Claimed by his son: The mafia's heir
Around the bar, men reached for their weapons, some drawing knives, others revealing handguns from beneath their clothes.
I felt my breath hang in my throat as I took in the sight of what was starting to look like a face off between multiple mafia cartels.
The man in front of me, Nikolai, remained still, his icy blue eyes flicking between Viktor and Sergei, his smirk quickly fading into something unreadable.
Slowly, he lifted his hands into the air but it wasn’t in surrender—it was a calculated move, his fingers twitching slightly as if preparing for something.
"Viktor," he called, his voice calm despite the chaos unfolding. "Is this really necessary?"
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