59. Matvey

59

MATVEY

I never thought we'd end up here. But life has a way of making you pay. For mistakes, pride, arrogance, all of it. Every single misstep I made has brought me here.

This place.

This moment.

"The rules are simple," Carmine announces. "If Yuri wins, he gets to decide the fate of the hostages. If Matvey wins, he gets the same honor. If no one wins, I get to shoot whoever I want, wherever I want, however many times I want. How's that for incentive?"

The irony doesn't escape me. Not long ago, I killed Ivan in a duel just like this, albeit with much fairer rules.

But that hardly matters now. Whatever machinations steered my hand, ultimately, I was the one who plunged the knife. He was my most loyal vor —my most loyal friend—and I repaid him with death.

If this is my punishment, it's a fitting one.

Carmine's men frisk us. The gun I stole from the guard is unceremoniously taken away. Petra's, too, even though she has nothing to do with the duel itself.

They don't frisk Yuri, but he hands over his weapon all the same.

Carmine motions for one of his men to approach. He obeys the unspoken order and pulls out two combat knives from his belt.

"Here you go." My father smiles as he tosses one to each of us. "Play nice."

This is all a game to him. If I ever thought there might be something left there—a stray crumb of affection for the man who was once his son—that face tells me all I need to know.

Whoever dies tonight, he's already won.

Yuri waits for me to pick my weapon. His expression is unreadable. If I weren't furious with him for everything he's done, I'd acknowledge the honor in his gesture: these knives come from Carmine. One of them might easily have been tampered with. By giving me first pick, he's ensuring a fair fight.

But there's nothing honorable in what he's done.

And this fight will be anything but fair.

Because I'm the one who trained Yuri. I know his strengths, his weaknesses, which moves he can execute confidently and which he still struggles with. Even if he's been training in secret, he's no match for me. And while that might be true in reverse—because if I know his style, then he damn well knows mine—there's still one problem.

He has never once defeated me.

If I didn't know better, I'd say he's being suicidal. The same crawling feeling I got against Ivan makes its way under my skin. That this doesn't make sense—that I'm missing something.

And that, if I don't figure it out, I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life.

Why did you have to ask for this? I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white. You know you can't possibly win, so why?

Why do I have to be the one to kill you?

I grab my knife. Yuri grabs his.

"You should have taken the deal," he whispers when no one can hear us.

"I don't make deals with cowards," I growl, my anger still getting the better of me.

We split in the middle of the room, then walk to the opposite ends. The Bonaccorsi men make up the perimeter of our makeshift arena, leaving just enough room to let four other people through: on Yuri's side, Carmine and Vlad.

And on mine…

"Don't look," I warn April. Whatever happens, I don't want her to see this.

But she just shakes her head, as stubborn as the day I met her, and fixes her eyes on mine. "Don't die," she whispers back.

I don't get a chance to say anything else.

"FIGHT!"

As soon as the referee shoots his gun into the air, Yuri charges.

Our knives clash. The screech of metal echoes through the air as my blade parries his. "Stop fighting this!" Yuri grits. "If you surrender yourself, we can still?—"

"There's no ‘we,'" I spit. "And if you're pissing yourself that bad, you can just say so."

His eyes harden. "Fine. If you won't save our family, I will."

Then he slashes downwards.

Pain explodes across my knuckles. We both jump back at the same time, my hand the same shade of red as his blade. It's a superficial cut, but it's enough to turn my grip slick if I'm not careful.

I lick the blood off, then roll the knife in my palm.

We circle each other like wolves. Carmine's men are whooping behind us, launching into raucous stadium chants. Like this is a fucking football game instead of a duel to the death.

When we clash again, it's Yuri who pulls back bleeding. "That all you can do?"

He's trying to provoke me. "You know exactly what I can do."

"Then fucking come and do it."

Once, I would've fallen for the taunt. But now, I listen— truly listen—to the words, and the intent behind them becomes obvious.

