Chapter 10
ten
The Reaper
Death is such a dramatic, finite thing.
So poetic. So useful.
I shed my old skin like a snake. Cracked open the ribcage of the life I had, peeled out the soft, trembling thing inside, and taught it how to bite.
Cressida used to say I had a soft heart.
And I did.
But soft things rot.
Especially in this life.
So, I carved the weakness out, bone by bone, until there was nothing left but purpose.
Now they whisper my name like a ghost story.
The Reaper.
I like that.
I earned that.
The warehouse is cold and empty except for the hum of the equipment and the ghosts of the ones who never made it back out.
I watch the new batch cook, the serum simmering in its sterile little container, red as a heartbeat and just as volatile. This one’s stronger. It’s faster and meaner, burning through the veins and stripping the soul bare.
It’s beautiful.
One of my volunteer’s coughs behind me, the wet sound in his lungs alerting us to his impending death.
His hand trembles as he labels the vials. He knows better than to speak without permission. I like that about him.
He flinched when he first saw me, like some part of his lizard brain recognized the wrongness under my skin.
Smart boy.
But he stayed. They always do. The broken ones. The lost. The angry.
They follow me because I don’t offer salvation.
I offer clarity.
And power.
Konstantin thinks I’m playing drug dealer. That I’m undermining his little empire just to rattle the bars of his Bratva cage.
It’s small thinking for such a smart man.
No, this isn’t about product.
It’s about purity.
It’s about the powerful bloodlines who built their thrones on blood and fate. On the idea that power is inherited, sacred, something only the chosen deserve.
But I wasn’t chosen, was I?
Even with all my brilliance. Even with my loyalty. My sacrifice to the mafia lifestyle. I wasn’t born with the right last name. The right abilities. The right blood. I was only useful for one thing—fucking whoever I was told to fuck.
So, I’ll create my own throne and my own bloodline.
I’ll create my own abilities.
Something more pure, more powerful than any man could ever dream of being.
Abilities the chosen ones try to keep hidden. But when you study people long enough, you learn who is powerful and who is just pretending they are.
When I choose to reveal myself, I won’t come crawling. I’ll come crowning, and every single one of them will kneel.
Even her.
Sweet, stupid Cressida and her silly little shadow, Sunniva.
I step closer to the table and pick up a vial, holding it to the light. It glows, iridescent and hungry.
Just like me.
The next shipment goes out tonight. More cities to create more chaos. Menace and mayhem wrapped in pretty, sparkly vials of liquid.
I don’t want to watch the world burn.
I want to remake it.
No more inherited power. No more fated bloodlines.
Just strength. Earned, bought, bottled, and injected.
Deserved.
I’ll shatter every bloodline who believes they’re more powerful than me. Not with an army and not with bombs, but from the inside.
I’ll crack their foundation, twist their laws, and poison their future.
And when it crumbles . . .
I’ll build something better from the ashes.
The trembling man finally speaks up. “Shipment’s ready, boss.”
Boss.
I love how that sounds.
“Good,” I whisper, still staring at the vial. “Send it out. Let them taste the power they can have if they kneel at my feet.”
I place the vial back into its case, snap it shut, and smile.
There’s blood on my hands, but it’s the cleanest I’ve ever felt.
Let Konstantin come for me. Let him bring his fury and his righteous little vendetta.
I want him to.
Because by the time he finds me . . .
I’ll already have her.