Page 16 of Forced By the Bratva King

It was him, my nemesis, Niall Donovan, leader of the Irish mob.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Kostya asked, frowning at the newcomer.

Niall was shaking hands with some of our business partners, and I couldn’t stop looking in his direction. In a fleeting moment, our eyes met, and we locked gazes.

I saw the sudden change in his mood, and that prompted a smirk on my face. He wasn’t expecting to meet me here, and neither was I. Donovan was upset by my presence; his brows were furrowed and fists clenched. Seething silently, he leaned closer to his right-hand man, Jacob, and whispered something into his ears. The man looked in our direction and placed a phone call.

Donovan dragged on his cigar and approached me, his shoes clicking against the fine floor. “Well, well, well.” He halted in front of our table. “Would you look at that?” He released a puff of smoke. “It’s the Tarasov Bratva and their boss.”

“Good evening to you, Donovan,” I said, my sarcasm not subtle at all.

His right-hand man ended his call and walked back to his boss, standing by his side.

“What’re you doing here, Artem?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I could ask you the same thing,” came my reply.

“This ismyclub,” he said, “and you’re not welcome.”

I scoffed and faced Yuri. “Did you know that Niall Donovan is the owner of the Onyx Den?”

“No. He’s too weak and broke to own it,” Yuri said, his eyes fixed on the fuming man before us.

“I’d watch my mouth if I were you,” Jacob threatened Yuri.

“That’s the difference between you and me—you’re a scared little pussy; I’m not,” Yuri replied.

The tension was rising, and now, his men and mine had all taken their positions around their respective leaders, hands reaching for weapons. The moment Donovan walked in, I knew this encounter would end in a bloodbath, and I was ready.

One by one, the people in the room began exiting, knowing exactly what was about to happen in a matter of minutes tops.

“Did you just call me a pussy?” Jacob snarled, pulling a gun on Yuri.

That instant, my men responded by pointing theirs at him, and Donovan’s men did the same at us. Now, everyone had their weapons drawn, and I was still seated amidst the storm. Even Kostya was on his feet, his finger nearing the trigger of his pistol.

“No, I didn’t,” Yuri said to Jacob.

He scoffed, thinking Yuri had yielded because he was at gunpoint. “I thought as much.”

“What I called you was a scared…little…pussy.” The slight pause came as Yuri got on his feet upon each word. “That’s what you are. I mean, look at you, pulling a gun at a defenseless man. That’s the height of cowardice.”

Jacob’s pride was pricked; he shifted his gaze across his men, and I knew that deep down, he wouldn’t want to look weak in front of them. That was the idea, and the idiot was playing Yuri’s game.

“Show this bastard what you’re made of,” Donovan said to him.

In the split second that Jacob broke eye contact to tuck his gun away, Yuri grabbed his head and dented it into the wooden table, which broke under the impact.

“Kill them all!” Donovan ordered.

In a heartbeat, my men shielded me like a fence, their bulletproof vests taking the shots fired as both parties clashed in a brutal gunfight.

We took cover behind flipped-over tables that served as makeshift barricades from the pelting bullets that shot down anything and anyone in their paths. Sadly, the beautiful singer was a victim, amongst other collateral damage. If they’d left when the others did, they’d still be alive.

I withdrew my gun and stepped out into the open, shooting down my enemies with precise shots. Kostya did the same, and Yuri joined in by my side. The three of us together had a couple of Donovan’s men taking to their heels.

Soon, I ran out of bullets; my gun clicked empty, and the slide locked back. This was an open window, and an enemy seized the opportunity. He rushed at me, spearing dangerously in my direction, but I sidestepped, avoiding the attack by mere inches. With a swift movement, I grabbed his head, my fingers interlocking behind his skull like a vice. In a trice, I spun him around, our bodies rotating together until his back slammed against mine. With that, I had his head trapped the way I wanted it. His arms flailed in the air as he struggled to gain control of his body, but his efforts were futile. He choked at the weight of my arm pressing his throat, and his hands were reflexively slapping against my arms.

With one swift motion, I jerked his head downward, and his neck snapped, crackling like a twig. My attacker’s body went limp after his jawbone crushed against my shoulder. His arms dropped weightlessly as I let go of his dead body, and it thudded at my feet.