Pressing the one advantage he has.

I've always had strength on my side. I'm bigger, taller, with thicker muscle and a heavier blow. When I strike, bones snap like twigs.

But there's a drawback to that, and it surfaces when I face off against opponents like Yuri.

Speed.

"Why the rush?" I taunt back. "You got somewhere better to be?"

If I fall for his tricks—if I let myself lose my cool and charge blindly—I'll be signing my own death sentence. It's the one scenario where I'm vulnerable. It almost makes me wonder why he never used it against me before. If he had, he might've won a sparring match or two.

He respected you too much , whispers the voice at the back of my head. No matter what, you were still his big brother.

And he never wanted to see you fall.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by Yuri charging again. He feints to the right, but I see right through it: with one swift move, I slam my elbow into his forearm and knock him back.

He almost drops the knife—almost. "You're going to get them killed," he snarls, barely audible.

"Carmine's never going to honor the terms, Yuri." I lunge, but he side-steps. "You might have been blinded by his promises, but I never was."

"He will," he counters with a slash aimed at my throat. "If he's got nothing to gain and everything to lose, he will."

"He's a snake . " I dodge just in time, earning another superficial cut across my cheekbone. Any higher, and my eye would've been gouged out. "He left both our mothers to die. You really think that's a coincidence? That wherever he goes, whatever ties he has, they all meet bloody ends?"

"He didn't make them sick, Matvey."

"No. But he sure as hell didn't save them."

I sweep his leg out from under him, sending him sprawled on his back on the dirty floor. He cries out in pain, the breath knocked right out of his lungs.

I could end it right here, but I don't. "Get up," I order. "I'm not done talking to you."

He does as he's told. "You'll regret this," he warns, wiping a bloody streak across his mouth.

I look at him. The man who was my brother. The boy who was alone, just him and snow and death.

"I know."

Then we clash again in the middle of the arena.

"Think," I hiss. "Think of everything he's done." I twist my knife to disarm him, but he holds on tight.

"This is pointless," Yuri says. "What's done is done."

"This is the truth! He didn't kill me then, and he regretted that. Do you really believe he'll stop at me? That he won't clean up all loose ends? April. May?—"

"Shut up."

"—Petra—"

"Shut up ."

"— You. "

"THEN WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

It's the roar of a wounded animal. It's a howl, desperate and raw, a lone wolf's last breath.

It's also the best chance I'm going to get.

I grab his wrist, twist the knife out of his grip, and press my blade against his neck. "Don't move," I warn the room loudly. "Or else I'll slit his throat."

But Carmine's men have already raised their guns.

"Are you trying to get them killed?" Yuri hisses. He tries to struggle free, but my headlock's too strong.

"I'm trying to finish this."

He exhales against the knife. I can feel the fight draining from him, every muscle in his body giving in. No—giving up. "Fine," he mutters. "Do it then. Put me down."

That's when I remember.

"Even the most loyal dog will bite if backed into a corner." Yuri's voice rings clear in my memories, a ghost from a lifetime ago.

Before, I couldn't recall my answer. But now…

"Will it?"

Now, I can hear nothing else.

"Then I'll just have to put it down."

My own voice echoes in my head. Haughty, arrogant—the face of pride itself.

I close my eyes.

And, finally, I listen.

"Blood is the only tie I need. The only tie we can trust."

"Did you mean what you said? That if the child hadn't been yours…"

"Of course. Who in their right mind would keep around someone who's nobody to them?"

"I'm just saying, the vory matter."

"They're not blood. That's what matters."

"Matvey, there's something I need to ? —"

"You don't need to say anything. You're forgiven. After all, we're blood."

"That's… why you're forgiving me?"

"You're my blood. No one else can say that. No one in the whole world. Do you understand?"

"… I understand."

"Blood is everything to me."

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

Then I let the knife clatter to the ground.

"Motya…?" Yuri whispers, confused. "What are you doing?"

