Viktor Reznov Novels & Stories

Victor added. ****

From the old Nokia cell phone laying on top of my textbooks, I chuckle as I remember this phase of my life - Boring Viktor. I was a stickler for rules, never bending them for anyone, and had finished high school the day before I turned sixteen. My uncle, Dominik, advised me to go in the accounting direction since it would be an asset to the Bratva side of our family. I didn’t mind since crunching numbers was quite easy for me and I enjoyed it. But as I watch myself pace the floor in worry, I realize that it’s the day before I turned sixteen - the day before my Mate Bond Sighting clicked.

“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?"

okay?” Nick was concerned because I was in the middle of a mind link when Knox took over and sprinted around the lake to get to her. “I’m fine, but Knox scared the poor girl so bad she tripped and knocked herself out.” I heard Connelly gasp through the mind link, “Is the Luna okay? Do we need to come down there. Fuck it. I’m coming and bringing the first aid kit.” Connelly was a bit out there. His mate had rejected him a few years back and he has learned to cover up that pain with humor. In all reality it’s sad, but I gave him purpose when I made him my Gamma and I’m glad that I did. He is stronger than what he appears and light on his feet. He is also incredibly smart. I have left him in c

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.