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Gregor made the first move, aiming a swift jab at my midsection. I parried with my own blade. The sound of metal scraping against metal was loud.
With a grunt, I countered, thrusting my knife toward him. Gregor twisted away, his movements surprisingly agile for someone of his size. He retaliated with a powerful backhand, his fist connecting with my jaw in a blow that sent a shockwave of pain through my skull. I staggered back, tasting blood as my cheek throbbed.
Without missing a beat, I dodged his next knife thrust, feeling the slice of air as his blade passed inches from my torso. We spun around each other, each one of us huffing with the exertion of the fight. I threw a punch, hitting Gregor in the ribs. He exhaled sharply, pain flashing across his features, but he didn’t slow down.
As we continued to circle each other, I feigned left and then moved right, slicing my knife across Gregor’s forearm. A line of crimson bloomed on his white sleeve, his blood stark against the color of the fabric. He roared in anger and pain, his face contorting into a snarl.
Gregor lunged forward with renewed fury, his knife slashing through the air toward my face. I leaned back just in time, feeling the wind from the blade brush against my skin. Seizing the moment, I kicked out, my foot connecting with his knee. Gregor faltered, his leg buckling under the impact.
We were both panting now, our breaths loud in the sudden quiet that enveloped the bar. I watched him closely, waiting for his next move, ready to end this before it could escalate any further. Gregor glared at me with unabated rage and clutched at his wounded arm.
“Think very carefully about your next steps when you leave here tonight,” I whispered, my voice low and menacing.
His wide grin split his face as he stood back up to his full height, leveling me with a venomous look that was fit to kill.
With increasing recklessness, he lunged at me again, the vitriol written all over his face.
Probably thinking he could catch me off guard, he swung his knife widely. Luckily for me, his anger made him predictable. I parried his clumsy swipe, redirecting his momentum to spin him around so I could momentarily expose his back. Seizing the opportunity, I drove a hard elbow into his lower back, right into his kidney, propelling him forward. He grunted in pain.
Regaining his footing, Gregor whirled to face me, his knife swinging in a wide arc. I ducked under the blade, feeling the rush of air as it sliced just above my head. Springing up, I caught his wrist in a tight grip, twisting sharply. The knife clattered to the floor, and I kicked it aside.
Before he could recover, I pressed forward, my own knife now tracing a cold, unyielding line against the vulnerable flesh of his throat. The sharp edge of my blade pressed lightly into his skin, enough to draw just the slightest hint of blood.
“We’re done here,” I said, my voice low and commanding, the room falling deathly silent but for the heavy breaths that rasped from Gregor’s throat. “Leave now and take this as a warning. My generosity has limits.”
“This isn’t over, Morozov,” he growled.
With a sudden, feral snarl, he spun around, his hand darting inside his coat. The gleam of a gun barrel caught the soft amber light of the overhead lights as he aimed it squarely at me.
Time seemed to slow. The murmurs of the crowd hushed into a deathly silence. My brothers tensed, ready to leap into action, but I was already moving.
I lunged forward as Gregor’s finger tightened on the trigger. The gunshot rang out, a sharp echo that pierced through the air. Fortunately, my sudden movement had thrown off his aim and the bullet whizzed past, embedding itself in the woodwork behind me.
Closing the gap between us, I didn’t hesitate. My hand shot out, gripping Gregor’s wrist, twisting it violently until the gun dropped with a clatter to the floor. With my other hand, I plunged my knife deep into his side. Gregor’s eyes widened in shock and pain, a strangled gasp escaping his lips.
He tried to retaliate, his other hand swinging toward me in a weak, desperate punch. I sidestepped smoothly, my hold on him unyielding. With a swift, calculated move, I pulled the knife out and, with all the cold precision of a winter storm in Siberia, drove it once more, this time aiming higher, the blade slicing through the air and sinking into his throat.
Gregor’s movements faltered, his eyes glazing over as he grasped at the handle protruding from his neck. A gurgling sound filled the tense air as he staggered back and collapsed to the floor with his hand clutched to his throat, trying to stem the flow of blood but it was already too late. As he bled out, life slowly faded from his eyes until they were staring blankly at the ceiling of my bar.
I stood there, breathing heavily, the knife still in my hand.
“Call Yuri,” I instructed Sergei. “We need to clean this up properly.” I swallowed hard and looked around the bar. “To the rest of you, drinks on the house tonight.”
The crowd roared in approval.
This wasn’t the first man that died in my bar, and it would most certainly not be the last.
Amidst the noise, I noticed a slight, almost imperceptible movement at the edge of the crowd.
It was her.
Riley moved with a subtle grace, trying not to draw attention to herself as she tried to slip away.
But nothing escaped my notice in my own establishment.
“Lock the doors,” I commanded loudly, cutting through the burgeoning chaos of relieved chatter and clinking glasses. The room fell silent once more, all eyes snapping back to me, including Riley’s, which widened with a flash of fear and clear defiance.
“And nobody leaves. Not yet.” My gaze fixed on Riley as I spoke, making it clear that the directive was especially meant for her.
