Viktor Reznov Novels & Stories

Ivan said, pulling out a piece of metal which he’s been burning in coal for the past twenty minutes “I think it’s hot enough right now. I’ll need to test it out though” Viktor tried escaping the restraints, he flailed and trashed; but we all knew that he wouldn’t be able to. The questions that he wanted to ‘answer’ were ones that I already found the answers to. If I was being considerate at first by asking him, wanting to give him the chance to end this smoothly; it was because I was being merciful.

“You called me worthless. You threw coins at me. You don’t get to care now.” “I don’t give a damn what I said then.” His voice was harsh. “You stole from me. Took what was mine. And ran.” “I’m not yours!” I shoved at him. He didn’t move. “And neither is this baby!” “Yes, it is.” His grip closed around my wrist. “Both of you are mine. And you’re coming back to Bloodcrest.” “No.” Panic engulfed me. “No, I won’t—” “Marcus!” Nikolai barked.

Donovan's life actually offered anything worth rambling about. Lying on the plush bed, I absentmindedly traced the design on the ceiling, piecing together the puzzle I'd cobbled together so far. A basic internet search, my first move, hadn't yielded much. Viktor Donovan, a photographer of modest renown specializing in capturing nature's beauty. A few art galleries had showcased his work with lukewarm sales.

His eyes swept over the clubhouse, taking in the laughter and camaraderie around us. Jake stood abruptly from his chair and turned toward Martin, reaching out for a handshake. “Jake Wilson, club president. And you are…?” “Apologies, Jacob, how rude of me,” Viktor said, nodding toward Martin. “This is Martin Volkov. My new second-in-command.” Jake balked at the new information, but he shook Martin’s hand firmly before glancing at me with a puzzled look on his face. I shook my head, raising my whiskey for a toast. “To the death of our common enemies, and the inheritance of empires.”

He was tall, pale, with silver hair and cold grey eyes that moved around the room before he had taken three steps. Viktor Kasarov. He was one of the most discreet arms suppliers operating between Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean. He didn't advertise. He didn't negotiate over phone lines. He met in person, always in neutral cities, always in places that didn't keep records. His inventory was exceptional. His prices were high. His patience was limited. He slid into the booth across from me, extending his hand. I shook it. "Stonewood," he said. "Viktor." I nodded toward the bottle. "Drink?"

the words that she needed. It was something I had to work on and I knew that. I just hoped she wouldn’t be angry with me. Connelly rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth, “Dude, you put your Luna at risk, got her kidnapped, and then ghosted her? Looks, like someone needs to take a relationship class or two.” I stepped forward and Nick was still between us with one hand on Connelly’s chest and one hand on mine, “What the fuck would you know about relationships, Con? Where’s your mate? Last time I checked, she rejected your ass.” I backed away as I saw the hurt flash in Connelly’s eyes and I instantly felt awful for saying that. Connelly had been sick to his stomach for a year after his mate re

he said flatly, lifting a glass of whiskey to his mouth. Ice clinked as his fingers shifted. I couldn’t help noticing the small, bleeding cuts across his knuckles... and remembering what that man’s face looked like afterward. Goddess, Lorenzo was a sexy brute. “That’s me… Victoria Bian… Greco” I answered, standing there like I was in an interview. “About last night…” “The first time, you didn’t think the Greco family was worthy. You were too ‘precious,’” he cut in coldly, one dark brow lifting.

“Enough to come crawling out of the shadows after nearly twenty years.” The air between them pulsed with quiet danger. Viktor Natov wasn’t just a threat—he was history reborn. He was the architect of the ruin that had driven the Volkov family from Bulgaria. He had orchestrated the assassination that had taken Yelena Volkov’s life. And for that alone, Dante knew that working with him was dancing on a blade’s edge. But sometimes, you needed a monster to destroy another.

Viktor talked for two hours. The details he provided were precise and, as Silas confirmed when Kieran brought him in to cross-reference, accurate. The meeting location Viktor described matched a known rogue contact point Silas had used himself eighteen months ago, before Azrik had shifted his network's operations further west. The messenger's description aligned with a figure Silas identified as Vex Nightclaw, Azrik's second in command, who told them the rogue leader had considered Viktor's potential cooperation significant enough to send someone senior.

“To mark my reach there, too.” His brows lifted, surprise flickering across his sharp features. “If you’re already making moves like this…” His gaze narrowed. “You must already have someone in Russia. Someone worth your confidence.” I didn’t flinch. “Roman Voronin.” Henri exhaled a short laugh, sitting back in his chair. “Voronin?” His tone was amused, but his eyes gleamed with respect. “So that’s why Reznikov panicked tonight.” Dante’s head turned sharply at the name, but he didn’t interrupt. His silence wrapped around me like fire and ice.