Page 72 of Unruly

“I want what is mine,” said one of the men behind Vlad.

One of the two dressed all in black. The taller, bigger of the two. His gray eyes held no emotion. Possibly, no life at all beyond a beating heart.

Vlad held up a hand, quieting his man. “In a moment, Timur.”

“He’ll get nothing, and certainly not Katya. You’ll have to put me in the ground first. I promise you that.”

Zeke’s fast reply came before Cross could stop it.

Timur bared his teeth, and stepped closer, although he never passed his boss. “She does not belong to you. She was promised for me, you foolish Italian.”

“She’s not property!”

“Her father says differently,” Timur spat. “I’m going to enjoy breaking her in again. Did she tell you about what happened before I went in the pen? I bet she did.”

Zeke came forward, and Cross barely had time to stop his friend from causing a bigger problem than they could currently handle. He grabbed the back of Zeke’s jacket and pulled him back, uncaring that his friend stumbled from the force.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Zeke snarled.

“Ask her what my cock tastes like after it’s been shoved up her—”

“You’re dead.”

“Rick, take him out of here,” Cross told his underboss.

Zeke hurled another insult—this time cursed, and in Italian—at a smirking Timur. Cross didn’t even think his friend realized it, but the Russian was only trying to rattle him. He had succeeded, too.

Rick bear-hugged a still struggling Zeke. His wary gaze drifted to his boss, and Cross nodded. Instead of taking Zeke through the front, Rick headed for the back of the restaurant. All the while, Timur kept up his taunting, and Zeke threw promises of violence back at the Russian.

This was not going well.

Cross hadn’t exactly expected it to.

Finally, Vlad spoke again. The first time since the entire interaction between Zeke and Timur began.

“Your man is weak in his emotions,” Vlad said. “Easily provoked, no?”

“Considering his situation, I don’t think he’s out of line, actually.”

Vlad raised his eyebrow, and made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. “Say what you will, then.”

“I thought we could work something out instead of … this.”

A dry chuckle escaped Vlad.

“You thought wrong, boy.”

Cross did bristle at the insult that time. “So you’re entirely unwilling—”

“Katya Popov is to be returned to her father, or Timur. You have two weeks. Nothing more, nothing less. If you don’t return her, then I will begin extracting her.”

“Puzza,” Cross corrected. “Her name is Katya Puzza. She is the wife of my man. She no longer belongs to anyone except herself, and her husband. Take that as you may, Vlad.”

“I take that as an act of war,” Vlad murmured.

So be it.

“To be clear,” Cross said, picking his jacket up from the back of the chair, “this place is entirely surrounded by my people. Please, don’t get any bright ideas. I intend to leave here in one piece, as I am sure you do as well. Allow me to do that, and you will also get the same treatment.”