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Prologue
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2025-03-27 19:17:24“BOSS! The Queen is calling out your name!” The man spoke urgently, fingers brushing the earpiece behind his ear as his sharp gaze swept the surroundings.
He had been present at the auction, watching, waiting, and anticipating any move from their enemies. Across the dimly lit room, the one they called boss slowly lifted his gaze. His steel-gray eyes, cold and unyielding, gleamed like sharpened blades in the dark. “Kill everyone inside that goddamn house,” he ordered, his voice like ice. “I’m bringing my Queen back to our palace—without a single scar.” “Roger, Boss!” his men responded through the earpiece, their voices filled with unwavering loyalty. The mafia boss, his expression unreadable, took a slow, deliberate glance around, his blood boiling with rage within. How dare they? They had taken his Queen—his atonement, his salvation—from him. She belonged at his side—safe, untouched, and revered. Yet these fools had dared to lay their filthy hands on her. Unforgivable. “Boss! They’re putting the queen up for auction—selling her to the highest bidder!” The voice crackled through his earpiece—his hacker, the one who kept him updated on every detail. A muscle in his jaw tightened. His fingers curled into fists. Then, without warning—BANG! He grabbed the nearest enemy—one of the auction’s security heads—and slammed his skull against the wall with a sickening crunch. Blood splattered, and the body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.They had no idea what kind of monster they had provoked. “These motherfuckers,” he snarled, eyes blazing with fury. “I’ll reduce this entire f*cking place to rubble.” He was like a lion denied of his queen—and now, he was on the warpath. Every single guard, every enemy in his way, fell without mercy. One by one, he gunned them down, their bodies collapsing into pools of blood. Their cries for help meant nothing to him.No one was spared. Unless—she commanded him to stop. The queen was the only one who had the power to rein in the mafia boss. She was the only one he would listen to. But right now, she wasn’t here to stop him. Some of the men tried to beg for their lives. Pathetic. Without a second thought, he aimed his gun, pulling the trigger. Each one fell with a bullet between their brows. “STAY OUT OF MY WAY!” His roar reverberated like thunder, his voice so chilling it seemed to come from the depths of hell itself. And then—he saw her. His Queen. Up on the stage, forced into the spotlight, surrounded by leering eyes and greedy hands. She looked terrified. Broken. But still his. The auctioneer stood before her, speaking into a microphone.“She is the one and only Velloetti Queen! Whoever wins this auction should consider themselves lucky—you can do whatever you want with this b*tch! The bidding starts at $50 million—”BANG. The man’s sentence was cut short as three bullets ripped through his skull. His lifeless body collapsed onto the stage, eyes wide open in shock. Screams erupted from the crowd. Panic spread like wildfire. The guests—men who had come with their wallets full, eager to bid—now trembled in their seats. They knew. They knew exactly what was about to happen. The devil himself had arrived. And he had come to claim what was his. With a menacing smirk, the mafia boss stepped forward, gun in hand. His voice was a deadly promise. “I’m blowing this place to hell for one billion dollars. And the only ones walking out of here alive are me, my Queen, and my men.”
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The morning it happened, nobody noticed at first. That was appropriate.The best changes in the north house rarely arrived with speeches or anything dramatic enough to deserve witnesses. They came disguised as inconvenience, noise, crumbs, missing socks, two children arguing over a pencil sharpener as if inheritance law were involved, or Rosa muttering the names of saints under her breath because someone—almost certainly Eiji—had brought mud into the kitchen and then denied the existence of weather.This morning began with bread. Burnt bread, specifically. Ezra was responsible.Louelita knew that before she had even opened her eyes fully because the smell drifting through the upstairs hall had none of Rosa’s authority in it. Rosa burned nothing unless the world was ending, and even then she would probably apologize to the pan.This was a man’s mistake. A confident one. A man who had underestimated heat because he was reading a briefing while claiming to “watch the toast.”She sat up i
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The first time Ezra knocked on a child’s door, the whole house heard it.Not because the sound was particularly loud, but because it was Ezra making it.Men like Ezra did not usually knock inside homes they had bled to build. They entered. Quietly, perhaps, and carefully when the room required it, but they still carried the old certainty of men who had spent most of their lives becoming the kind of force doors did not meaningfully resist. A closed door had always been an obstacle, a boundary to assess and cross when necessary, never something that required permission from the person on the other side.So when his knuckles touched the wood of the east room at half past midnight and produced three low, measured taps, the house seemed to listen.Louelita heard it from the sitting room sofa, where she had been reading the same page for nearly ten minutes without turning it. The book rested open across her lap, but the words had long since stopped entering her mind. Rosa sat in the armchai
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By the time the rains came properly, the north house no longer sounded temporary.That was not the same as saying it sounded healed. Louelita had learned to distrust adults who used that word too early, as though naming recovery could somehow hurry it into existence. The old line had loved early words. Stabilized, improved, adjusted, and safe. Every one of them had been laid over a wound before the body beneath it had finished deciding whether it wanted to keep living in the same shape.So no, the north house was not healed.But it had become itself, and Louelita had come to understand that this mattered far more than any clean word someone might have written on an assessment form.The first sign had been the hallway lamps. In the beginning, they stayed on because the children asked for them. Then they stayed on because no one remembered to argue about whether they were necessary. Eventually, one evening three months later, Louie changed a bulb in the upstairs east hall without being
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"Why the hell do I have to get involved in this mess?" Louelita muttered under her breath, frustration lacing every word as she hurriedly gathered supplies in the supermarket. She had tried to put off going outside for as long as possible, but her food stock had finally run out. She had even consi
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“Boss, they’ve arrived.”The voice of Erza Slain Velleoti’s right-hand man was low, cautious, as if uttering those words too loudly might summon something dangerous. Ezra took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember at the tip burning bright in the dimly lit room. He exhaled a plume of smoke, wa
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Louelita’s screams echoed through the car, raw with desperation as she fought against the iron grip of the man trying to drag her out. His rough hands yanked at her mercilessly, his breath reeking of smoke and sweat as he snarled in frustration.“You’re really making this difficult for me, huh?!” h
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