One of the Russian thugs snickered. "Yeah, maybe he got a tan baking in the sand. This rich bitch probably likes it rough. Just her type."
"Disgusting." Winnie clenched her fists, forcing herself to maintain her composure. "This is a hospital. You are not welcome here."
Iosef straightened up, his leering gaze returning to Winnie's face. "Miss Pritzker, allow me to introduce my family's useless older brother. Oh, wait." He tapped his chin in mock realization. "His mother was just a cheap nightclub whore. That's why she gave birth to such a pathetic bastard. Why not try a real man instead? Then you wouldn't need to look for cheap thrills in budget motels."
Winnie's face instantly turned deathly pale.
It wasn't the crude insult that drained her color, but the terrifying implication hidden in his words. He knew she had been in a budget motel. That meant the entire setup from two nights ago was orchestrated by this disgusting piece of trash.
A wave of furious fire swept through Winnie's body. She forced down the bile rising in her throat, opening her mouth to retaliate.
"Iosef." Anthony's voice cut through the tension, unnervingly calm.
He didn't even look up at his half-brother. His fingers continued to idly stroke the beagle, which was now pressed against his leg, its hackles raised in high alert.
"There's still time for you to walk out of here alive," Anthony said. His voice was devoid of emotion. His expression was a mask of utter indifference.
The muscles in Iosef's jaw twitched violently. His brain, already clouded by cheap alcohol and unchecked arrogance, ignited at the naked contempt.
Like a rabid dog, he lunged forward, his spittle flying dangerously close to Anthony's face.
"You're telling me to get out? Anthony, what the fuck are you? A bastard born to a whore. You played dead in Afghanistan for a few years, and now you think you can talk back to me?"
"Six years. For six whole years, my father kept you and your short-lived bitch of a mother alive. Besides wasting our food and money, what the fuck are you good for? You think you can put on airs in front of me just because you latched onto some rich slut?"
He suddenly turned his wrath onto Winnie, jabbing a finger inches from her perfect nose. His eyes were manic.
"And you, Pritzker. I'm warning you. Stay the hell away from this trash, or you'll bring a world of pain down on your precious family."
Iosef snapped his gaze back to Anthony. "Listen to me, you mongrel. Don't think for a second that just because you're back, Viggo is going to give you a second glance. If you don't want to die, get the fuck out of New York. Otherwise, I'll put you down myself."
"Just like this little rat!"
He thrust out his tattooed hand, snatching at the snarling beagle.
A terrified yelp. A sickening crunch. The two sounds echoed through the room almost simultaneously.
Just as Iosef's fingers brushed Helen's fur, his wrist was caught in a vice grip by Anthony.
In a blur of motion, Anthony's leg lashed out. A foot clad only in a white hospital sock, carrying the explosive, lethal power forged on the battlefield, slammed viciously into Iosef's abdomen.
Iosef's arrogant tirade cut off abruptly. His eyes bulged from their sockets.
All color drained from his face in an instant, replaced by a mask of agonizing pain and disbelieving shock.
Over the puppy's frightened whimpers, Anthony swung his legs out of bed. In one fluid motion, he tore the heavy metal pole from the IV stand and drove it ruthlessly against his half-brother's throat, pinning him backward.
"Six years, and you're still nothing but a rabid dog," Anthony whispered. His voice was as cold as a Siberian winter. "Did you really think I was still that pathetic punching bag you could beat without consequence?"
Iosef choked, spitting a mouthful of bloody foam. "You bastard. If Father hadn't hidden you in the military, you would have ended up just like your whore mother..."
Anthony violently shoved the cold steel pole directly into Iosef's open mouth.
The sickening crunch of metal shattering teeth made Winnie's stomach violently churn.
Iosef's agonizing howl was trapped deep in his throat, suffocated by the steel rod, reducing his screams to wet, muffled gurgles. Bloody saliva trickled down the metal pole, dripping onto his ruined snakeskin shoes.
The two Russian thugs froze in absolute shock.
The submissive bastard they remembered from six years ago was gone. In his place stood a predator with a terrifying, calculated murderous intent churning in his eyes.
"Six years," Anthony murmured, his voice deadly low. "That's more than enough time for a coward to learn exactly how to break a hyena's neck."
He twisted his wrist. The metal pole made a sickening, wet grinding noise against the roof of Iosef's mouth.
Iosef's eyes rolled back in agony. Drool and blood spilled uncontrollably down his chin, his meticulously styled hair plastered to his sweat-drenched forehead.
Winnie fought the urge to be sick, but her posture only grew more rigid, her Pritzker pride refusing to let her look away.
"Fuck! Let him go!" The thug on the left finally snapped out of his stupor, drawing a heavy switchblade from his waistband. Cold steel flashed under the fluorescent lights.
"Woof!"
