“No, thanks.” I turn toward the door, noticing that the old man has disappeared, abandoning me to this heathen.
Yulian leaps in front of me, his arms open wide, forbidding me from moving. “But how will we figure out who’s the top?”
“I’ll defeat you at actual training, not whatever this absurd thing is.”
“You won’t dare fight me, will you? You know I’ll drag you in front of your prim-and-proper friends, don’t you? Don’t you?”
“Nice try, but it’s not that easy to provoke me.”
“Boo. New Yorkers are cowards!” he shouts for everyone downstairs to hear.
“Who did you call a coward, motherfucker?” someone shouts behind us.
I recognize the voice without having to see who it’s coming from.
Before I can stop him, Nikolai, the son of two leaders in our Bratva, jumps at Yulian, and soon, they’re wrestling on the balcony, punching each other on the floor.
Yulian hits Nikolai, then hops up. He shoves the handkerchief I gave him in his pocket and hooks his index finger in my direction. “Come join the fun.”
Nikolai slams into him from behind, shoving them back onto the floor.
I walk inside, leaving them to bloody each other senseless.
Now I know who Yulian reminds me of.
Nikolai.
Both spring into action first, both are reckless, and both share one brain cell.
Only, I don’t dislike Nikolai. I just think he’s uniquely chaotic, and I actually have some form of respect for his authenticity. This Yulian, however, seems like an absolute nightmare.
I’d prefer our other friend, Jeremy, be here to rein in Nikolai.
Unfortunately, Jeremy is training with his father this summer.
Something I’d rather be doing instead of this. Hell, I’d like to be in Russia instead of this.
Whateverthisis.
“Wait!”
I come to a halt in the middle of the hall when Yulian catches up to me. He stops in front of me, panting harshly, his chest rising and falling chaotically, causing the scraps of his shirt to stretch against defined muscles.
“What do you want now?—”
My words are cut off when he lunges at me.
I pull away, but it’s too late, because the asshole is rubbing his palm on my face.
Hisbloodiedpalm.
The hygiene hazard is in my goddamn face.
I throw my fist in order to shove him away, but he’s already stepped back, my hand barely connecting with his chest.
A dark glimmer shines in his mismatched eyes. “Hope that’s clean enough for you, Mishka. You know, because you’re such a baby.”
Then he turns toward Nikolai, who’s chasing him.
