I could see down the short hall an open doorway that led to a shower room. Surrounding me there were several rows of lockers, towels stacked on benches, and some duffel bags sitting on the ground.
For this being all back-alley shit, I was surprised at how professional this area appeared.
The door shut behind us with a resounding click. It seemed almost final. As if we were trapped in a cage with a starving tiger.
And that feline was my brother, whose shoulders were tensed, hands clenched tightly, and who paced back and forth.
He stopped moving when we entered, turning to face us. His gaze bounced between Dmitry and Nikolai, and this low sound of warning left him.
He ripped off the skull mask and gripped the material fiercely in his hand.
“You,” he said and pointed to Nikolai. “And fucking you,” Gio hissed under his breath and stabbed his finger toward Dmitry. “Both of you bastards brought my sisters here. What the fuck is wrong with you assholes?”
Dmitry was tense behind me, his hand still wrapped around my waist as he kept my back to his chest. Nikolai chuckled deeply, placing himself in front of Amara, as if he actually thought Gio would hurt her.
“And bringing your little sister here?” Gio snarled as he looked at Tatiana.
She darted her gaze to the floor, twisting her fingers in front of her.
“Bunch of motherfuckers. The both of you Russian assholes.”
“I would’ve found out eventually,” I finally said when the tension got to be too much, and I knew Gio was seconds away from really snapping.
All eyes were trained on me now.
“I found paperwork last night with your signature on it. D'yavol. I recognized your penmanship. I figured it out that way.”
Gio’s nostrils flared and I could see his face become red. With a disgruntled sound, he turned from us, running a hand over his short black hair.
“Your husband just had to cross that line—”
“—Watch it, motherfucker,” Dmitry was the one to snarl now.
Everyone stayed silent as if they were waiting for one of these three men to lose their shit.
“I made a deal with Dmitry and Nikolai to do the underground circuit. They keep the winnings, and in return they let me fight as often as I want and they keep their mouths shut.”
I looked at Dmitry, who was watching me instead of Gio.
“If the Cosa Nostra found out what I was doing behind their backs, making deals with the Bratva without speaking to the heads of Italy first, chaos would have happened.”
And, of course, Nikolai had to open his mouth. “Get a fucking grip, man.”
Amara hissed something unintelligible at him, which had him snorting like he found this shit funny. But he kept his mouth shut. For the time being.
Or so I thought.
“Your brother is over here throwing a hissy fit. From where I’m standing, watching a six-foot-five, three-hundred-pound man acting all pissed that his little sisters found out he is doing illegal fights is hilarious to me.”
“Jesus Christ, brat,” Dmitry muttered in annoyance. “Shut the hell up.” Nikolai cast him a narrow-eyed glance.
Gio rounded on Nikolai quickly. I stumbled back and pressed against Dmitry’s chest. He wrapped his arms around me, but after a second he shifted me around so he now stood in front, acting as a human wall.
Nikolai pushed Amara back gently, barking out something in Russian to Tatiana. The other woman reached for Amara, then the two of them moved to the other side of the wall and away from what was slowly rising into dangerous territory.
Gio faced off with Nikolai, his nostrils flaring, the aggression pouring off him tangible enough I actually felt it.
I could see Nikolai grin before he moved his head back and forth on his neck, rolled his shoulders, and took off his suit jacket.
And then, faster than I could expect, Gio clocked Nikolai in the side of the mouth. The Russian’s head whipped to the side, and I could see his lip split and blood oozing out of the fresh wound.
Amara gasped, Tatiana hissed out something unintelligible to Nikolai, and I took a step forward. Dmitry curled his hand around my wrist, stopping me from advancing farther.
I heard a gun cock and snapped my head to Dmitry, seeing my husband holding a gun to Gio.
“No,” I shouted, but Nikolai murmured something in Russian to Dmitry and held his hand out, stopping his brother from coming closer.
“That’s your free shot, Gio.” Nikolai ran his thumb over his mouth, smearing the blood before bringing the digit to his mouth and licking it off.
Both men stared at each other, Gio’s chest pumping up and down, his teeth bared, and murder in his eyes. Nikolai stood there like he was bored as hell.
Finally—thank God—Gio exhaled and scrubbed a hand over his face. It was clear he tried to regain his control, and as the seconds passed, his aggression faded.