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You see, Valentin Solonik was a coward. He was scared of death. He was scared of losing.
And lastly, he preyed on the weak—because he was never strong enough to fight someone more powerful than him. Me.
“Lyov.” Carlos jumped in. His thick accent was laced with fury. God, how he must be dying to end my life too.
They couldn’t, though. My men had their hands on their guns. They were alert. Solonik’s men were ready too. Carlos’s men were not far. But I had them all surrounded. If we started firing now, none of us would make it out alive. And today was not the day to die.
“Do you realize what you’re doing? How this could affect us?” Carlos spoke in a low, menacing tone.
I shrugged. Carlos was not a man to mess with.
If I were the King, then he was no less. He was not a man to mess with. Carlos ruled the Mexican Cartel with an iron fist, and nobody could bring down his organization. Not even me. Not that I ever tried.
It was an unspoken truce. I let him do his own shit, and he let me do mine. As long as we didn’t fuck each other behind our backs, then we had no problem.
“The Royalist is mine. Yes, I agree, you are my business associates, and you have invested a lot into this organization. Like I said, if the problem is money—then I will have it all deposited into your account. Count it as my agreement of peace. After all, we don’t want to be enemies, am I right?” Carlos stayed silent. He knew we couldn’t afford to be enemies. He regarded me with questioning cold eyes, waiting for me to continue.
“We part ways from here, and we shall never cross paths again. You do what you want. Run your businesses how you want and I rule the Bratva how I want. But The Royalist is coming to an end. That is not up for discussion, gentlemen.”
Carlos lifted his chin up in angry defiance. “Fine. You do whatever the fuck you want. Take down the Royalist for all I care. You seem to forget that I own my own rings—my own fucking arena. I am not the one losing here, Lyov. You are.”
Touché, asshole.
I nodded. I knew that. I knew there were more human trafficking rings around the world and Carlos ran the biggest one after the Royalist. I also knew that this one was beyond my control. I could end the game from my side…but I had no power when it was being played from the other side.
We stared at each other until Carlos’s lips curled back angrily. “I have nothing else to say.”
I nodded again. “I guess this meeting ends here.”
Valentin looked livid, but he stayed silent. His dark eyes tracked my every move, and I knew he was a man not to be trusted. We might be from the same cloth, Russian, in the same brotherhood—but when it came to power and money, he would do anything. Even stab his own in the back.
I also didn’t have to go far to know that when push came to shove, Valentin would extend his loyalty to Carlos instead of me.
Valentin’s hands balled into fists at his side. His glare was made to kill. Too bad for him, I had thick skin and thick bones.
I liked to say I was…indestructible.
“Until next time,” I said casually with a nod into their directions.
That was all that was left to say, and with it as my final word, I walked away. I wasn’t scared of being stabbed in the back, though. I had my men with me, behind me, beside me—in front of me.
No one could kill the brain behind the game. The Master of it all.
Long live the fucking King.
Isaak brought me back to the present. I focused on him again. He tsked and raised an eyebrow mockingly. “You need to get laid. What’s wrong? Haven’t been getting it lately? I thought pregnant women want it all the time. Here I thought Maria would have tired you out.”
“You’re pissing me off now,” I growled.
He shrugged. “When am I not pissing you off is the question.”
Boris tried to hide his chuckle behind his fist. At my glare, he replaced it with a cough and looked everywhere in the room except at me. Assholes.
“Maria should be giving birth soon, and she’s been sick lately.” I finally admitted my silent fears. Isaak and Boris lost their teasing look, and both harboured serious expression at my words. They knew how difficult Maria’s last trimester had been. She’d been on bedrest for the last three weeks, and she’d grown progressively weaker.
I hated seeing her like this. Her skin pale and her small body curled up, so fragile and vulnerable. Maria had also lost the weight she had put on since I saved her from that living nightmare.
