Page 5 of Deceptive Union

“Hey, man. I’m calling because Gemma wanted to see how you were doing.”

“She couldn’t call herself?”

“You know it’s hard,” he says in a quieter tone. I know it is. It’s hard for me, too.

“Well, I’m fine. As usual. And also, as usual, I don’t need your help, Viktor, so don’t even offer it. I’m not putting my sister at risk, and neither should you. I don’t want Franco going after her.”

Viktor chuckles. “He already tried going after her after we got married. The man is relentless. Of course, you know that. Just thought I’d reach out and try. If you ever need anything, you know who to call.”

I thank him and hang up. It’s too hard talking to my brother-in-law. His offer of help is tempting, but I need to go at things my own way. I need to make my own alliances and my own deals. I need to show my father’s men I’m worthy to take over once I kill Franco for good.

I eventually go to sleep in my empty bed and dream of only blackness.

* * *

A week later,I’m facing off against Big John. I promised Johnny I would, and it would net me a lot more money than usual. So, here I am, taking on a man twice my size. Shit, even his head is bigger than my thighs, and I work out, so I’m not exactly scrawny. I have muscle, just not bulging ones. Mine are more toned and compliment my body like a dancer rather than a fighter. I use my speed to win.

The crowd goes wild as Big John lunges at me. I duck out of the way at the last second before his fist can connect with my jaw. The crowd boos. They want to see blood, and they want to see it now.

Big John lumbers toward me, and I keep skipping out of the way, barely managing to keep myself from getting hit. When John pumps out his arm, I use his body weight against him and grab his arm, jerking him to the side so I can land a punch to his stomach. He grunts and doubles over. I slam my elbow into his face, making him drop to his knees.

Before I can step out of the way, John grabs my leg and pulls me forward, making me fall onto my back. I land with a huff. The crowd cheers so loudly, it hurts my eardrums.

John gets on top of me and lands a blow to my jaw. Shit. That’ll bruise. But when he brings his fist down again, I grab it with my hand. He grunts as he tries driving his hand down, but I push back, keeping him at bay. While he’s distracted, I slam my knee into his balls.

That’s a winning shot right there.

John groans in pain and rolls off me. I take that opportunity to roll onto him and land a triple punch to his face. His head slams against the ground, and he’s knocked out cold. I stand up and bow to the crowd as they cheer me on and I’m announced the winner.

I don’t bother heading for Johnny right away as I get off the stage. He’ll need time to collect our money. As usual, I’m surrounded by gorgeous women looking to fuck. But my eyes land on Killian off to the side, and I excuse myself from the women, who groan in disappointment, and head over to the Irishman.

“Killian.” I shake his hand.

He nods toward the stage. “Good work up there.”

“I know I haven’t called, but I wanted you to know I’m ready. Ready to start plans. Ready to set things into motion.”

“I love to hear that. Let’s go out for a bite and talk.”

After I get dressed and collect my money, Killian and I go to a café around the corner. “So, I was thinking,” he says as he takes his seat in the hole-filled booth. “That if we want to go after Franco, we need to strike hot and fast before he can react. He needs to not see us coming.”

“I agree.”

“So, what I was thinking—”

“Excuse me.” An older man interrupts us. He’s probably in his fifties, judging by his light hair that’s graying at the temples and the frown lines around his mouth. “I don’t mean to intrude. But I saw you fight tonight,” he says to me. “I’m Pavel Petrov.”

I almost spit out my sip of water at his name. Even Killian looks impressed.

Pavel Petrov works in the Russian mob, but he’s not exactly Viktor’s employee. He’s sort of a separate entity who does his own thing and is left alone. I’ve heard his name around town. He has a reputation as a rich man who stays out of trouble but likes to invest in projects. He always expects a return, though.

“Mr. Petrov.” I shake his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you from the … establishment,” he says, lowering his voice and looking around at the only waitress left in the café. She sits at the counter, chewing gum and reading a magazine. “I saw you fight. It was miraculous. You were like a demon, hell bent on destroying your opponent. It was admirable. May I take a seat?”

I scoot over for him to join me in the booth. “Is there a reason you’re here talking to me?”

“Yes. I know you’re Antonio Moretti. I don’t know who you are,” he says to Killian. The Irishman opens his mouth to speak, but Petrov continues. “I have a proposition for you, Antonio. You have spirit. I like to see that. I’m also in the business of growing a strong empire. And I’d like to see you at the top of it.”

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