Suddenly, Teo’s companions pulled out guns. There were about ten men with him, and their number wasn’t far off from theirs. Some patrons rushed out. Some men were too drunk, while others were passed out on the tables. The women sat in the corner of the stage, trembling.
“I would not do that if I were you.” It was Kons who spoke. He pulled out a grenade from his left pocket near his chest.
No one dared to move. Teo was still on the floor, and when he saw what Kons was holding, he signaled his companions to lower their guns. They would all be burned inside the club if the Russian got angry and pulled the pin.
“Sir, please—” pleaded the manager. He was about thirty years old, a little overweight, and short. “Please don’t cause trouble here.” Kons shot him a glare, and he quickly stepped aw
