"She fell in love with his demons."



18 Reign I Gusev

"Please, Reign, if I—I knew, I could never. I... would never." Trent's voice quivered, his body shaking in terror. I stood before him, my men crowding the room, a silent reminder of what was to come of his impeding doom.

I finished my drink and set the glass down on the desk. My eyes never left him. I've been a witness to his pitiful tendencies over some years—his lies, his deceit—and now, today had sealed it for me. The moment of reckoning had arrived. My Ami, she was uncomfortable to be around this cock sucker, hands that weren't mine touching her.

Trent is notorious for his sly behavior, yet somehow he never faces any consequences. While his actions haven't directly impacted my family or business, they certainly don't reflect sanity—more a reckless daring, if anything. I'm inclined to think he's lost his fucking grip on reality, but tonight, he's fortunate. I'm in a more tolerable mood than usual.

I'm filled with excitement.

"What brings you to this auction Trent?" I asked him, folding my arms leaning against the edge of the desk. "It's been a while since we last talked."

"As you know, you gotta spend money to make money am I right?" The son of a bitch laughed.

I smiled and replied, "Of course."

He continued, "I hope there's no bad blood between us, given our history."

"Nyet, why would there be problems? Your family, no?" I reached for the scotch, filling two glasses before handing him one. "How about a toast?"

Trent interrupted. "May I?" I fell silent, curious to hear his pathetic choice of words. He cleared his throat, his eyes sweeping over the room. "I'm toasting to a new business venture. Tonight, we become even more successful men. Wealthier than before, and this time, Reign, you take me in as a partner."

I smirked as he raised his cup. We shared a brief clink. "Salud." He downed the drink, savoring the dark liquor. At this point, my patience was wearing thin—Trent was starting to feel like a problem that needed erasing.

I glanced up at Polka.

Right away he grabbed Trent by the back of the neck slamming the side of his face down on the wooden desk top. The glass drops from his hand shattering on the floor. Trent grunted trying to fight back, but the grip around his neck only grew tighter by his pointless struggle.

Finally, the last desperate cry for help sent a surge of satisfaction through me. I finished off the rest of my drink, a sense of anticipation stirring in my chest for what was coming next.

Leaning down to Trent's ear, I whispered,"This is deeper than some fucking bad blood my old friend, you touched my woman. You always had issues with keeping your hands to yourself. Don't you Trent?" I went to claim the beautiful machete sitting against the wall.

"Which hand did you use?"

I rotated the knife around inspecting the design, very nice detailing —I think I may get one just like. It was still silent, I glance over my shoulder, he has yet to make a move. What a dangerous choice.

I snapped my fingers for my drill with a long thin attachment. I'm finding my comfort on the handle. I approached his bent over frame.

"Our history hm? Then you should know I don't fucking ask twice." Inserting the drill in his ear, pressing the on button, the sound was like music to my ears. The vibration and his excruciating screams. Blood splattered everywhere, I forced the drill deeper. My hand almost dipped in the color red.

What a psychotic sight.

"Alright! Alright! O-Ok— j-just s-stopp p-please " He tiredly groans while he fails to completely put his left hand on the table. He's gradually losing life just from his eyes, refraining from staying awake.

"That's it." I laugh in pleasure, once his hand lazily dropped on the table. I snatched the bloody drill from inside his ear, tossing it on the floor. Polka removes his hands from around his neck, it obvious he can't move.

I gestured for the use of the machete, he marched over perfectly slicing off Trent's hand from the wrist, letting it roll off the desk onto the floor, falling at my feet. I stepped on the fingers not satisfied until I hear the bones crack.

I sighed, how very disappointing, "He had good heart, Vy znayete, chto delat'." (You know what to do.)

I took my handkerchief cleaning at my hands as I headed for the exit. At last, Trent's screaming began to die down. Roscoe has been keeping my Ami company to long. I don't fucking like it.

"Eti chertovy amerikantsy. ochistite krov' my zdes' gosti." I laughed leaving out the room. (These fucking Americans. Clean up the blood, we're guests here.)

