Page 14 of Lucky
The big guy who threw the punch is built like a brick wall, and he hasn’t come alone. Three others follow, their expressions twisted with a mix of malice and adrenaline.
Rafi wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth as he surges to his feet.
I spin just in time to block a swinging bottle aimed for my head. The glass shatters against my forearm, sending shards flying, but I don’t flinch. Instead, I drive my elbow into the gut of my attacker, doubling the man over before slamming my knee into his face. Blood sprays from the guy’s nose as he crumples to the floor.
I take a quick look and find that Rafi isn’t idle. The man who’d punched him comes in for another swing, but Rafi ducks, countering with a brutal uppercut that snaps the guy’s head back. He follows with a swift kick to the kneecap, a sickening pop echoing as the man howls and falls.
Two have gone down, but the other two are relentless.
One of the men—a wiry guy with a nasty scar running across his cheek—grabs a cane and swings it at my head. I duck again, the stick grazing my temple but not enough to faze him. I roar and lunge forward, grabbing the cane and yanking it hard, pulling the guy off balance. I drive the butt of the stick into his ribs, then crack it across his face, the sharp sound of wood splintering as the scarred man hits the ground.
Two bouncers jump into the fray, surrounding Rafi as he locks himself into a brutal grapple with the last assailant, a bald man with fists like hammers. The guy lands a punch to Rafi’s ribs that makes him stagger, but Rafi recovers quickly, slamming his forehead into the guy’s nose. The sound of a crunch fills the air as the man reels back, howling in pain as he clutches his face.
I step forward, delivering a devastating hook to the man’s temple, sending him sprawling.
The big man - the one who instigated the fight - is back on his feet, blood dripping from his mouth as he roars like a bull. He charges, tackling me to the ground.
“Lucky!”
I hear Rafi’s yell above the din of the fight. On my fight, I drive my fist into the side of the guy’s head, over and over, until the man’s movements slow and he’s pulled off me. With a grunt, I twist, reversing our positions until he’s on his back on the floor. I grab a nearby chair and smash it over the man’s back, the wood splintering on impact
The big guy groans, collapsing into unconsciousness as he lays motionless.
The room is still now, the fight over as quickly as it began. I stand amidst the wreckage—overturned tables, shattered glass, and four unconscious men sprawled at our feet.
I wipemy mouth with the back of my hand, my knuckles raw and bloody. I look at Rafi leaning against the bar, a deep cut on his forearm but otherwise intact.
The bouncers take control of the situation, ushering the four men away from the bar and towards a staff entrance.
"Take them to the back," I instruct one of the head bouncers, my voice sharp. He nods, signalling for the others to step in and help restrain the troublemakers. They've just learned the hard way that rules atIgniteare not open for negotiation.
The bouncers act swiftly, cuffing their wrists with heavy steel restraints before leading them towards the back hallway. Rafi and I follow closely behind, my anger simmering like a cauldron of burning lava.
The back office is small, hidden behind heavy curtains usually reserved for beaks for the bar staff. Tonight, we're not concerned with pleasantries.
I enter the room, my boots echoing loudly on the marble floors like a ticking clock. "Sit down," I bark as my bouncers shove the four men into the room, their faces now drained of color as the gravity of their actions sets in.
Rafi has a bruised jaw and is prodding one of the men, while several other bouncers stand guard with stoic expressions.
My gaze flicks from one man to the next, assessing each one carefully.
"Gentlemen, I'm curious to know what brought you to my establishment tonight," I begin. “And how you got in.” My eyes flick to the bouncers, letting them know there’ll be hell to pay later; there’s no way these clowns are Bonafide members of my club.
No one speaks, no one even flinches. They attacked a Gatti stronghold tonight. But no one gets away with that. No one. They need to understand that part of Gatti culture is that we don't start wars - we end them.
"We came to settle a debt.” One of the men spits, landing a glob on my shoes. I look down at my new Ferragamo shoes and slowly shake my head before lifting my gaze back up to glare at him. He will pay for that with blood.
I don't respond immediately. Instead, I walk around the table, scrutinizing each man in turn. They don't flinch, but I can see beads of sweat forming on their brows. Good. They should be nervous.
"What debt would that be?" I finally ask, taking a seat across from them.
"Your guy is responsible for my brother's death!" he yells, his thick neck veins bulging.
The silence lingers heavily in the room.
“And who would your brother be?” I ask him. “We are…responsible… for a lot of deaths.”
The man shrinks back in fear at the malice in my tone, and I take pleasure in his fear. I relish it. He doesn’t answer, opting instead for silence. Smart man.