Page 34 of Bratva Holiday

“Fuck off,” Aleksandr snapped.

Dimitri put another burst of pressure on his arm. Aleksandr cursed again, this time louder. Full of more pain. He tried to fight it, his free arm striking up to try to hit his father in the head. But Dimitri simply swayed right, avoiding it easily, and squeezed Aleksandr’s arm again.

The groan tumbling out of Aleksandr’s mouth could be heard for miles. The amount of pain that man must have been in, and he was still refusing to tap? It boggled my mind.

Mikhail went low, flat on his stomach, eyes locked on Aleksandr, waiting for the slightest indication, the slightest movement that he wanted to end it.

“Tap or I’ll break it,” the Butcher warned.

“He’ll fucking do it, Zander! Tap!” Lukyan yelled out.

Aleksandr fought against the pain, grunting, snarling, cursing six ways to Sunday, doing everything and anything to try to get out of the hold.

“Three…” Dimitri began to count down.

“Fuck. You,” Aleksandr spat harshly.

“Two…” Dimitri tightened his grip in preparation.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Aleksandr chanted over and over and over, each word drenched in agony.

“One…”

Fuck. Will he actually break his own son’s arm to win?

“Ah, fuck.” Aleksandr tapped.

Mikhail leaped forward, breaking up the fight. Dimitri immediately let go, stumbling back as Aleksandr curled onto his side, cradling his arm.

“We have a winner!” Mikhail declared, grabbing Dimitri’s arm and raising it up to the sky. “DeDe!”

Dimitri punched Mikhail in the stomach, making him hunch over at the waist with a painful choke.

“Dimitri.” Mikhail corrected, wheezing. “I meant Dimitri. That’s my bad.”

Lukyan jumped up and down. “Ha! I won! I won, I won, I won!” He snatched the money out of Illayana’s hands. “Gimmie my money, bitches.”

Aleksandr slowly got to his feet, still cradling his right arm. He turned to face his father, and the two of them stared at each other.

Mikhail straightened, standing to his full height once again. His hands plopped down onto his hips, and he exhaled a hard breath. “Good fight, gentlemen. Shake hands.”

Dimitri stuck his hand out. Aleksandr eyed it, irritation flashing across his face, but he did the sportsmanly thing and shook his hand.

“I’ve never seen you pull that move before.” Aleksandr grunted. There was something coating his words—an almost…sourness.

The Butcher smirked. “I taught you everything you know. Not everything I know.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Arturo De Luca

“Remember, Lukyan favors his right over his left. And he’ll always prefer to kick than throw a punch. He thinks because his legs are so long and lanky that he can hit a target from further away.”

“Got it.” I nodded.

Illayana’s hands massaged into my shoulders from behind, her face right next to mine, lips beside my ear. In our line of sight, a few paces away, were Lukyan and Lyla, locked in a similar position, Lyla giving as much advice as she could before the fight.

Lukyan and I were the last match. After Aleksandr and Dimitri’s round, it was Nikolai and Lyla’s turn. Their fight had been just as exciting to watch. At first, it looked as though there would be a clear winner. Nikolai was considerably larger. Stronger.