Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Godric’s stare remained latched on mine. He was in a long-sleeved shirt, so the ink on his arms was hidden from view. He was tall like I was, muscular because he lifted every morning and night, always determined to be bigger than me. “I trusted you, Mother. That won’t happen again.”
“Trust hasn’t been betrayed,” she said. “My only desire is for my sons to speak to each other.”
He turned his gaze on her, his rage restrained. “You set me up—”
“I want my sons to speak to each other.”
He gave her a furious stare before he turned away from the table, kicking his chair hard and making it tip over then slide across the rug. “Alright, let’s talk.” He raised his voice to a yell so all the staff throughout the house could hear. “What does this shithead have to say?”
I was still on the other side of the room, looking at my brother thirty feet away, standing in the dining room that had vaulted ceilings twenty feet in the air. The curtains were pulled away from the windows, showing the lights of the city outside, the drops of rain that stuck to the glass.
“Speak, boy.” He gave a loud whistle, calling me like a dog.
Mother gave a quiet sigh as she watched this derail before it even could start down the track.
I knew he was pissed that his own mother had personally bested him, and like a child, he was throwing a tantrum. I moved to the sitting area and took a seat in one of the cushioned armchairs. I crossed one ankle on the opposite knee then gestured to the other armchair for him to sit.
He stared at me, his breaths visible in the way his chest rose and fell. He walked past the table, snatched the water glass off the surface, and threw it against the wall on his way, missing my head by a few inches. It shattered, and water soaked into the rug.
I didn’t react.
Godric dropped into the armchair across from me, his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward, giving me that lethal stare.
Moments passed. The music continued to play overhead.
The butler and guards entered the room to investigate the commotion. Someone turned off the sound system.
We continued to stare each other down.
Mother approached us near the coffee table, wearing black trousers and a tweed vest, a coat hanger draped in jewelry. With her hands together at her waist, she looked at us both. “I only have one son at any time, and I would like to have two. There is nothing more sacred than the blood you two share, the blood of emperors, the blood of power. It’s a shame to waste this life as opponents rather than allies.” She looked at each of us before she grabbed the gun off the dining table and exited the room.
The silence was deafening, so stagnant it made the air stale. I stared at blue eyes identical to my own but saw a man who couldn’t be more different in every way that mattered. We used to get along as kids, but once we became adults, our morals and politics ripped us apart like a thin sheet of paper.
He didn’t speak, just continued to stare me down like a cockroach he needed to squash.
“It’s just a conversation.”
“A conversation that won’t change anything—and therefore, a waste of time.” He sat back and slouched into the chair, his elbow propped on the armrest with his closed fist against his hard chin. “A fucking waste of time.”
“I don’t want it to be this way.”
“You aren’t the only one who shares that sentiment.”
“Godric—”
“How long do you think this will last? Policing those who can’t be policed. Making rules for the lawless and ungoverned. How long do you think it’ll be before your body dangles from a crane over Notre-Dame? You say it’s about morality, but it can’t be if you’re directly profiting from it.”
“You know how much money they save when they don’t have to hide their transports? When they pass straight through customs? When they load their shipments onto the docks in broad daylight? Time and money, all saved under the Fifth Republic. They save far more money than what they pay in taxes.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But the cost of labor has diminished their profits considerably.”
“Well, that’s too fucking bad,” I snapped. “A million euros poorer, what a fucking tragedy.”
“It’s a lot more than a million—”
“Still inconsequential.”
“Easy for you to say when you’re pulling in a million per day…on average.”
“I’m sure you make a lot more than that, Godric.”
“The money matters, but it doesn’t matter as much as the principle of it. We run our businesses as we see fit, and following the rules of some pompous little prick is a load of bullshit. You have your beliefs and that’s fucking fine, but the rest of us don’t. Don’t make carnivores eat asparagus just because you’re a goddamn vegetarian.”