Merciless Heir Kozlov Empire 1 VK

The snow had no mercy.

It didn't care about the blood soaking into it. Didn't care about the boy lying motionless beside two lifeless bodies. The blizzard howled like it was mocking him-howling with the same cruelty that had ripped his world apart.

He was thirteen when it happened.

Thirteen when he watched the only people he ever loved fall to the ground, their bodies riddled with bullets, their eyes wide in betrayal. His mother's hand had reached for him, trembling, her mouth trying to form his name even as life drained from her lips. His father had gone down without a sound-eyes locked on the boy, silent as the grave he was seconds from entering.

Then came the silence.

Not the consoling kind, but the sort that seeps into every crevice of your body until you are unable to breathe. The snow fell more forcefully. Boots crunching away, laughing resonating in the trees, the men who had done it were gone. One of them had uttered the name to him:

"Tell Victor that the work is finished."

Victor.

The boy's spirit was marked by that name, which burned deeper and brighter than the cold and the anguish.

He refrained from crying.

He didn't yell.

It wasn't until daylight that he moved. The blood was frozen by then. His heart was the same.

Ten years later,

The hunter's black coat whipped in the wind as he stood at the cliff's brink. His expression was impenetrable and icy. The last of the setting sun fell on the scar across his jaw.

A group of armored cars crawled along the mountain trail under him, oblivious to the predator above.

With his weapon in his hands and his gaze fixed on the lead automobile, he knelt slowly. Not quite yet. It was all about timing. It everything went south with one misstep. This was too long overdue. Tracking for three days. Four informants were bought off. To keep the trail chilly, two were eliminated. He got closer with each stride.

In criminal circles, his moniker was now a whisper:

Cain.

They were unaware of his true identity.

They simply knew that someone vanished when he showed up.

No second chances.

No haggling.

Without mercy.

The quiet was broken by the trigger, like a hot knife, the bullet ripped through the engine block of the lead vehicle.

Flames grew.

There were screams. With the weapon slung over his back, Cain was already on the move, gliding deadly precision down the ice ridge. The air was obscured by smoke.

There was panic.

Like a shadow, he moved. There was never any opportunity for the guards. Before the others knew they were being pursued, two were down with silent shots. As he reached for his radio, the third fell. The fourth one took off Cain gave him permission. Sometimes, fear caused more harm than death.

A man cowered inside the last automobile, gasping on smoke. When he signed the shipment orders, his suit was soiled and he was rambling prayers to a God he couldn't recall.

Grabbing him by the collar, Cain tore open the door.

"Wait! I'll talk, please! Whatever you want, I'll give it to you! "I know," Cain stated bluntly. "That explains your continued existence." It was freezing in the warehouse.

Concrete cold, not snow cold, Gray, dead, Exactly what Cain required.

Alvarez was the man's name. A minor middleman in a trafficking organization that dealt in drugs, firearms, and human beings. Cain had no interest in the actual procedure. There was just one thing he desired:

a name.

the uppermost one.

The one pulling the strings.