•••

"Thank you for joining us on this fine evening," I hear the host say urveying the room. I'd been invited to countless auctions in the past, but only a select few ever piqued my interest. I'm not one to seek the spotlight—my assistants attend most events on my behalf.

My wealth comes from my bloodline, rooted in the infamous underworld. But I made it my life's work to turn my last name, and all the power that came with it, into something more business-savvy—something respectable. That's why Bayard Investments exists. You can hire anyone in the world to clean up your family's mess, as long as the price is right.

The first girl in tiny lingerie was escorted onto the circle stage, she's obviously been drugged. A scar put on view from her belly button to the centre of her chest. Pretty girl nevertheless, but she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"2 million."

Ami and I were seated in the last row observing, I don't plan on buying, it's not my line of business. I had work in America, I thought I'd stop by since those Ukrainians had enough balls to show up at my house. Me respecting their bravery cost me a laughable two hundred and fifty thousand cash buy in.

Time passed, each bid delivered in hushed, almost reverent tones, as gloved hands raised paddles with calculated precision. It was all so mechanical, yet there was an undeniable tension in the air. I glanced at Ami and decided it was time to leave. I took her hand, ready to stand, but she squeezed mine, still not moving. Her eyes stayed locked on the stage.

She's refusing to leave?

Those eyes of hers, the ones I always found so intoxicating, held a question—an unspoken curiosity. Her gaze fell on the drugged girl in white lace, the masquerade mask obscuring her face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host's voice cut through the air, "the star of the night, the only untouched merchandise of today, and she just so happens to carry the world's most precious diamond... The Kohinoor."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd—"Oh's" and "Ah's" echoing off the walls, along with the sharp sounds of phone calls being made. Bids went up immediately, without a second's hesitation.

"Two hundred for the first bidder," the host announced. I slowly sat back down, feeling the weight of the moment. The host scanned the room, searching for another raised hand.

"Three hundred, can I get a four?"

Ami turned to look at me, sorrow flooding her eyes. She took the deepest breath, as if steeling herself, before she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "F-Forgive me."

Then, with trembling fingers, she raised her hand—five fingers on display, signaling a bid.

Is she fucking with me?

I glared at her, confused and a little stunned. What the hell was she doing? But instead of reacting right away, I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. A flicker of intrigue sparked inside me. I couldn't help it. I was curious to see just where this was going.

"Five hundred million for..." The host stammered, his words faltering as they got lost in his throat. He struggled to continue, his voice shaky. "...Lady Gusev."

The room fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Every gaze in the place was locked on us with unnerving intensity. It felt like the walls themselves were closing in.

My beautiful Ami could spend all my money if she wanted—shop until her heart's content, live like a queen, do whatever she pleased. But this? This was something I couldn't quite wrap my head around. I wasn't sure why she'd go this far. I had to calm myself, so I subtly clenched my fists, willing my temper to stay in check.

The amount didn't surprise me, though. Ami had the option to outbid a billion if she wanted to. I wasn't easily phased by money or power, but this was different. The game had changed, and I was curious to see how far she'd take it. My temper comes from a place knowing Amina just bought a drugged up prostitute from a sex trafficking ring under my families last name.

My phone started vibrating in my pocket, a harsh reminder of the stakes. Amina, you better know what you're doing.

The man who had taught me everything—the first lessons on torture, the cold art of killing—wasn't far from my thoughts. My dedushka, Rafa Mikhail Gusev, the patriarch of my bloodline, the one who had molded me into what I was today, was going to be paying us a visit.

And when Rafa showed up, people didn't simply feel his presence; they feared it. The room felt heavier as I glanced at Ami, wondering if she understood just how deep she was wading into this. I couldn't afford to let my guard down, not now.

•••

It's her—the girl from the alley in Brazil. I remember those innocent brown eyes, the desperate plea for help. It feels like this was meant to happen, like some twisted fate has brought us together again. In my current position, there's little I can do, but I'm hoping Reign might have some shred of sympathy for her.

