Czar Gregovivk Part 2

"And it was because he couldn't hide it that the girl of his dreams was the sweet waitress from a humble family. Valéria, his first wife, with whom he was legally married, ordered him to end the pregnancy of his illegitimate child and to break up with my mother. As you can see, my father didn't get rid of me, nor did he abandon my mother; he did the opposite of what Valéria wanted. Bitter and filled with resentment, Valéria left my father, but she never gave him the satisfaction of signing the divorce, leaving him unable to legally unite with my mother. But the old man didn’t care about that; he treated my mother like his sovereign queen, giving her everything his money could buy. A lot of money, coming from the Gregovivk empire, built on unscrupulous work done in the mafia, arms trafficking, drugs, jewel smuggling, and anything else that brought in profit.
My old man, always ambitious, knew in his youth that he didn't want to stay stuck in the muck forever, and little by little he transformed his fate, digging through the dirt among the pigs until he entered the oligarchy of Russia. But as he used to say: you can get out of this shit life, but you can't take the sadism out of the blood of the Gregovivks. My father raised us to follow his path, wanting us to follow in his footsteps. By the time I was sixteen, digital security systems were a pastime for me, like a simple game of 'spot the difference.' I could break bank codes, making transfers of millions in five minutes, leaving no trace at all. Personal data, names erased, new records being created at the Federal Police, anything that was in the system, I could access. This caught the attention of my father's old friends, who hired me to track people, erase names from the system, and hack into competing companies.
I didn’t care what they used what I gave them for; I just liked pushing my abilities to the limit. And it was in this twisted desire to test everything that my first perversion awakened within me. After all, being a Gregovivk without any mental disturbance was not worthy of carrying that surname. My brother had a severe inability to control his anger; he could cause massive destruction when something bothered him, had an ego that was more inflated than his tiny cock. He still resented my mother for taking the place of his mother next to my father, but I didn’t care; I never cared about that damn surname or the family's power.
The only thing that could capture my attention more than codes and programs was the beauty of fire; I was in love with it. My mother used to say that I had always liked it since I was a boy. I would strike a match, set fire to dry leaves just to watch it grow strong and untamed. But as the years went by, it wasn’t just struck matches and burned leaves that fascinated me. When I was seventeen, I lost control of my passion for fire and wished to see it spread in the abandoned boat house at the end of our property. I wanted to hear the crackling of burning wood, the infernal heat of its flames. I was so euphoric watching that I didn’t notice the greater disaster that was about to happen. I got too close, completely zoned out, trapped in the pleasure of watching the flames. A piece of wood broke free from the ceiling and hit my head.
I woke up three weeks later in the hospital with 40% of my back burned and the news that my mother had died trying to save me, pulling me from the fire. She inhaled so much smoke that her lungs couldn’t take it. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. My old man was devastated, as if he had lost the reason for his life. His spirit, as he called her; and even though I knew I was the one responsible for her death, he never blamed me, never said anything to make my soul feel more cursed than it already was.
I spent an entire year dealing with the pain, not just the physical pain but the anguish of my fucked-up soul that had killed my own mother. I refused to leave the Gregovivk mansion that my father had given her to live in the day she told him she was pregnant. I hated myself, hated the world, wished I had died along with her. I screamed through the pain of my burned skin, trying to cauterize it, and the demons that were eating me alive, disturbing my mind.
Then came Sodoma, in a cunning and treacherous way, using my pain to make me stand, and what Sodoma couldn’t do, it would conquer. By the age of twenty, locked inside the mansion, having only my brain and technology to help me escape my guilt, I had already built my own empire, encrypting security systems for the participants of Sodoma, both in their lives inside and outside. Bankers, judges, the military, powerful men who wanted their names and assets hidden and safe from any oversight, enemies that needed to be silenced, mouths to be shut forever. I could cause great damage without even leaving my room or getting my hands dirty.
Everything was technological: planes, trains, traffic lights, imported cars; I hacked into any system, no matter where in the world you were. Accidents happen—a malfunctioning elevator, an exploding cellphone, a car losing control of its tech panel. No traces, no evidence. Whatever they needed, I provided for a good sum deposited into my account. I used my maternal grandfather's old business as a front. Who would think that the owner of a butcher shop was a killer virus? No one!
I couldn’t see myself sitting in a boardroom, not when everyone who kissed my father's ass saw me only as a piece-of-shit bastard, nor did I intend to survive off the old man's money, so I created my own path. Kaiser was the one who stood out in politics, following in daddy's footsteps, from whom he sought approval. I chose to return to the unscrupulous origins of the family, delivering the secrets of whoever you needed to know for the right price. For Sodoma, this was something too valuable for them to lose. My father remained on the council, even though he never had another submissive. He never wanted to touch another woman after my mother. He said he would never find another like her because she was unique. At twenty-one, after so much of him getting on my nerves, I personally went to Sodoma for the first time. My father managed to win me over the second he took me there, and damn it, the old man was right; no one takes the sadism out of the blood of a Gregovivk, and mine was rooted in me down to the last hair. Pain was not my enemy; it was the only sensation that made my mind quiet.
I dominated my demons, training them as I learned from my father how to deal with loss. Kaiser was already participating in Sodoma at that time too; he had started before me. The old man Huslan wanted to leave me in the care of Morgana, just like my half-brother, to learn how to be a sadistic dominator, but I didn’t need that. Not when it was the pain of my own body that educated me, and as I progressed, having only my father’s advice, refusing to be educated by that bloody bitch, I became more perfectionist. By the age of twenty-three, I completely mastered my sadistic side. And it was around that same time that Kaiser slipped up. He was almost twenty-five, and my father gifted us with two submissives, one for each of us to take care of. But the old man hadn’t done that just to see if his sons would be like him. It was a test, where my old man wanted to know who would learn to control their sadistic soul first. Kaiser severely dislocated his submissive’s shoulder, not respecting the safety word when she said it. And the next day, the old man named me as his successor after he was gone, so I could take his seat."