Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Drago
Song- Gods, Sleep Token
I smash my fist into the bag one final time, and pain shoots up my arm. “Fuck!” I hiss out.
It’s taken months to heal, and even now the damage lingers.
Being tortured until you almost die has a way of etching itself into your bones.
The scars don’t bother me. They feed the fire.
They remind me why this war matters. Pain is temporary.
It’s what I drilled into Charlotte when she was held captive by Vlad.
It’s what I’m teaching her daughter now.
The human body survives more than the mind ever believes it can.
Shaking out my fist, I drive a kick into the bag, so hard that the chains rattle overhead. I grin. I’ve still got it, even as forty creeps up on me. Fighting isn’t a skill. It’s a life carved into muscle and power. It has saved me more times than I can count.
And with war closing in on Pennsylvania, I need every edge.
Back in Russia, the land itself fought beside me.
Here in America? I rely on the Quinn family, the fierce Irish brothers who rule this part of America.
Each state is part of a larger empire ruled by Enzo Testa.
For the last year, he’s made sure I know every street, every shadow.
He’s the King, and we’re all the pieces that defend him, that sacrifice ourselves for him.
And right now, we’re up against a cult. A sick and twisted one that traffics women and children in the name of their savior. The Preacher.
Because even the villains in this world have morals and lines we won’t cross. And when someone else does, we fucking hunt them. We do what other people are scared to do.
There’s only one thing I still don’t know.
Who the fuck is The Preacher, and where do I find that ghost? We have families in Vegas, Phoenix, New York, Italy, and Russia. All ready for war. But this time we’re fighting a phantom. A cult with a faceless leader.
My lungs burn as I hammer the bag again. The left side still slows me, the old wounds dragging at me, but I refuse to stop. Not now.
“Uncle Drago!” Isabella screeches.
I wipe sweat from my forehead and turn as she barrels into me.
Every time I see her, she gets taller. And with each month that passes, living with her father here, her smile gets bigger.
She’s happy, and that’s what makes the scars on my body worth it.
I catch her and spin her until she giggles.
“Hey, little one,” I say, ruffling her hair and lowering her to the ground.
Charlotte steps in behind her, carrying Noah, her curls twisted into a purple bun. She’s smiling a real smile, despite everything she survived. Love looks good on her, and motherhood has turned her even sharper, even more lethal.
“Charlotte.” I greet her.
She shifts the toddler higher on her hip as he tugs at her earrings.
“Is that left side still giving you problems?” Charlotte asks, eyeing the deep scar across my ribs.
“Yeah. It’s better. Don’t worry, I can still protect you,” I say, glancing at Isabella.
She sticks out her tongue. All sass, just like her mother. “I don’t need protecting, Uncle Drago. I’m fierce, remember?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, you are. Because I taught you.”
She huffs and stomps to the punching bag, kicking it with all the strength of a tiny warrior, while Charlotte and I hide our laughter.
“What do I owe the pleasure? I’m not due to train either of you today?
” I ask, taking Noah from her arms. The boy melts into my shoulder with a soft sigh.
Perhaps one day, I’ll find some peace and be able to have kids.
Find a woman who will drag me out of this dark hole and fill it with light.
Someone who can see past the violence and dig deeper to find the man who wants a softer life.
I doubt that’ll ever happen.
“Declan wants to see you, Drago. And Isabella wanted to come and collect you herself,” Charlotte says with a soft smile.
Like she knows she can soften me with Isabella, to which she isn’t wrong.
“Did Declan forget how a phone works?” I ask.
Charlotte chews her lip. She’s hiding something.
“No.” She trails off.
“Voitelnitsa, tell me what’s on your mind.”
I still call her a warrior, because she is one. I kept her alive for five years in Vlad’s prison, and I nearly died getting her and Isabella out. There’s no version of her I don’t recognize.
“I wanted to speak to you first.” She says quietly.
I place Noah on the mat. “Isabella, can you go grab the books in the corner and read to Noah while I talk to Mommy, please?”
She nods and trots off.
“Drago, you know me better than anyone. You know how much I love being a mom. But you know I need to fight again. That I can protect my kids just as well as any of the guys can.”
I scratch the back of my neck. I don’t like this, because it reminds me too much of myself.
Charlotte, like me, was born into a war we didn’t ask for.
Trained to be lethal to survive. But that is so ingrained in us now that it never leaves.
That thirst for blood. And no matter how happy or content you are with your new life, the old never leaves.
It’s always itching to step back in, because if you stop, you become weak.
And if you’re weak in this life… You die.
“Charlotte, I don’t get involved in your marital issues with Declan. He’s my boss.”
She wrinkles her nose. “And you’re my best friend, Drago; the one who helped me raise Isabella in Vlad’s prison. The one who taught me how to fight.”
I nod. I helped turn her into an assassin.
“And Declan, he’s protective. He’s worried about the Preacher. They all are. Stephanie has just given birth to Wren. You guys need an army, and I want to be in it.” She finishes, rushing out her words.
I let out a breath. My loyalty lies with Charlotte. But the Quinns are the men who dragged my dying body out of that pig farm in Russia. They’re the ones I owe my life to. They’re the ones I now answer to.
“What do you want me to do, Charlotte? Stop beating around the real question and ask it.”
Her eyes darken. “I’m telling Declan I want in, properly. And I need you to tell him I’m ready to fight.” She says, her fists already clenched at her sides.
And damn, it makes me proud. That despite everything that could have broken her, it’s only made her more fierce. More powerful.
I step closer. “Are you?”
She lifts her chin. “You know I am, Drago.”
“What does he want to speak to me about? Was that real?”
“Yeah. He does. Enzo is coming.”
Good. I need him. The Russian links to the Preacher are twisted, and he’s the only one who can help me untangle them. The only one that has power over most of the fucking world at this point. His contacts are endless, his hacking skills superior even to mine.
“Lev is due to call me shortly with an update on how his search in St. Petersburg is going.”
Lev. The closest thing I ever had to a father. The man who taught me everything. The one who shaped me into something nearly indestructible. Together, we built an empire between rival families in Russia. Now he’s on the ground there while I stand here.
“How can we trust Lev if we’ve never met him?” she asks.
“Because you trust me. And he’s the one man I’d give up my fucking life for.” I tell her.
But it’s deeper than that. It has been for the last five years. Because of his daughter. The other person I’d give my life up for. The woman that I held in my arms a few years back as her world caved in on her.
I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t have her at the forefront of my mind every damn day.
But, I do. And every day it feels like a betrayal of the man who saved me.
The man I call my best fucking friend.