We were the only ones still seated, and the silence hung heavy in the air. He hadn't spoken a word, and I didn't have the strength to even glance at him. Roscoe sat beside him, silent as well. But I couldn't let this girl be in the same room as me again without doing something. I had been beating myself up ever since that night in Brazil for not speaking up for her. It was supposed to happen this way, no matter the cost. I couldn't stay passive this time.

"Brother." His tone was a low warning as he glanced at me.

"Roscoe, I will have you shot for that tone," Reign said, his voice steady. "Walk away."

Roscoe's eyes darkened, and with a menacing look, he rose to his full height, buttoning his suit jacket. "Dedushka called, demanding to put a face to the new Lady Gusev. Tomorrow." With that, he left, leaving me alone with Reign.

"Reign, I—" I began, but before I could finish, he took hold of my hand and pulled me to my feet. A sudden migraine hit, and a wave of nausea followed. My vision blurred, and I almost lost my balance. Reign caught me effortlessly, his strong hands steadying me as he held my face.

Everything had become too much, too fast.

He gently inspected my face, his brows furrowing with concern. "You're pale, Amina."

"No no, I'm okay I promise." I whispered striving to muster up a small smile.

""We'll see a doctor right away." Reign kissed my forehead, and the immediate loss of breath caught in my chest, making my heart race. I couldn't speak, couldn't form the words. "Don't worry." His thumb gently stroked my cheek, but there was something deeper in his touch, a meaning I couldn't quite place. The weight of it pressed down on me—my secret was on the verge of being exposed.

"Reign, I—I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice shaky.

"Why are you sorry, Ami?" His eyes searched mine, but I couldn't answer. My voice betrayed me, leaving me silent.

"I... I'm sorry about tonight. How about... she'll be a maid at the estate?" I quickly suggested, trying to shift the focus, to change the topic, but the words felt hollow.

"We'll talk about your purchase soon," Reign replied calmly, "but for now, health is more important."

I felt something inside me crack. A sharp, painful realization twisted through me as I pressed a hand to my stomach. There, growing slowly, was the tiny heartbeat of the child I didn't expect—my child. The pain in my chest was almost unbearable. This baby, innocent and fragile, was about to have a mentally unstable mother and a psychotic killer for a father.

I wanted to protect it, but could I? Would I ever be enough?

We were escorted out of the building when a glass window suddenly shattered behind us. Instinctively, I flinched and ducked, but Reign didn't move a muscle—he remained as still and composed as ever. The sound of ear-piercing screams filled the air, and my panic only worsened. Cars sped off in every direction, chaos erupting around us, making it all feel like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

Reign's arm remained securely around me, guiding my unsteady steps, his calm presence anchoring me as the world seemed to spiral. I couldn't help but glance behind us, my heart suddenly plunging in my chest.

The scene unfolding wasn't just chaos—it felt like a warning, a shift in the air that made everything feel darker, more dangerous. I could sense something was coming, and it terrified me.

Trent soaked in blood struggling to stay alive as he hung out the window with a rope tied around his neck. He didn't fight it, just faintly swaying until he took his last breathe.

I looked up at Reign, trying to steady my breathing, as he opened the car door for me. But as I slid into the seat, I couldn't escape the unwanted view of the tragedy unfolding behind us. A man stood over the hanging body of another, the lifeless figure swaying in the wind. The sound of a single gunshot rang out, echoing in the silence as the bullet struck the top of the man's skull, ending his life in a cold, brutal instant.

The car door shut behind me with a heavy thud, and before I could fully process what I'd seen, Reign fastened my seatbelt for me. I shakily met his eyes, trying to steady myself, but all I saw were those perfect white teeth as he gave me a small, almost reassuring smile.

His fingers brushed the hair from my face with a gentleness that didn't match the chaos around us. His thumb traced over my top lip, and even in the midst of everything, I couldn't help but be mesmerized by the tenderness of the moment.

"Beautiful," he murmured softly, his voice a contrast to the violence we'd just witnessed. The contradiction of it all—this quiet affection in the eye of such a storm—sent a shiver down my spine.

•••