14. Luca

CHAPTER 14

LUCA

WEDNESDAY – THE ATTACK!

R eturning from the mess hall, I strode up the stairs towards the dull metallic walkway which led to my cell, forcing calmness into my gait despite the anxiety knotting my insides. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in around me. A hit had been put out on me, and I could practically feel the weight of the target on my back. A fellow prisoner had casually dropped the news for the price of a smoke, his eyes glinting with the thrill of gossip and turning my world upside down in an instant. My heart raced, each beat echoing in my ears like a countdown.

With no Bratva or Polish Mafia allies by my side, I relied on tenuous connections and friends of friends for backup. None of them had a real stake in my survival. We had slowly offloaded many of our more overt criminal activities, first scaling back our drug production, then shifting responsibility for the route through the UK we’d once run for our pakhan in Russia. This pivot toward more white-collar crime kept our people out of prison, a strategic move that would make our lives safer in the long run. Yet, right now, it left me stranded and vulnerable in this hostile environment, where every corner could hide danger.

I didn’t scare easily, but being trapped here was suffocating. Control had always been my safety net, the one constant in the chaos, but it was slipping through my fingers. Every instinct told me I needed to get out—soon. Doubt gnawed at me; was I strong enough to survive this? My muscles tensed, bracing for whatever was coming next, the sense of danger growing thicker with each passing second. It wasn’t just anxiety. It was instinct.

The walkway emptied quickly. I scanned for the officers—they were gone. The shift in atmosphere hit like a gut punch. A figure lunged from the shadows, shoving me into a nearby cell, where another two guys waited.

Thrown off balance, I stumbled, but managed to stay upright.

The first thug, the one who had pushed me into the cell, grinned as he approached. “Someone wants you dead, mate, and they’re paying a lot for it. A nice little nest egg when I get out of here!” His bravado was laughable.

Smirking, I replied, “You’ll have to earn it first.”

The mouthy arsehole lunged, his fist flying towards my face. Blocking the blow easily, I countered with my own. Blood burst from his lip and sprayed across the room as his head jerked to the side. A guy with a nose ring came at me from the side. I quickly spun, kicking him, landing a solid strike to his gut and sending him flying backward.

The third attacker, a guy with long red hair, closed in from behind; a quick sidestep and an elbow to his solar plexus sent him doubling over. A swift blow to the back of his head brought him down.

“Oof!” Nose ring kicked me in the stomach, and I doubled over, winded. Then they were all on me. Blow after blow rained down, sending me first to my knees, then to the floor. Shit, this was bad. If I stayed down here too long, I’d be done for. I had to get back on my feet, and soon.

Huddled on my side on the floor between the metallic bunks made that difficult. Lying there in the tight space, I held my hands up, doing my best to fend them off, while I looked for an opening. The blows continued, one striking my temple and almost making me see stars. The urge to vomit my lunch threatened as I took several kicks to my gut.

The idiots laughed, thinking they had me. But these guys were chancers. Big and brutish, full of confidence that their size gave them, but no actual training. Unlike me.

The red-head learned that quickly when my knuckle hit him in the jugular, forcing his head back and stealing his breath. Unable to breathe, he fell back, gasping for air.

With him out of the way, I turned onto my back and head-butted the mouthy arsehole looming over me. Stars danced in my vision, but it did the trick, knocking the guy out. I pushed him off me just as Nose Ring’s punch landed on my jaw, making me bite my tongue.

Fuck, that one hurt!

The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth and I spat. I rallied in time to see another fist coming my way and dodged it. Grabbing the side of the bunk, I got to my knees in time to block yet another punch, then a kick. The mouthy arsehole was back, but I was already scrambling to my feet. Now, I needed to stay up.

Mouthy was still knocked out, but the other two came at me with vengeful eyes.

“You’re going to die now, you Russian fucker!” Red-head shouted. He came at me, throwing wild punches. I smirked and dodged them easily. This was starting to become fun.

As they tried to land more blows on me, I parried them all, ducking and twisting my body in a fluid motion as I danced around them, grinning and enjoying the game, while trying to get closer to the door.

