The Richest God of War

6. Here to Kill You [I]

The Regal Hotel stood in the south of Albany. It was one of the city's few five-star hotels. It had only eleven floors, but the top floor held a presidential suite as grand as any in the world's biggest cities.

Inside, Wilfred Wade, son of the Albany City Bank chairman, lay on a huge waterbed with a woman in his arms.

Afterward, she rested her head on his chest. "Wil, what about what I asked? I really want to be the number one actress..."

Wilfred patted her bare shoulder and laughed. "Don't worry. I'll call the production team tomorrow. You start small. A supporting role first, so people learn your face. Then I'll get you a lead."

"Wil, you're the best." She giggled, kissed him, and went into the bathroom to wash.

Wilfred watched her go. "Cheap," he muttered with a grin. He sat up, lit a cigarette, and opened the photo album on his phone.

Every photo was of Rosetta.

He stared at her flawless face. "You think you can run from me?" he whispered. "I checked your company's books. Without this loan, it won't last a week. So what will it be? Watch your father's life's work collapse? Or spend one night with me?" He chuckled.

He had wanted Rosetta for a long time. He hated Richard, the nobody who had somehow become her husband, and he wanted to take his place.

Now his chance had come. He had used the Wade family name to make every other bank refuse Williams Clothing Company. Then, through his own bank, he had offered the company a sliver of hope. Rosetta had taken the bait.

By noon tomorrow, he believed, she would walk into this room and be his.

And there was more. He had heard Rosetta had a sister, just as beautiful, who ran the company. When the loan came through, the bank would pay out only half. He would use the rest to trap Yvette too.

Two birds, one stone.

Just as he was savoring the thought, glass shattered in the next room.

The suite had a bedroom and a separate living room. The sound came from the living room.

The woman in the shower heard nothing.

Wilfred jumped up, tied on a bathrobe, and went out.

The living room was dark. A young man sat there in a T-shirt and beach shorts, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a bottle worth over ten thousand dollars. The bottle Wilfred had opened for his date.

Wilfred froze. How had he gotten in?

A cold wind hit his skin. He turned. A hole had been smashed in the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

*Through the window? We're on the eleventh floor. Did he fly?*

"Who are you?" Wilfred shouted. "This is a private suite!"

The man said nothing. He drank the whiskey in one swallow. Then he pointed at the two glasses on the table. "Macallan Lalique. A masterpiece. It should be drunk neat. You mixed it with soda. What a waste."

"Do you know who I am?" Wilfred snapped. He was the eldest son of the Wade family, one of the richest in Albany. In most rooms, those words made people bow. "Get out. Now."

But to a man who had lived ten thousand years, the Wade family was nothing.

"Are you deaf?" Wilfred grabbed his phone. "Get out, or you'll be sorry."

The man poured another glass. And another. He looked ready to finish the whole bottle.

"Damn you!" Wilfred shouted into the phone the moment it connected. "It's me! Get up here! Some idiot broke into my room!"

He hung up and glared. The man still hadn't moved. So Wilfred walked to the wall and flipped on the light.

The darkness fled. He saw the intruder's face.

"You?" He stared. "Richard?"

It was Rosetta's famous good-for-nothing husband. The useless live-in son-in-law of the Williams family.

His fear vanished at once. "It's you! You scared me for nothing!"

Richard said nothing.

"You've got guts," Wilfred sneered, walking closer. "What, did you find out about your wife? Relax. She isn't here. I haven't touched her. Yet. But tomorrow? Come back at this time tomorrow. Maybe you'll see her on her knees, begging. Hahaha!"

His eyes were full of scorn. He knew Richard as a coward, so it never occurred to him to ask how a coward had climbed eleven floors.

"You talk too much," Richard said. "I don't like noise when I drink." He set down his glass.

Then he stood.

*Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.*

Four slaps, two on each cheek, perfectly even. Each one landed hard and loud before Wilfred could blink.

Wilfred stumbled back.

Richard sat down again and poured the last of the whiskey. This time he sipped it slowly.

Outside, the night wind was soft.

Wilfred clutched his burning face. "You... you hit me?"

"I hit you." Richard drank the last drop. "And I'll do more. I'm going to kill you."

Then he smiled, warm and gentle.

That smile frightened Wilfred more than any threat. His heart pounded. But he shook his head and forced himself to stay calm. "You? A live-in son-in-law? Kill me? Do you know who my family is?"

Richard laughed and stood.

Wilfred stepped back.

"I know exactly who you are," Richard said. "The Wade family. So powerful. Do you think they rule Albany?" He walked forward.

Wilfred stepped back again.

"Believe me or not. Tonight I'll kill you. I'll send your head to your family. And tomorrow morning, they won't call the police. They won't ask who did it. They'll hide the whole thing for me."

"You're insane," Wilfred breathed. He pressed a hand to his cheek, eyes full of hate. No one had ever threatened him like this, and it was this man, the joke of the whole city. If word got out, he'd never live it down. His teeth clenched. His fingers shook.

Then the door burst open.

Six hard-faced men rushed in, each with a pistol. Every gun pointed at Richard.

"Hahaha!" Wilfred straightened. The fear in his eyes turned to cruelty. "You said you'd kill me? Go on. What are you waiting for? Scared of guns?"

Guns were banned in a place like this. But that rule was for ordinary people. For a family like the Wades, carrying a gun in public was easy.

This was the Wade family's power, and the root of Wilfred's pride.