Mikhail steadied himself after the first punch, his boots digging into the gravel of the driveway to keep him upright. His jaw ached where Dante’s fist had connected, and he tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

Blinking through the sharp sting, he locked eyes with Dante, whose own gaze burned with unrestrained fury. Mikhail said nothing. His respect for the man, his loyalty to everything they had built, kept him silent.

But that silence seemed to inflame Dante even more.

Another punch came fast and brutal. Mikhail staggered back but caught himself just in time. His head snapped to the side, and his vision blurred for a...