Page 46 of Brutal Union
“You think because I’m not you—or him—that I’m weak?” I ask, quietly now. “I’ve bled for this family. I’ve killed for it. I’ve killedfor you.”
Nik dares me, pushing his head into the barrel as he glares at me “I trained you to kill for me, but you weren’t raised to lead,” he spits. “Iwas.”
The breath leaves my lungs like a knife to the chest, and before he can react, or I can talk myself out of it I remove the gun from his chin and plant my boot on the hilt of the knife still embedded in his flesh and press down. He screams through clenched teeth, writhing beneath me.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him—broken, bruised, defiant. And still wrong.
I wipe at my face with the back of my hand that’s holding the gun, forcing myself upright. My legs wobble as I push down the knife even deeper into his flesh.
“That’s true. You trained me to kill, Nik.” I look down at my brother—my protector. The first man I have ever loved and the one man I vowed to die for. “You trained me not to think twice about the target. You trained me to be ruthless. You taught me to hide my emotions. You turned me into a weapon. The best weapon in the game.”
I pause, my voice flat and cold. “But still…you and Alek were the only two people my heart ever bled for. And now, you’ve stolen that from me. I can’t trust you.” My eyes shift past Sho to land on Alek. “And sadly, I’m not sure I can trust you either, because I am sure I cannot trust anyone.”
I turn back to Nik, watching the fear roll through his eyes.. “You’ve shown me that I should’ve killed you the moment Ifound out you lied about being the leader of the Bratva. I was weak to let you live.” I adjust my jacket. Straighten my spine. Wipe the blood off my lip, before I point my finger in Nik’s face and continue.
“You may not know this, because I gave it to you so freely but loyalty is earned. And both of you are at square zero. Until you prove yourselves to me, you are strangers.” I let that sink in before finishing, watching the steady vibrations of Nik’s Adam's apple. “Whether you like it or not. The Bratva is mine now. I am Queen. Alek, you may serve—as a Queens-man. But you, Nik?” I lean closer to his face, tapping the gun against his cheek, the only sound around us is our heavy breathing. “You are nothing.”
“Nadia-” Nik coughs.
I take one step back, finally releasing the pressure of my foot off of the knife.
“This is your last warning, Nikolai,” I say, cold now. Steel in every word. “Next time you question me like I’m some emotional little girl instead of your fuckingQueen, I will bury you myself.”
I lean in, close enough for him to smell the blood on my breath.
“Brother or not.”
12
SHO
New York Cityis nothing compared to Tokyo at night. In fact, it feels safer here. In America, the criminals are loud—on full display for anyone paying attention. The shadows aren’t hidden; they shine with gravitas, iced-out chains, and men desperate to be seen. Everyone wants you to know who they are and exactly how much power they hold.
No one moves in silence. Every man is chasing clout, trying to make a wave. And with so many people willing to be bought, it’s almost too easy to find whoever you’re looking for.
Even an assassin known for silent kills.
Even one feared by everyone.
When I first heard the Korean, I should’ve known exactly who Bhon Lee was. But I was distracted—by a dying Nadia. The fear of losing her pulled everything else out of focus. It made me forget who stood before me. And more importantly,whyeven my father, Takeda Matsumoto, feared him.
They call himThe Viper—not just for how he kills, but for how patient he is while waiting to strike.
Bhon Lee’s story is common, an old story about the relationship between money and power. It's gnarly, brutal—unfortunately familiar in the world of the Yakuza. He was sold to my father twenty-three years ago. Not adopted.Bought.A child traded for debt. For the dishonor his father brought to their family name.
You see, his father, Si-woo Lee, owed over twenty billion yen to the Yakuza. That’s about 138 million U.S. dollars, for the Americans in the room. No one that broke could pay a debt that big with money. So he paid in blood. In flesh. He handed over his sons.
Duri was too young to be of fighting use, but Bhon—he was old enough to train. Old enough to bleed.
We trained together as boys. I remember watching him with a mix of fear and awe, even then. He didn’t speak much. Didn't cry. Just absorbed pain like it belonged to him.
And when he finally bargained for his freedom, he was given a choice.
Kill a thousand people. In the name of the Yakuza, or survive a beating out.
If it were me, I would’ve taken the thousand.
Bhon chose the beating. Forty-seven men went after him in the main courtyard. He killed them all. It was brutal. No one stepped in. My father watched the whole thing, and when it was over, he let Bhon walk. Just like that.