"The right thing."

He looks at me like I've gone insane. Maybe I have. Or maybe I just remember what it's like to be sane after decades of obsession.

Blood.

What a stupid thing to die for.

I didn't want to avenge my mother because she was blood—I wanted it because I loved her. Because she was important to me.

My crusade against my father was never because he betrayed some abstract primal concept—it was because he betrayed her. Because he betrayed me.

A family who used to love him.

Family. If only I'd understood before what that word truly meant.

I throw one last glance at April. The woman who changed my life—the woman who changed me.

If this has to be goodbye, let her see me go like this. Like a man and not a monster. Let her see the good in me until the end.

" Bravo! " Carmine claps. "Truly an outstanding performance. But I'm afraid it's time for curtain call."

I ignore him. There's nothing he can say that will be of any worth to me now. Maybe there never was.

Instead, I turn to Yuri. "Take care of them," I whisper. "When he kills me, take them and run. Hide them somewhere safe. Don't you ever let him get to them, you hear me?"

"No," Yuri stammers. "You can't—no. Not like this."

"Promise me, Yura."

"Kill me! He might honor the terms then. Or—or just give me the knife! It won't be honorable, but?—"

"I can't do that. I've already bested you."

"But if you do this, then no one has won! Don't you get it? He'll get to decide, he?—"

"That's why I need you to promise."

"What was that?" Carmine goes. "Sorry, can you speak up? I feel like we're missing the end of the play here. That's not very nice, you know."

"Promise me," I insist.

Yuri stares at me with wide eyes. Finally, I can see the truth in them: pain, heartbreak, guilt. All the bent and broken things I never wanted to look for.

But I was the one who put them there.

And now, it's time to pay my debts.

"I promise," he rasps.

It's all I can ask for.

"Hellooo?" Carmine calls. "Mind sharing that with the rest of the audience? Seriously, this is the grand finale. Do we have to get a mic in here?" He taps his foot impatiently on the floor. "Care to loop me in, Yuri?"

I roll my eyes. This man never fucking shuts up, does he? "I said?—"

"HE SURRENDERS!"

We all turn to Yuri. "The hell?" I whisper.

"You asked me to save them," Yuri hisses. "So let me fucking save them." Then he turns back to Carmine. "He says he surrenders. He accepts your deal."

"My deal?" Carmine frowns.

"Yes. Your original deal."

Finally, I realize what he's up to.

You have three days to surrender yourself. If you do, no harm will come to your family. That's the deal Yuri came to me with earlier. The original deal.

The room erupts in murmurs: disbelief, outrage, the whole shebang.

"That deal's no longer on the table, consigliere ," Carmine tuts, his eye twitching with barely suppressed anger.

"The three days haven't expired."

He's pushing it. If he keeps this up, he's gonna get himself killed too. "Yuri?—"

"It's what you wanted, isn't it?" he insists. "Matvey will be dead. His Bratva will be yours. What good will three dead girls do to you?"

"He's got a point," Vlad grumbles. "My idiot daughter can still be of use. And the Groza runt—her whore of a mother can raise her for us, preserve the bloodline. We can marry her off when it suits our needs."

"No!" April screams.

I lock eyes with April at the edge of the arena. I can tell she wants to wring Vlad's neck with her own bare hands, and Petra certainly isn't looking any happier, but I need them to understand. To push their emotions aside and let me do this.

If they don't, they will be killed. May will be killed.

This way, only one of us has to die.

"April…" Her hazel eyes look just like they did when I first met her: big, bright, beautiful—and filled with all the hope in the world. "Trust me."

Wordlessly, she nods.

"Fine," Carmine finally concedes, though not happily. "Then I guess we'd better make it official."

He gives Yuri a signal. Immediately, he twists my arms behind my back. He isn't using any strength at all, but he doesn't need to: I let him.

"Matvey Groza…" My father grins. "I accept your surrender."