Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 125368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Tick tock.
I turned to face Valentin. Placing my gun on the coffee table, I grabbed the bottle of scotch and poured some into two glasses. I handed one to Valentin, and he gladly accepted it, still smiling gleefully.
“A celebratory drink, Solonik,” I offered.
“I knew you would never disappoint me, Konstantin. I honestly doubted you there. I thought you’d turn the gun on me. I really did. But you keep surprising me. Time to time.” His dark evil eyes glimmered.
I glanced back at the body of my brother. I smiled, cold and calculating. “You should fear me, Valentin.”
His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “One day, the world would fear you. When you sit on that fucking throne. Alessio’s reign has come to an end. Today, I become King. And one day, soon…my son, you will become King.”
I looked him dead in the eyes, taking a very slow sip from my glass. He had already chugged down the rest of his. Pathetic.
Valentin blinked, once then twice. He frowned at me and then rubbed his throat, thoughtlessly.
“Why not today?” I said, cocking my head to the side.
“What?” Confusion masked his face.
“Why can’t I be King today? Now?”
I could cut his throat right here, right now, and take his seat on the throne. Rule his empire. Rule everything.
But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?
No. I wanted to watch him crumble.
Valentin scowled at me before turning that sour expression to his empty glass.
The time has come. Day fucking zero.
His eyes watered and he coughed, once.
Tick tock.
I was forced to choose.
This was my choice.
This moment, right now…right here…
This was my goddamn choice.
Tick…tock.
I turned my back to him, facing Alessio. His wound still bled, quite similar like the eyes would leak tears.
Right on time, Valentin gasped. He inhaled and then struggled to exhale. His hand clasped my shoulder for support, but his body was failing him.
Time passed so fucking slow. My heart thundered. My chest squeezed and my lungs seemed to not work.
Tick…tock.
A pained croak escaped past his lips, and he seemed to choke onto his next breath. I didn’t move.
Cold. Calculating. Vicious. Brutal.
That was me.
Viktor Ivanshov.
“I told you, Valentin. You should fear me,” I deadpanned.
There was another coughing fit. Another pained sound. More choking. There was nobody to run to his aid.
I heard a thud behind me, like a heavy weight hitting the floor. Only then, I turned around. Valentin was on his ass, on the ground, heaving himself against his desk.
His lips parted, he tried to scream, but he could only groan in agony before releasing another coughing fit.
I tsked.
He scratched at his throat and thumped his fist over his chest, as if begging his lungs to work.
I tsked again.
“It’s okay. The poison is not enough for you to die,” I drawled.
Valentin tried to hiss at me, but I only let out a small dark chuckle. He choked with each desperate inhale.
“I should clarify. The poison is not enough to kill you now. You only have sixty minutes, Solonik.”
He tried to crawl to me, tried to scream. Inhaled, a choked exhale. He kept beating his fist over his chest, wheezing.
“It will slowly, very slowly eat your insides. It will hurt like a motherfucker. Oh, and you are also going to pass out in…”
I paused, looking at my watch.
Tick…tock.
“Now,” I said, smirking.
As I said the word, Valentin collapsed forward, his body tightening up, something akin to a seizure, before his muscles unlocked and his eyes closed. His body fell limp.
Tick…tock.
“You underestimated me, Solonik,” I repeated into the silence of the room. All of them did.
Chapter 26
Viktor
Blood.
The color of blood was red. So was anger. Stained and discolored—vengeance—something else that was also messily smeared with red.
They all bled the same color, a flowing river of deadly things. They had the power to destroy a life or to resurrect a soul.
Death and life.
A beating heart or a bleeding corpse.
I—Viktor Ivanshov—had been underestimated over and over again.
By Solonik and by my brother, my King. They expected me to play by their rules while they made me into a puppet of their mind games.
He came back with a gasp, and then he was choking on air. His breathing was labored, and I could see his chest rising up and down as he fought to inhale and exhale a breath. His screams were muffled by the cloth stuffed into his mouth.
He twisted his head left and right, seeking an escape, his freedom. There was none. I finally had Valentin Solonik trapped, quite similarly how he liked to cage us all. He liked to play games—mind games, dangerous bloody games. Valentin always thought he was at the top, always the winner. He was, for some time, as much as I hated to admit it. Valentin had years to plan this little ploy; he had been far ahead of Alessio and me. But we caught up very easily, piece of cake.