"As you wish, brother," Zayn said and was ready to stab his brother when the Falci snatched the weapon from him with her magic, but Zayn had more weapons. He always carried more. It was a habit he had developed over the years.
Having been forced to live with memories that weren't his, he had grown to understand that he inherited enemies. Those who didn't give a shit that he wasn't the honest Mustafa. Enemies that took one look at his way of strategizing and decided they wanted him out of their lives.
It was never his choice.
He ever had any.
However, this right here was becoming a game between a mother and a son. One wanted to kill the other, while the other didn't want to cause any harm.
