boss anymore at all,” he says.
“The boss is boss until death,” I remind him. “I’m very much alive.”
There’s a stir among my men. I can see Olie, Patryk, and Bruno muttering to the others. They look the most startled to see me still alive, and the most displeased with whatever story they were told. The others are less certain.
I’ll have to put that uncertainty to rest.
I hold up my hand, a signal to Nero Gallo to stay put.
If Nero, Marcel, and I start shooting, my men will likely side with Jonas. But with the right push, they’ll come back to me. We could all get out of this in one piece. Well . . . most of us.
“You betrayed us,” Jonas spits at me.
“That’s funny, coming from the man who stabbed me in the back,” I say.
“You chose that Irish whore over us,” Andrei hisses.
“I’m making an alliance with the Irish, and the Italians too,” I tell them.
“You want us to lick their boots,” Jonas says.
“I want us to get rich together,” I correct him. “I want you all in Maseratis instead of caskets.”
“This is bullshit!” Jonas shouts, saliva flying from his mouth. “He’ll say anything to save his skin, and protect that little bitch. He doesn’t care about us. And he doesn’t care about Zajac! They killed our father! Zajac deserves our vengeance.”
“I took Nessa from them,” I say. “Better to keep her than to kill her. Better to share power with the Irish than share a mausoleum with Zajac.”
“Those are the words of a shivering dog,” Jonas spits.
“You think I’m afraid?” I ask him. “You think you can lead my men better than me? Then prove it, Jonas. Not with four men against one. Prove it just you and me. Man against man. Boss against boss.”
Jonas grins, his black eyes gleaming manically. He clenches his knife all the tighter. I don’t think he would have agreed to this yesterday. Yesterday I was the better fighter. Today I’m barely alive.
Jonas knows I’m injured. He knows he has the advantage.
“If that’s what you want, brother,” he says.
We circle each other, in the open area of the club usually used for dancing. The only lights in this area are the green, filtered lights that give the appearance of tall grass and jungle foliage. Jonas and I circle like predators. Like two wolves fighting for control of the pack.
In a fist-fight, Jonas might have the advantage because he’s heavier than me. In a knife-fight, I’m usually faster. But I’m not fast right now. My right arm is heavy, and my body is exhausted. I try not to show those injuries, but I know I’m not moving as smoothly as usual. Jonas smiles, scenting blood.
We weave around each other, Jonas making a couple of feints in my direction. The key to knife fighting is footwork. You have to keep the right distance from your opponent. This is tricky, because Jonas’ reach is just a little longer than mine.
Imagine two boxers facing off in a ring. Then think how many times Muhammad Ali gets hit, even though he’s the best in the world at dodging blows. You can’t afford to take that many cuts from a knife.
So I keep a wide space between us. Jonas keeps trying to dart inside that circle, slashing at my face and body. I narrowly avoid his cuts, though I have to jerk aside to do it. I feel stitches opening up, on my belly and down my back.
I’m not trying to cut Jonas open. I’m aiming for something different—his knife hand.
Jonas slashes at me again. This time I’m too slow. He opens up a long gash on my left forearm. The blood patters down on the dancefloor. Now I have to avoid that, too, or risk slipping in it.
“Come on,” Jonas grunts, “Quit ducking away. Come on and fight me, suka.”
I pretend to lower my guard. This means I have to actually lower my guard for a moment. Jonas rushes in, slashing his knife right at my face. I duck, again just a little too slow. I feel a burning cut down my right cheek. But Jonas has come close. I slice the back of his knife hand, cutting through muscle and tendon. We call that “defanging the snake.” The effect is immediate—he can no longer grip. His knife falls and I catch it out of the air, so I’m now holding a blade in each hand.
Jonas stumbles backward, his feet slipping in my blood. He goes down