28. Nikolai

28

NIKOLAI

W e'd left Butcher and Son over an hour ago. Amara and Claudia had headed home, and Dmitry and I found ourselves at Sdat'sya , one bar we owned. The Pit was below the bar, an entry level fighting ring that held more novice fights than what we organized at Butcher and Son.

We'd stopped in to handle some business and were now seated in a booth at the rear of the bar, tossing back a few drinks before we needed to go home to our girls.

Right now, with all the shit of our world weighing down on us, we needed the noise and the vodka. The heavy bass of the music was a tangible thrum in the background. I downed my drink in one go, the burn of the alcohol doing little to ease the fire inside me.

I slammed the glass down, the sound sharp and final in the dimly lit room. Dmitry glanced over at me, his own glass clutched tight, but he didn't say a word. We both knew words were useless right now.

An MMA match was on, and both of us focused on the fight as we drank. It wasn't long before Sly found us. He approached the booth with a look on his face—one that said the task we'd given him had been successful. He had information for us.

And judging by his expression, the news wasn't going to be good.

I met Dmitry's gaze, seeing the same readiness reflected in his eyes.

"Bosses," Sly said, leaning in close so only we could hear him.

He was one of our low-level men who worked the streets. He wasn't part of the Bratva in an official sense. He wasn't even Russian. But he was fucking scared of us, and that made him loyal as hell.

"I've got news about Tatiana's attacker."

I felt Dmitry tense beside me, and I leaned forward, the air between us crackling with anticipation. When we first found out about Tatiana getting hurt, we sent out several of our men to get information that would paint us an entire picture so we could handle it accordingly.

"Well?" Dmitry growled, his patience hanging on by a thread. Just like mine.

Sly looked nervous as hell, which made me nearly snap at him to just fucking tell us already. He swallowed, and I could see him weighing his words and how to say what needed to be fucking said.

"You found out who killed him, didn't you?" my brother prompted. I felt my need for blood rise.

Sly nodded and ran a hand over his sweaty face.

" Jesus Christ . Spit it out before I slit your throat," I finally seethed.

"The man who killed the person who hurt your sister was Gio Bianchi," he said in a rush, his voice shaky. He took a step back, clearly sensing the darkness coming from the two of us. "Without a doubt. He's the one who took the bastard out."

For a breath of time, everything went still. I let his words—the identity of the man who killed my sister's attacker—sink in real deep.

"He might try and hide his identity, but people know. And they were afraid to say anything to me because of who he is. But when they found out both of you wanted to know, they had loose lips."

And then it all peaked. The fury I'd been holding in check snapped. There was this low rumble, and I realized it came from not only me but Dmitry as well.

I grabbed my glass, my intent to shoot back the last of my vodka, but before I knew what I was doing, glass shattered in my hand as I slammed it down on the table. Shards exploded up and outward, scattering across the booth and onto the floor.

Although I sensed a silent heaviness filling the room, patrons and employees knew better than to gawk and got back to work.

I locked my focus on Dmitry. He didn't need to say a single word. I could see the shock and betrayal in his eyes. No doubt, the cold fury I saw in his icy expression matched my own.

"Leave us," I spat at Sly, and he was gone a second later.

"That motherfucker," Dmitry snarled and finished his drink.

I looked down at my hand and saw a few pieces of glass lodged in my skin, blood dripping from the open wounds and falling onto the tabletop.

I picked out the glass, wrapped my hand in a paper napkin, and said in a seething voice, "Let's go." My tone was like a knife slicing through the tension. I was already on my feet as soon as the words left my mouth. Dmitry was already right behind me as we strode out of the bar and toward the waiting Mercedes just outside the door.

Once in the car, I sat there, my hands curled around the steering wheel as I stared straight ahead.

"Are you thinking about what to do?" Dmitry asked in a low, deep voice that didn't hide his anger. "Do you want to talk about what the fuck we should do?"

There was nothing left to discuss. And although we had yet to fully discuss what the fuck was going on with Maksim's death, we were well past giving a shit.

