Page 69 of The Shadow King's Brother

My mother's body jerks as if pulled by invisible strings. Her mouth opens, but no words come—just a strangled, breathy gasp. A crimson bloom spreads across her chest, dark and violent. Her eyes find mine, wide, unfocused.

"No!" My scream rips out of me, raw, frantic.

She stumbles, reaching for something—me?—but there's nothing to hold onto. Her knees buckle. The woman who once held my hand and wiped my tears collapses.

My stomach lurches, a horrible, twisting nausea rolling through me.

A slow, deliberate exhale. A shift in the shadows.

Eddie.

Still holding the gun.

Still standing, completely unbothered, as if he hadn't just murdered her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I gasp.

He tilts his head, watching the life drain from her eyes like she's nothing more than a pawn removed from the board. Then, as if sensing my horror, he exhales a quiet, almost amused chuckle.

"Galli in, Galli out," he says.

Fuck. That's what he meant.

"Susan's not good for this business anymore," he says, voice almost conversational. "She's too sentimental. Too... emotional. And she was getting a bit too… self-centered."

Is he kidding? Does he not see himself?

He steps closer.

"But you? You're different. You've got what it takes to run this thing, Victoria. You've got the fire. The drive. I can see it."

My pulse pounds. My hands tremble.

He just killed her.

And now he wants me to replace her.

"You're insane!" I shout, the pain searing through my side and climbing up my chest, anchoring me in place.

"We're all a little insane to be in this business, aren't we, sweetie?" he says cold, undressing me with his eyes. There's something in his voice that's familiar.

Where do I know him from?

He moves closer. I'm still on the floor, paralyzed.

Kneeling beside me, he brushes a few stray strands of hair from my forehead, his touch gentle. His fingers lift my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes—deep brown, unreadable—search mine.

Only now do I notice the tight curls framing his face, his hair cropped so short it was easy to overlook before.

"You still don't know who I am, do you?" he chuckles.

"What are you talking about?" I spit out, my voice sharp despite the searing pain in my side.

"Maybe my last name will jog your memory?"

I swallow hard, pushing down the panic clawing its way up my throat. Curls. Brown eyes. That deceptive, sickening charm.

No. No, it can't be—

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