The Killer's Wife

Chapter 1 - Death

They used to be perfect. The Master of Death and his queen. The greatest happiness that could befall them was a world where they would be alone, just the two of them. But they were not so lucky. There were other, envious, and angry, people hanging around Tenoya, who just wanted to ruin the happiness of others. Nothing else matters to them.

She clenched her shaky hand into a fist, but she couldn't control her quivering lips.

She looked at the body on the concrete in front of her. His disheveled hair had never been tamed, but his full lips were covered with fresh blood—his own—blood. And the steel in the eyes... As if someone had melted it. It darkened and faded. There was no more defiance or determination in them. Just surrender.

They played with him.

They broke him.

It was revenge for his son. Malakai enjoyed it, and judging by the bruises on Bastian's body thrown in the middle of the dock, he played with him for a long time. A piece of skin was not left intact. His arms and legs were disfigured. He had long cuts on his back and abdomen, and in addition to his teeth, he was missing fingers, both on his feet and hands.

But this wasn't just a game.

There was a message hidden in it. A message for those who could read it. For his friends. For the people he worked with.

Message for her.

Don't you dare defy me, it said.

Instead of his signature, Daniel Malakai left the emblem of the Pensiver family on his body. Three interconnected semicircles in a circle. A sign that meant law in the underworld. The sign from which thieves and murderers hid under the table like little children, glistened on the disfigured forehead of the love of her life.

She loosened her fingers, but immediately squeezed them again, afraid that her hands would crumble into cells, and she would never fold them back.

The man thought he could do anything, that he meant something, but when he hangs by his hands from the ceiling, bleeding on his own floor, and watching her tear his whole world to shreds as he crushed hers, he would realise that he had no power. And there is no way around it.

Around her.

Getting to her feet and standing upright took a lot of work. She pulled her coat closer to her body and walked toward the gray car that was a few signs away. The others followed her, except for the couple who decided to take care of the body. A shiver ran down her spine. None of her husband's men had said half a word the whole time, but she could feel them watching her. They waited for her reaction. As if, after his death, she should gladly and flinchingly take over the crown and wealth. And a throne at the top of a pyramid of a system that was comfortable with zero responsibility and that didn't take no for an answer.

She looked at the black sapphire watch. Also a gift.

"I call everyone to a meeting. Usual place. In two hours," she said, and her response was the nods of approval and the grunts of the men around her.

She got into the car and dictated the address to the driver. It wasn't until the car's tires came off the spot that she released her emotions from the leash.

Just the fact that she could hold them for so long was unusual. For the most part, her emotions controlled her, buffeting wildly with her life.

Especially if it was about her husband.

A hot stream of tears soaked her dark shirt. When she got the call, she was just returning from work and there was no time or energy left to change clothes.

As soon as the double doors of a luxury house on Palch Hacieda slammed shut behind her, she began to scream. Things flew through the air. Shattered glass rolled all over the ground, water soaking the walls and smearing wet roses on them with its fingers.

She covers her cut hands with gloves. Red eyes and pale skin with glasses and makeup. She ties her red hair into a braid and lets the smooth fabric of her tight muslin dress drop onto her slightly tanned skin. She applies red lipstick to her lips.

She was ready for a meeting with fifty men.