The time to talk about any of this was over.

I could see Dmitry nodding in my peripheral vision, but I didn't say a thing.

"Let's go, brat ," he told me, and I shifted the car into gear.

The drive back to Butcher and Son was a blur, and the low hum of the engine barely registered in my chaotic brain through the rush of my blood pounding in my ears. I knew Gio was still fighting. It had been hours since we left, but he'd signed up for several more fights that were set for well after the heartfelt breakdown in the locker room .

When we arrived, the rundown building loomed ahead of us. There was this dark and angry atmosphere that surrounded it.

Great. It matched the black rage simmering inside the both of us.

"Let's get this fucking shit over with."

Once inside, we made our way to the locker room. We pushed through the doors, and the second we stepped inside, the sound of the shower running and the steam billowing out of the short hallway told us where Gio was.

The dim light cast long, ghostly shadows on the broken tiles and cracked cement. Dmitry was right behind me, his presence a solid, unwavering force. But as the seconds passed, I knew something was off.

The humid air hung heavy in the confines of the small space. But there was… something else—something that made the hair on my arms stand on end. I took another step toward the shower, but when I heard a gruff male groan, followed by a feminine gasp, I saw red.

I was moving before I even realized it, and when I rounded the corner, that's when I stumbled upon a scene that made my blood turn cold and my vision red.

Gio was naked and stood under the spray of water… and had my goddamn sister pressed up against the tiled wall. He shifted, and all I saw for a second was tattooed skin, but when he moved to the side once more, Tatiana's small form came back into view. Her hair and clothes were soaked from the shower, and she had this dazed look in her eyes as she stared, softly smiling, up at Gio.

He said something low and indistinguishable in Italian, and then he leaned down to kiss her.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, taking hours, but I knew only seconds had probably passed. My stomach twisted with rage. Her hands were in his hair, gripping him as if she never wanted to let go. And him—he was so wrapped up in her that he didn't even notice us enter.

"Cock-sucking motherfucker," Dmitry growled under his breath.

I couldn't move. The sight of them like that sent a shock of anger through me.

My sister with fucking Gio.

My sister with fucking any man.

Gio should have known better. He should have known Tati was forever off-limits.

I hoped he lived it up because he was about to fucking regret every single choice that led him to this moment .

The fucker still hadn't noticed we were just feet from him, but as if I'd spoken out loud, Gio pulled back from my sister and looked over his shoulder at us.

There was no shock. No remorse. In fact, the motherfucker turned to face us, totally fucking naked with a massive hard-on, and grinned like the bastard he was.

"Cукин сын." Son of a bitch . Dmitry hissed the insult.

"Мудак." Asshole . I grinned back at Gio and undid my cuffs, then loosened my tie and unfastened the first couple of buttons of my shirt. "This has been a long time coming, douchebag," I snarled, my voice low and laced with fury.

"Oh God," Tatiana said and, a second later, shut off the shower before stepping out from behind Gio. Her eyes were wide, and I narrowed my eyes as I took off my jacket and tossed it to her. Tatiana's eyes met mine, and although there was shock and horror, the longer the seconds passed, the more I saw her defiance rise.

"You're gonna regret this, motherfucker."

Gio took a step closer, his grin spreading.

"You took something from us that wasn't yours," I hissed, meaning more than one thing. We'd come here to confront him about taking out Tati's assailant. And now we found out he'd been seeing our sister.

And probably fucking her. I didn't know for sure, since we hadn't caught them in that intimate act—thank fucking Christ—but they'd looked way too comfortable in that moment with each other to not have been together in that way.

I was shaking with rage and sensed Dmitry was too, so it was through gritted teeth that I pointed out, "You made a move in our world without our permission."

Not only in our world but with our sister, too.

The surrounding air thickened until it was suffocating. Violence was inevitable, and I felt my anticipation and the hum of pleasure it always brought me coursing through my veins.

God, this was going to be so fucking good.