A sharp kick to the back of my leg knocked me off balance, and I was grabbed from behind. The mouthy one I knocked out was back. Dumb fuck! Using him for leverage, I brought both legs up and kicked the red-headed fucker in front of me. He crashed into the wall, hitting his head and going down, out cold.

Then I dived backward and rammed the guy behind me against the wall. The air rushed from his lungs and his hold loosened. I spun and grabbed his head, bringing my knee up quickly and breaking his nose. Mouthy screamed and fell to his knees, holding his bloodied face.

Nose Ring roared in fury at the sight of his friend crumpled on the floor and ran at me brandishing a shiv.

Shit, he’d upped the ante. Time to stop playing!

Sidestepping and grabbing his hand, I turned, forcing his arm down and before pulling him towards me and punching him in the jaw. He grunted. He might not be a trained fighter, but the fucker was strong.

Focused on my struggle for control of the shiv, I didn’t notice Mouthy coming at me from the side again, pulling another shiv, until it was almost too late. Holding tight to the arm of the first knife-wielding attacker, I brought my right leg up and kicked the second. The blow sent him off balance, but the shiv sliced into my lower calf before he could recover.

Rage coursed through me, and I bellowed in fury. Twisting back around to Nose Ring, I ripped the bloody thing from his nose, making him scream in pain as I tossed it to the ground and kneed the fucker in the stomach. Clutching at his nose, he dropped the shiv and sunk to his knees. A punch to the head, and he was knocked out.

I spun to face Mouthy again, rushing me with another shiv. We grappled, each trying to get control of the weapon. Sweat poured off me as I fought to keep the thing from sinking into my stomach.

A noise had me turn my head in time to see Red-head rejoining the fray, pulling yet another shiv. There was no way to avoid him and my heart sank. I twisted and turned as best I could, trying to make it harder for him as he lunged.

But before he could strike, an unknown guy charged into the cell, tackling him to the ground. Another man entered and seized the one I was grappling with, pulling him off me enough for me to land several punches. It took a few hits, but the brute finally went limp, and the guy tossed him aside and extended a hand out for me to shake.

Panting with anger and exertion, I eyed it warily but didn’t take it. He smirked and retracted it.

“Sean O’Brien, at your service,” he said with a wink and a mock bow. “That’s my cousin Finley,” he added, gesturing to the other newcomer, standing silently beside him.

I frowned, maintaining my fighting stance. The only O’Brien’s I’d heard of hailed from Manchester, and I hadn’t dealt with them directly.

They had just helped me out, but could they be trusted? Who knew? But I wasn’t in the mood to trust anyone right then.

“A mutual acquaintance from Glasgow sent me,” Sean insisted, backing off when I showed no sign of relaxing my posture.

“Explain!” I snapped, feeling tired and battered. My ribs ached, and I was bleeding. No time for cryptic bullshit!

“Jim McArthur!” he blurted. “But this isn’t the place to talk; let’s get out of here!”

Nodding, I agreed, and we headed back toward my room. Sean shook his head. “First, you should get patched up!” He urged me toward the nearest officer.

“What the fuck happened to you? You look like you went a few rounds with Tyson Fury,” the officer said with a smirk. He’d disappeared along with all the others when the attack went down, he knew exactly what had occurred.

“Don’t remember,” I said. I was no fucking snitch, but I would report the attack because it might prove useful later.

“Knock you out, did they?” his grin widened.

“Something like that,” I said, staring at him.

“You won’t have seen them then?” His smug grin made me itch to punch it off his face.

I stared hard at him, saying nothing, until he gulped and finally wiped the smirk off his face. “Nope.”

He nodded, avoiding my eyes and not looking quite as fucking smug anymore. Fucking arsehole!

“I’ll write up a report. Let’s get you to the doc,” he said before escorting me to the medical room.

A short while later, my wound was dressed, and I’d received some painkillers. Returning to my cell with an ice pack for my swollen eye, I reflected on my luck. Despite the blows I’d taken, only bruised ribs, a shallow knife wound, and a badly swollen eye remained. The question lingered—how long could that luck last without proper allies? Outside my door, the two Irish guys awaited me, along with several others scattered along the walkway.

Sean stepped forward, his gaze steady. “You ready to talk?”

I nodded, a cautious optimism flickering in my chest. Could these guys be the allies I desperately needed?