Page 4

“Don’t you think it’s time to quit?” I said, my voice loud in the quiet.

Zasha didn’t look up. Just grunted, grabbed his towel, and wiped his face.

I moved closer, boots scuffing against the mats. “You’re angry. I get it, but at some point, you’ve gotta talk to me.”

Another grunt.

I clenched my teeth. “You think ignoring me’s gonna make everything better?”

He finally looked at me, eyes dark and storming, jaw set like stone. Still, he said nothing.

The coil of my patience snapped. “You betrayed this family, Zasha. For what? Some bitch’s⁠—”

His fist came fast, aimed for my jaw. I caught his wrist and shoved it aside with ease, pushing him back a step. He glared, chest rising like a bull’s, fury written in every line of his young face.

“Don’t you call her that,” he snarled, voice breaking around the edges. “Yel means more to me than—than you could ever understand. But why should I explain myself when you don’t even listen?”

I barked a laugh, sharp and bitter. “Explain? What’s there to explain, huh? She’s off-limits. You hear me? Off. Limits. You can have any woman in this city—hell, in the damn world—but not her. She’s a fucking Zhukovsky.”

“It doesn’t matter what her last name is. She loved me back, and you had to kidnap her and hold a gun to her head. Do you think her father will relent about us now?”

“Zhukovsky was never going to agree to you fucking his only child.” I yanked a pair of gloves from the bench and tossed them at his chest. They slapped against him. “You wanna fight me on this? Then fight. You beat me, I’ll get out of your way to do whatever the fuck you want. Get yourself killed for all I care. But if you can’t, then you sit your ass down and do what I tell you.”

His jaw worked, torn between fury and hurt, but he shoved his hands into the gloves all the same. I took off my shoes and socks, then picked up another pair of gloves.

We climbed into the ring, and I singled out Mikhail, who ran the gym, to supervise the fight. With how angry I was, if I didn’t, I might end up killing my brother myself instead of waiting for Zhukovsky to do it.

“Come on, man,” he said softly. “You sure you want to do this? He’s your little brother. Hell, you fucking raised him.”

“He’s gotta fucking learn, Mik.”

Mikhail sighed but stepped to the ropes and raised his voice so everyone could hear. By now, half the gym had drifted over, circling the ring. Fighters, trainers, even a few of the younger recruits leaned against the walls, their faces tense, eyes sharp with the thrill of watching the Orlov brothers settle something in blood. We’d had friendly spars before, but this one was different. The stakes were high.

“One round only,” Mikhail said. “No time limit. You keep going until somebody taps out or gets knocked out. That’s it.”

The men around the ring muttered, shifting, anticipation crackling like static. I heard the whisper of bets under breath.

Mikhail glanced at me, then at Zasha. “You both ready?”

Zasha gave a sharp nod, eyes blazing. He intended to win. “You can’t take back what you said.”

I rolled my shoulders once, steady, controlled. “I won’t, but if I win, you’ll go back to Russia.”

“I won’t lose.”

“Three-two-one, and fight!” Mikhail barked, slapping the mat.

Zasha came at me fast, which was a huge mistake. Fueled by anger, he forgot everything I’d taught him, every skill he’d developed. His punches were wild, sloppy, but full of heart. He really wanted to win.

For her.

I dodged his blows, deflected with ease, circling him, letting him tire himself out. Each miss made him angrier.

“Come on, brat,” I taunted. “That all you’ve got? This is what you’d throw at Stanislav Zhukovsky? He’d bury you before you landed a single shot.”

I knew firsthand how good that motherfucker was. And he should be. He had at least a decade on me in the mob.

“Shut up!” Zasha shouted, charging at me. The hook he threw at me glanced off my arm. He stumbled, caught himself, then came back swinging.