Helen shot out from the side of the bed like a black-and-white missile, sinking her sharp puppy teeth directly into the thug's exposed ankle.
Her bite wasn't lethal, but the needle-like teeth were enough to draw blood.
The thug yelled in surprise, stumbling sideways. His knife thrust veered wildly off course.
Utilizing the distraction, Anthony's left leg snapped out like a whip. His heel struck the thug's wrist with surgical precision.
A loud crack resounded as the switchblade flew from the man's paralyzed grip, clattering uselessly under a medical cart in the corner.
"And you." Anthony's icy gaze locked onto the remaining thug on the right.
He slowly yanked the metal pole free from Iosef's mouth, a thick strand of bloody saliva trailing from the steel.
"Want to find out what it feels like to swallow this?"
The hospital room fell dead silent. The only sounds were Iosef's violent, wet coughing and Helen's low, rumbling growl as she stood guard at Anthony's bare feet.
Curled on the linoleum and clutching his agonizing stomach, Iosef wiped his ruined mouth. He stared at the blood coating his palm. He lifted his head, glaring venomously at the brother he thought he knew.
"Bas... Anthony. The rule in New York is simple. If you mess with the Tarasov family, you better make sure you can afford the coffin."
Struggling to his feet with the help of the wall, he sneered at Winnie through a bloody gash of a smile. "Pritzker. You better order a few extra coffins for your family, too."
"Get out," Anthony commanded, raising the blood-stained pole level with Iosef's eyes. "Say one more word, and I'll shove this straight through your brain stem. Care to test me?"
He bent down and scooped up the still-snarling Helen, his large hand soothingly rubbing her tense neck.
The beagle gradually relaxed against his chest, though her hazel eyes remained warily fixed on the intruders.
The two thugs, looking as though they had just been granted a royal pardon, awkwardly hauled the ashen-faced Iosef to his feet. They practically dragged their bleeding boss out the door, fleeing the room.
Winnie stared at Anthony, her heart pounding like a war drum against her ribs.
She was well-connected enough to know that the surname "Tarasov" carried immense weight in the city. It belonged to the Russian syndicate. She never would have imagined that the lanky underachiever she used to scold in high school was actually the son of a brutal mafia kingpin.
"After they murdered my mother, I ceased to be a Tarasov," Anthony said casually, righting the IV stand and placing the pole back in its slot. He didn't try to hide his background from her. "Don't worry about your family. Viggo Tarasov operates by a strict underworld code. He won't target the Pritzkers over a scuffle."
Anthony understood the syndicate's logic perfectly. In Viggo's world, the rules of the Continental and the High Table superseded blood. If Viggo declared war on a legitimate billionaire empire over Iosef's wounded pride, he would invite the wrath of the High Table for drawing unnecessary heat. For Viggo, the survival of the business always trumped personal vendettas.
"However," Anthony added, his tone darkening, "Iosef is an impulsive idiot who doesn't respect the rules. He might try something. More importantly, you need to watch your own back at home."
He phrased it carefully, not wanting to explicitly reveal that he knew she had been drugged with an aphrodisiac, saving her the final shred of her dignity.
"I understand." Winnie looked toward the window, her expression hardening into corporate steel. "The man who lured me to that nightclub was Heller Black. He works directly under my brother Enrico, and he's my sister Christine's secret lover. They orchestrated this."
She turned back, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "But Iosef won't let this humiliation go. He will come after you."
"I'm counting on it," Anthony replied, placing Helen back onto the mattress. His eyes were glacial. "Three years ago, he burned my mother alive. Viggo's only punishment was sending him to Siberia for six months to cool off. It's time someone put him down permanently."
"Take this card." Winnie reached into her bag and pulled out the black credit card. She stepped close, pressing it into his hand. "Anthony, please. Leave New York. Go to Europe. Don't ever come back."
Anthony didn't take the card. Instead, a slow, confident smile spread across his face.
"Winnie, I'm not leaving this city until I've maxed out your credit card."
"Are you out of your mind?" Winnie's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "They will kill you."
Anthony looked at her beautiful, angry face. Suddenly, he reached out with his uninjured arm and pulled her firmly against his chest.
Winnie gasped, struggling against his solid grip. "Anthony, stop. Let me go."
"I might die," Anthony whispered softly against her ear.
Hearing the vulnerability in his tone, Winnie immediately stopped struggling. Her hands fell to her sides, though her voice remained indignant. "Then why won't you leave?"
"My mother died alone. I owe her this." Anthony rested his chin heavily on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and pear.
Winnie trembled in his embrace, horrified by the suicide mission he was plotting. "Anthony, you're just one man. You can't win against the entire Bratva."
"I won't be fighting them alone." As Anthony held her, staring blankly at the hospital wall, a cold, predatory glint ignited in his eyes. "I know a guy."