand clamps over my mouth.

I try to fight the man hauling me toward the exit door when a loud noise booms in the room, deafening me for a second.

The man carrying me away drops limp to the floor, taking me down with him.

I fight his grip, his warm blood gushing over me, when Damaso moves this gun to Vadim’s head.

“He’s next,” he announces to the people in the room as everybody’s pointing guns to everybody. “You couldn’t fucking help yourself, could you?” Damaso rasps, cocking his gun. “Give me a fucking reason to end you, fucking dick. You and Boris have played footsies with me for too damn long. And rest assured, one day soon, I’ll be the underboss. And no one, and I mean no one, will stop me from claiming whatever territory I want to take. You’ll regret the day you’ve crossed me, stupid dick. If you get to live that day. Because, see, I’m not my uncle. I don’t believe in diplomacy, and you know why? It never works. Thugs don’t understand it. They think it’s weakness. You think it’s weakness, motherfucker. Now, give me a reason to let you live,” he says, as the people in the room must be counting the seconds until we’re all dead.

There’s no way we leave this place alive.

Damaso will shoot Vadim for sure, and nothing will stop everyone else from using their weapons.

“Get your fucking money and leave. You’ve got two million dollars. Your lucky number,” Vadim says, blood dripping from his forehead.

Damaso pushes the barrel of his gun against Vadim’s temple, earning a muffled groan from the Russian before he signals to the people in the room to lower their guns.

“You heard him,” he barks at Vadim’s men. “We’ll call it a draw. For now,” he says and moves away from Vadim, his gun still pointed at him.

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