Page 37 of Deadly Knight
“Dimitri Volkov.” I thumb towards Lev. “Lev Petrov.”
Matvey’s expression falls right alongside his fake crown, and he scrambles upright, practically pushing the women away.
At least the asshole knows who we are.
He gets to his feet while his minions all sit a bit straighter, abandoning their drinks to cautiously observe the scene unfolding and see what their self-proclaimed leader will do. “Bratva. Wh-what can I do for you?”
“You can come with us. Peacefully or by force—you choose. We’ll speak out back away from everyone.” I make a show of glancing around the section, noting the civilians and staff who don’t need to witness this shit and cause more issues.
Matvey glances around before jerking his head, practically pissing himself with determination to play this smart. Maybe his cockiness is a show and he’ll prove useful for the Bratva.
Either way, Lev clasps his shoulder and leads him to the staircase. I follow, cracking my knuckles, five other names flitting through my head.
We don’t always haveto use force, but it shows we’re serious, which is why when Lev tosses him against the brick wall and stands back, I take this one. Bare knuckled, no need for weapons since he isn’t putting up a fight, it’s one of four other faces I’m imagining when I slam my fist into his.
“Let’s play, boys.”
“Surely, you didn’t think dealing on our territory could go unnoticed for long? Really, Matvey, wanna run an empire? Gotta be smarter than that.”
He shifts his hands to block, but a quick reangle uppercuts him, and then another quick jab to his stomach drops him to his knees.
“You want in, I assume?” He spits out blood, wiping the back of his hand along his cracked lip.
“In? We own your ass, or you cease dealing immediately.” My words are backed up by another hit, face number two replacing his. The vision of him kneeling betweenherlegs makes my next one harder, his nose cracking.
“Deal,” he agrees quickly, practically sobbing now. Unfortunate. My body craves bloodshed to hold me over until I can hunt the four who stole my life from me. Matvey agreeing so soon means there’s no real reason to continue.
One more…
I haul him upright, thumping his head against the brick to ensure he knows we’re fucking serious.
“No one under the age of seventeen, or you deal with me.”
It isn’t Ursin’s rule, but it’s mine. Even when I attended school, regardless of orders, I refused the younger customers. They don’t need to get into that shit yet, and the last thing the Bratva needs is a bunch of teenage overdoses.
He nods jerkily, thinking this is over so he can go lick his wounds, but I grasp his hand, clenching it tight enough the bones crack, and throw another fist, knocking his face to the side.
“We’ll be in touch.”
Lev trails me back to my car, where I find an old rag to wipe his blood from my knuckles. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Nyet. I’m fine.”
Lies I will continue spouting until the day I die.
Or the day I see her again.
“Melanie seems so much more shutdown than she did two months ago. I’m worried about her, because she’s not going out with friends anymore. She spends a lot of the time in her room. It’s unlike her.”
“Did something change in her life around that time?” If the mother answers how I suspect, the child’s behavioural changes are most likely linked to an event in the family home. “Changes in family dynamics, a death…” I trail off after offering examples.
The mother shifts in the oversized seat across from me and stares at the travel mug in her grip. Discomfort radiates off her, which is so often the case when parents enter my office wanting me to “fix” their child, as though I have some magic wand or something, without considering the bigger picture—thewhybehind it. Behaviours don’t change without reasons for them to.
After a long sip from her drink, the child’s mother readjusts her position again. “She witnessed her father and I arguing. Worse than we probably have ever before. It led to him walking out on us.”
Ah.Empathy for little Melanie, a nine-year-old child busy elsewhere in this building, fills me. I jot a quick note on my pad, underlining the point a few times to signal its importance for later.
“She was fine afterwards,” the mother rushes to add, defending her parenting.
