The Diamond King

Chapter 1

DRASKO

His scarred face, as always, drew cowardly glances from passersby. His sharp gaze, dark with determination, made them shrivel into themselves.

Many had heard his name, but not many knew his face.

Soon, that would change.

Drasko took a deep drag off the cigarette that hung between his lips and squinted at the sky. A storm was coming.

How fitting.

After today, there would certainly be another scandal. But the game Drasko was involved in was more important. More important, perhaps, than anything he had achieved in his life. Considering that he was the wealthiest diamond miner in the world, that was no small thing.

Twenty of his men followed him, like an army. They were dressed in dark suits with crisp white collars.

Each was prepared for the worst.

Each carried a bag.

The late spring wind howled, tearing at the flaps of their jackets. The heavy dark clouds were about to bring a downpour. The wary passersby parted to let the men through as if they were responsible for the brewing storm.

A crack of thunder broke out through the heavy gray clouds above the city. But Drasko didn’t flinch. He clenched his teeth as the building of interest loomed ahead.

Here it comes …

The letter in the inside pocket of his three-piece suit burned through the expensive fabric with a warning of the consequences if he didn’t obey. The words echoed in his voice, the man long dead who had orchestrated this dangerous game that Drasko was yet to finish.

On May 28th, at precisely fifteen minutes after three in the afternoon, you are to walk into St. John’s Church and present Charles Hatchet, the Earl of Weltingdon, with the document that is enclosed within this letter.

The words replayed in Drasko’s mind over and over again, every step echoing with the instructions he must execute precisely. Or else…

He was used to these tasks, the simple sentences that affected his life every single time with the precision of a well-oiled machine. The dead man was about to change his life again, in a way Drasko had not seen coming. How could he?

The sight of the church’s facade made Drasko flex his gloved hands in spiteful bitterness. Another crack of thunder split the gray sky, about to burst with rain.

He tossed the cigarette away and inhaled the muggy air deeply, his eyes narrowing below his black derby hat.

He was ready. He always was. Yet, one thought nagged at him—with all his wealth, these letters held power over him. Still.

You shall pay with your life.

Today’s task made him steel his spine and grind his teeth with the never-fading hate for the man who had given him everything and yet, from his grave, still pulled the strings like a puppet master.

Who was Drasko to blame though? Years ago, he had sealed his fate with his own blood. And this game had to be completed. After all, this would reveal the decades-long secret of the world’s rarest jewel—the Crimson Tear diamond.

Six tasks—those were the rules of the game. When it was all done, Drasko would be free to act and live as he pleased.

Yet this task was tricky. The bride— that little detail—marred it all.

The young woman in the church was undoubtedly part of the twisted game. Or a victim. Or collateral. Drasko already pitied her. And he hated himself for doing this to her.

But this was the legacy—years of work, two decades of twisted lies, lives buried and broken in the diamond-mining regions of India, others tarnished across the world, as if from a shockwave.

In moments like this, his words always came to Drasko’s mind.

The path of a king is a solitary journey. Wealth is cruel. Love is poison. Compassion is a weakness. World power, however, is worth losing everything else, my boy.

Thunder cracked again above Drasko’s head, and the first heavy drops of rain tapped against his hat.

Almost there.

He wove past the dozens of carriages and lackeys that crowded the building entrance. The doormen bowed, opening the doors for him and his men.

And in this last minute, his treacherous heart betrayed him with a heavy thud against his chest. Then a heavier one, threatening to break out of his ribcage. One had to look into the past to understand the present. And Drasko’s was etched with losses.

The scent of flowers and burned candles wafted at Drasko from the dark gaping doorway. The scent of innocence about to be ruined. She was somewhere inside, and now she was part of the game.

She is yours… , the letter said.

Drasko’s men exchanged knowing looks, their jaws setting tight as they opened their bags.

The church was ready for a celebration that Drasko and his men hadn’t been invited to.

This wasn’t an ordinary day.

Nor was this about to be an ordinary wedding.

Because no men came to a wedding with bags full of guns.