Viktor Reznov Novels & Stories

Two men stood next to Victor, and their presence sent a spurt of frozen adrenaline through his system. To his right, there sat Dmitri Volkov, the notorious "Tsar of Siberian Gas." The granite-jawed mogul with a track record for crushing competitors with the tacit support of the Kremlin. He was oligarchy personified—Politically unstoppable, pitiless, and wallowing in mineral wealth.

They all wanted a piece of revenge, and they would not think twice about using Isabelle's name to get my full attention. ​I thought about Viktor Volkov, a powerful international broker whose entire network I had taken down three whole years ago. He had lost everything in a single week, his vast wealth, his influence, and his grand reputation. The last update I received from my field team said he was hiding out somewhere in Eastern Europe, constantly plotting a way to strike back at me. He had even sent a written message to my private office once, a short, sharp line delivered in a red envelope: I will take away everything you hold dear.

In the center of the room was a cradle, and behind it, a man sat in a throne-like chair. Viktor Russo was older than Rage, his hair a shock of white, his face scarred by a jagged line that ran from his temple to his chin. He wasn't wearing a suit; he wore a simple, black turtleneck. He looked calm. He looked bored. "Rage Vane," Viktor’s voice came through the speakers, deep and melodic. "I must congratulate you. The 'Golden Blood' transfusion was a bold move. Very few men would risk their own neural stability to save a woman who tried to run from them. You have a heart, after all. A pity."

He sat in front of a bank of monitors alongside Leo Vance. “Sir, we have located the fake ‘father’,” Leo reported. “He’s hiding in a safe house owned by Lady Eleanor in Richmond. His name is Viktor, a former stage actor who underwent extensive plastic surgery.” Mavric didn’t answer. He simply grabbed a bottle of whiskey and drank directly from it. His eyes were red not from alcohol, but from suppressed fury. “Prepare the strike team,” Mavric ordered, his voice ice-cold. “I want that house flattened. Bring Viktor to me alive. I want him to feel what it’s like to die twice.”

“A woman who has chosen hiding rather than family, you came to play the good guy?” “No.” I tilted my head. “I came to warn you.” His wolf bristled. “About what?” “You’re playing a cold game,” I whispered, stopping his wolf with a flick of my finger. “And you’re losing. You are just failing to see it.” The silence that followed was thick, suffocating even for them. Lorenzo’s voice dropped, dangerous. “To who?” “Xavier Blackthorn.” I locked eyes with him. “And Valerie. The Luna you’re underestimating more than anyone. The weak pawn that you think you can play.”

“You would be dying for a good cause, “ he gripped my hand tighter, pulling me closer. “If Nikolas finds out what you’re doing, I will kill you myself.” He let me go, and I instinctively clutched my wrist in pain. He got up from the table after tucking the document I gave him inside the jacket of his coat. “Go on, Antonio. I would like to talk to Viola about women's business.” He left with a huff, leaving me with Mother. “Guess who I saw at the Cartier store the other day?” She asked. Without waiting me to answer, she did it for me, “Aurora Mancini.”

Chapter Forty- Eight - New Beginnings Reyna's POV It was hard to believe it had already been two weeks since Ivan was captured. The media went into a frenzy about it. Especially when Ivan begged them to believe he wasn't who he was said to be. The cherry on top was the statement he released when he pled not guilty to the charges. Claiming a wolf and his psychotic daughter framed him, I had a great laugh at the officers as they tried to take me in to prove his claims true or false.

“You’re the reason we’ve been able to keep the peace. You’re a true leader.” Donovan smiled, basking in their praise, feeling the camaraderie that bound them together. “I appreciate all of you. It’s not just about me; it’s about all of us. Together, we’re stronger.” As he watched the video of the inciter’s failed attempt to rally the factions against him, he felt a sense of pride swell within him. Despite the dangers lurking in the shadows, he had established a network of loyal allies, ensuring that his reign would not be easily threatened.

His slicked-back dark hair and the heavy silver ring on his index finger completed the look of someone who operated with precision and was not to be crossed. “Miss Celia Romano,” he said, his voice deep and low, with a faint accent she couldn’t place. “I’m Viktor Malcov. I will be briefing you on your new position.” Celia nodded slowly, her back straightening, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Malcov.”

His voice was a soft whisper against my ear, devoid of any warmth. "You will be my greatest asset. You will be his kryptonite and his nemesis. I can see why Sokolov is really into you." Vlad Kuznetsov. The name finally clicked into place, not as a memory of a face or a specific event, but as a reputation, a name whispered in hushed tones in certain circles, a titan of industry with a dark underbelly, known for his relentless ambition and unforgiving nature.