The basement felt smaller.
He swallowed hard but kept smiling.
“Eliminate me, and you don’t just remove a problem,” Marco said hoarsely. “You remove the weight that keeps the scale from tipping.”
Volkov’s jaw flexed.
Marco’s voice steadied.
“Rule number one. We fight. We discipline. We teach lessons when necessary.” His eye gleamed. “But we don’t turn knives inward.”
A beat.
“You break that rule,” he whispered, “and you’re not king anymore.”
Volkov’s breathing deepened — once, twice — before he shoved Marco back. The chair slammed against concrete.
Not because he couldn’t kill him.
Because killing him would cost more than blood alone.
Marco dragged in air, smiling through red-streaked teeth.
“Whether you like it or not,” he muttered, “you need me alive.”
He leaned back as far
