Sergei tripped as he backed up. “My boy isn’t in front of me!” he screamed. “Never again! Your daughter should be with him!”
“Maks,” Alek called back. “Angelina. Now!” He sprung at his cousin and took him down to the ground. It took a long minute of giving and receiving pain, but he eventually got the fucker in a submission hold Gabriel had taught him so Alek would have a chance against Maksim when they fucked around.
Steel on steel rang in his ear and then the hilt of Maksim’s prized machete was being held out. “You bought the poison Reynard used on my child? Paid for it with money our family helped you make? You took that money from your pocket and handed it over in exchange for a little bottle with Chinese writing on the side?”
Sergei attempted to spit, but he couldn’t move his head around Alek’s hold without snapping his own neck.
“Straighten his right arm,” he instructed Maks.
Maks yanked on the arm, dislocating it, Alek was sure. No one wasted time checking before Alek brought the sharp blade down as if he was swinging a hatchet. At the same time, he released the tight cinch that was making Sergei’s face turn blue so that his cousin could freely scream through the pain of having his arm taken off at the shoulder.
“Hold the other, Maks. Which is your trigger finger, Sergei? Which was it you just used on a man you should have respected with every breath you took? Which did you use to shoot another innocent man in my place?” he shouted. “Markus wasn’t a part of this life, you vindictive fuck! You should never have gone after him because you couldn’t get to me!”
“Don’t be so fucking arrogant,” his cousin laughed, his words slurring. “I did not kill him in your place. I killed him to start a war. If I had wanted you dead, you would be dead.”
Alek gripped the machete with both hands and was about to raise it when a loud rumble sounded all around them. In under three seconds, the place was full of men in unmarked swat gear. There had to have been twenty of them, all dressed in solid black, all with MP5s now trained on every single person in attendance, including Yuri, who was now ten feet away from Vasily and looking more concerned than Alek had ever seen him.
“Anyone moves; you will be shot,” a deep voice boomed.
No one moved.
Except the two men who walked through the new entrance. Sorin came into view first with Lucian Fane walking a couple of feet behind him. The bodyguard yanked Alek off Sergei and shoved him between two gun-wielding team members.
Lucian, who was also dressed in black, reached down to drag Sergei to his feet. Cupping the back of his head, the Romanian poised a long, curved blade beneath Sergei’s chin.
“Finally. You have come out from under your rock.” He kicked Sergei’s arm away from their feet. “But it will not be your cousin who has the pleasure of killing you. It won’t be your uncle, either. My brother, who you took for nothing, was not only innocent, he was mine. He was mine, and you stole him. So, now, I will steal you.”
Lucian brought the blade down and plunged it into the soft spot under Sergei’s collarbone. The tip escaped through an exit wound, effectively acting as a hook. Alek didn’t blink in case he missed one second of the gruesome sight. Because if his uncle didn’t make it through this, he would forever relive the moment Sergei went limp and fell. Using his make-shift hanger, Lucian didn’t spare anyone a glance as he dragged Sergei back out the way he’d just walked in. Sorin followed, and it wasn’t until they heard a helicopter take off that weapons were lowered. The large crew followed their boss out.
Alek didn’t wait to hear the other choppers that would explain the flutters he’d heard after the grenade had gone off. He tripped over shit to join the boys gathering on the floor around his uncle. His knees instantly felt warm as his pants soaked up the blood.
“Jesus Christ, Vasya. What the fuck did you do?” he rasped in Russian.
Micha, panting from a sprint, roughly elbowed his way between Maks and Gabriel. He dropped the large black medical bag Yuri kept in the trunk of the Maybach.
“It was closer than running to the infirmary for supplies,” he snapped when Yuri looked up.
Without a word, the MD got down to it by ripping Vasily’s shirt open. Buttons popped, and blood splashed. Rough curses came from all around at the sight of two round holes showing amid the history inked into the Pakhan’s skin. Micha began handing things to Yuri.
“Son—” Vasily coughed, and Alek clasped his hand. The squeeze that was returned was alarmingly weak. Weaker than Alek had ever experienced from this man. “If this happens—” Another cough and a choked denial from Maks came. “Know each of you was a gift to me.”