JULIUS
"I love when people beg for their lives," I muttered, brushing specks of blood off my gloves. "It reminds me that even gods have worshippers."
"Please... Mr. Ruvanov," the man on the floor sobbed, crawling toward me, his face smeared with blood and desperation. "I didn't mean to betray you. I had no choice. Just give me one more chance—I'll be your loyal dog, I swear—"
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Four bullets. No hesitation.
"Game over," I said calmly, holstering my gun. "You should've thought twice before shaking hands with the enemy."
I stepped away from the now lifeless body and headed out of the basement, rolling my sleeves back down.
Louis, already waiting near the exit, greeted me with a small nod. "Mr. Ruvanov, the shipment arrived safely. We've received full payment. Also—Mr. Abraham has offered to double the amount if we agree to his next deal."
A smirk tugged at my lips. "That's the kind of news I like to hear. There's a reason you're my right-hand man, Louis. You don't disappoint."
"Thank you, sir," he replied, matching my stride as we walked down the corridor.
This week had been almost too perfect—until that fool tried selling our intel to our rivals. But of course, we got to him before he could speak. And now? He's rotting six feet under. Where traitors belong.
I loosened my collar, sighing. "I need a shower. His blood is ruining my favorite suit."
Because no matter who they are—enemy, outsider, or blood—anyone who betrays me signs their own death warrant.
Steam curled around the bathroom like mist in a battlefield, dense and heavy with silence. The hot water hit my skin with force, washing away the blood, the stench of betrayal, and the memory of those pathetic final pleas.
The crimson spiraled down the drain, fading into nothing.
I leaned against the cold marble tiles, eyes shut, letting the tension dissolve. Moments like this were rare—clean, quiet, still. But peace was never permanent in my world.
Within the hour, I stepped out in a fresh black button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a custom-fit charcoal blazer. No tie. My hair still damp. My scent—lethal. Armani mixed with danger.
By nightfall, I was seated at the back of La Fantôme, our usual hideout in the heart of the city. The lounge was low-lit, private, and ran under our payroll. Every staff member here knew better than to listen, and better yet—knew when to leave.
My glass clinked against Milo's as I sank into the velvet booth.
"You took your sweet time," Levi smirked, downing his drink. "What did you do, wash your sins off or sculpt abs with soap?"
I gave him a look. "Took care of a mess. Like always."
Joseph leaned in with a snort. "By mess you mean the guy you blew four holes into?"
"You should've seen it," Milo grinned, half-drunk already. "One minute he's crying, the next—boom. Four in the skull. Classic Julius."
"Guy was begging like my ex," Levi added with a crooked grin. "Only difference? My ex walked away."
Everyone burst out laughing—except me. I just swirled the amber liquid in my glass, eyes half-lidded.
"Do you think I do this for fun?" I said, voice low. The laughter died fast.
"Alright, alright," Joseph raised both hands. "No offense, boss. You know we're just messing."
Edgar, who'd been quiet until now, spoke up. "But really—four shots? A bit much, don't you think?"
I looked him dead in the eyes. "No. One was mercy. The rest was memory."
A cold silence passed. Then Levi raised his glass again.
"To loyalty," he said quickly.
"To fear," Milo added, chuckling nervously.
"To knowing when to shut the hell up," I finished, downing my drink and setting the glass down with a final clink.
They all got the message. Loud and clear.