“You do, too,” Budimir offers. “And it’s a simple one. Walk away or stay and fight.”
I grin. “You really expect me to believe that if I choose to walk away now, you’ll just let me go?”
He shrugs. “I won’t let you go. You already know that,” he says. “But I might be convinced to spare your wife. Your son.”
I stiffen imperceptibly. “How fucking stupid do you think I am?” I demand. “The moment I’m dead, you’ll kill my son.”
“On the contrary,” Budimir says. “I will give him the Bratva.”
I frown. “What?”
“I have no children of my own,” he tells me. “Nor will I. Someone has to take the Bratva one day, and even I can’t live forever.”
I clench and re-clench my gun. I don’t like where this is going.
“I will raise your son, and when the time comes, I will hand over the reins to him. So you see, Artem—I am not an unreasonable man. Nor am I a petty man. Your son will one day be the next don,” Budimir concludes. “If you choose correctly.”
I find myself pausing, taking a moment to weight the pros and cons of his offer.
I believe that he’s serious. Budimir doesn’t have children, and he needs a successor. There’s a certain fucked-up logic to it all.
“Well, Artem?” Budimir says. I can see the smirk playing on his lips.
He knows that I have to consider the option. Maybe he even believes I will take him up on it.
I glance around at my men, but their faces are impassive, unreadable.
If I’m dead, they will be forced to pledge their fealty to Budimir.
“Are you really considering this?”
Kian is the one who spoke. I look towards him as he steps forward, his gun raised in anger.
I hold up my hand, and he stops, but he’s not pleased about it. I see the same stubbornness in his face that I saw in Cillian’s for so many years. It hardens my resolve.
I know what I came here to do.
“You bought yourself mercenaries, Artem?” Budimir asks, mild surprise coloring his tone. “I never would have believed it.”
“Fuck you,” Kian spits. “We’re not fucking mercenaries.”
Budimir’s expression sours. “Hmm, I suppose not,” he replies. “No one would willingly choose Ireland for fighting men.”
“You murdered my brother.”
“I’ve murdered a lot of men,” Budimir replies without a shred of remorse.
Then he stops for a moment. His eyes search Kian’s face.
“Wait. Can this be… Cillian’s brother?” Budimir turns to me. “Well, well… You really did go groveling to the Irish,” he infers, clearly amused. “Nothing is beneath you, it seems.”
I snap my jaw shut, realizing in this moment that I can’t possibly take Budimir’s offer, no matter how good of an offer it might be.
My son’s life is worth everything to me.
But what Budimir is offering Phoenix is not survival. It’s a living hell.
My uncle is nothing more than a bully and a monster. He will mold my son in his image and keep Esme and Phoenix apart.