Page 11 of Desperate Crimes
Yeah, you have.
Well, I’m worse.
The crowned prince of Viper Enterprises.
Heir to the empire my father built alongside my uncles—Luc and Angel.
Men who didn’t inherit power, they took it. Bent the world to their will.
And me? I’m like the upgraded version of those three menaces.
Because I was born with advantages my father and uncles had to claw through the dirt and blood to earn.
Things they bled for. Killed for. Things my mother nearly died protecting.
I didn’t waste what they gave me—I sharpened it.
Refined it.
While the world underestimated me, I studied.
I mastered the law, every loophole, every clause, every technicality that could be twisted into a weapon.
Now when they try to bust us?
I’m the one who walks into courtrooms with a smile and walks out with verdicts that reshape the game.
I know how to play by the rules—but it’s more than that.
I own them.
I rewrite them.
I make new ones.
I’ve got more judges in my pocket than a gambler has poker chips.
More politicians answering my calls than they do their constituents.
I grease the gears of the system with quiet favors and untraceable accounts, and in return?
I get power that doesn’t need blood on its hands—unless I want it there.
Unlike all these new wannabes, men who think they’re the new John Gotti, trying to climb the ladder, I don’t need to posture.
When I want to get something done? I don’t even need to leave a trail of bodies behind me.
I can smile across a boardroom table and gut a man’s future with a signature.
I can destroy legacies with a well-timed phone call.
But don’t mistake that for softness.
Just because I’ve got polish doesn’t mean I won’t get dirty.
I’ll wade through blood if I have to.
Break bones. Shatter kneecaps. Crush windpipes with my bare hands if it means protecting what’s mine.
