“A fight for the Bratva?” Budimir asks mildly. “An archaic tradition.”
“But simple,” I retort, “and straightforward. Unless, of course, you’re scared, uncle.”
His eyes flare with anger. I know I’ve already bruised his wounded ego. It doesn’t take much, apparently.
There is so much I should have been before now. I have been blind.
“Very well.”
The words are flat and dark. I can only stare back at Budimir.
“What?”
“You want a fight?” he asks. “You’ve got one. You and me, hand to hand combat, no weapons.”
He’s got something up his sleeve.
I know enough about Budimir to know that he never enters into a fight he can’t win. Which means he’s confident he’s going to kill me.
But he’s never come up against me before. If this is the only chance I’ll get, then I swear to see him on his knees before me before the night is done.
“Cut his restraints,” Budimir orders.
There’s slight hesitation amongst the ranks that forces Budimir to issue the order again.
“Cut his restraints,” he barks. “Now!”
I don’t know what the old man is playing at, but I’m certainly not going to waste this opportunity.
He thinks he can fuck with me?
I’ll just have to fuck him over first.
The moment I’m cut loose, I get to my feet, stretching slowly so that my muscles loosen up again. Blood flows to my hands and my ankles as I try and shake off the unsteadiness.
Budimir looks at me through eyes that have narrowed into slits, but he looks remarkably calm for a seventy-year-old man who’s about to take on someone less than half his age.
“You don’t mind a quick pat-down first, do you nephew?” Budimir asks politely.
I grunt in response. Immediately, two of his men come forward and pat me down quickly. They remove the knife in my boot and the one in the waistband of my pants.
I am left bare, completely unprotected. The only weapons at my disposal now are my fists and my mind.
My uncle steps forward and shrugs off his dark jacket. His white shirt is impeccably crisp and taut against his torso.
I have to admit—for an older man, Budimir is in good shape.
“I may be old, nephew,” Budimir says, as his hands roll into fists. “But that doesn’t mean you’re going to win.”
“Give me a good fight, old man,” I snarl at him. “I’m aching for blood tonight.”