Page 34 of Savage Reign

She’s a chess piece in this game, one I’ll move however I need to.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

NIKOLAI

The port workerslumps in a chair, his wrists zip-tied behind him. Sweat beads on his brow, even though we’re in one of the port’s cold storage rooms.

Metal racks filled with crates of goods line the walls, the faint smell of fish and damp concrete lingering in the air.

I circle him slowly, the sound of my boots scraping against the concrete. He shivers, his teeth chattering, though I doubt it’s just from the cold.

“You took something that didn’t belong to you,” I say, my tone deceptively calm. “Tell me why I shouldn’t gut you alive right here?”

The man’s eyes dart around, his panic growing. “I—I had nothing to?—”

I cut him off with a sharp punch to the stomach, my fist driving into his gut with enough force to make the chair rattle against the floor. He groans, his body jerking forward, but the ropes keep him upright.

“Let’s try this again,” I snarl, stepping closer. Vadim places a firm hand on the guy’s shoulder, shoving him back against the chair to steady him. “Who the fuck are you working for? Because I don’t believe for one second that you masterminded the theft on your own.”

Three million dollars of my coke vanished between the port and our warehouses, replaced with fucking baby laxative. It looks the same, weighs the same, and was even packaged the same. But one of my guys noticed a tear in a bag during the inventory check. The powder didn’t dissolve properly, and that’s when alarm bells went off.

After days of asking questions and beating down leads, all signs point to this motherfucker in front of me.

“No one!” he cries, his voice cracking. “It was just me, I swear! I needed the money—my kid’s sick, and the hospital bills?—”

I glance at Vadim, leaning casually against the wall, eating an apple like it’s his lunch break. When I catch his eye, he shakes his head, silently confirming what I already suspected—this mudak doesn’t have kids.

I grip his throat and squeeze, cutting off his air. His eyes bulge, his face turning a deep shade of red as his legs jerk wildly. I hold him there, watching as the panic sets in. When he’s seconds from passing out, I let go, and he slumps back against the chair, gasping for air.

“You’re not walking out of here alive. So you can make it easy on yourself and tell me the fucking truth, or you can make it hard, and I’ll carve it out of you. Either way, you’ll squeal. They always do.”

His eyes dart to Vadim, who’s polishing a machete with a rag. The man whimpers, his pants darkening as he pisses himself. Vadim raises an eyebrow. “You might want to hurry up. I’m feeling generous today, but it won’t last for long.”

“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you what you want to know!” he cries, his voice hoarse.

“Smart choice,” I say, gripping the machete Vadim hands me. The knife’s tip presses under his ribs, enough to make him wince. “Lie to me, and I’ll bury this in your kidneys. Now start talking.”

It’s past midnight when I finally return to the estate. The house is silent, just as I’d expect.

Shrugging off my blazer, I head for my office, the weight of the past three days pressing down on my shoulders.

The port worker talked, just as I knew he would. Turns out, he’d met a couple of guys at a bar not too long ago. A few drinks in, the idiot got chatty—told them where he worked, even bragged about my product coming through the port.

Dumber still, he let them convince him it’d be easy to pull a heist and rip me off. They promised him a cut, but what he didn’t realize was that these clowns belonged to a low-level street gang with delusions of grandeur. They thought they could take me down.

They won’t get the chance. By the end of the night, not one of them will be alive.

I grab a glass from the bar cart and pour a shot of whiskey, tossing it back in one go. The alcohol soothes my frayed nerves, but it doesn’t clear my head.

I’ve barely been home over the last few days. I’d hoped the distance from Sofiya would erase her from my mind, but it hasn’t. She lingers like an ember that refuses to burn out.

It doesn’t help that I watch her on the cameras every chance I get. I didn’t need Emil’s regular updates to know everything she’s been up to: wandering around, playing piano in the music room, reading in the library, and chatting with Yelena, though she mostly stays in her room. It’s taken all my willpower not to watch her in that private space, because if my obsession is already spiraling, seeing her in her most unguarded moments would ruin me entirely.

I pour another shot, the alcohol sliding down smoothly as bad intentions fizz hot and heavy through my veins. I want to see her, feel the warmth of her skin, and hear the soft catch of her breath. But I also want to remind the Syndicate that I’m not a man who tolerates being put on ice.

From my desk drawer, I take out the ring—the one I had designed specifically to match her auburn-streaked hair and the ivory tone of her skin.

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