Chapter 6

They say murderers start with strangers, practicing on someone they don’t know because they’re easily disposable, replaceable, and their absence barely leaves a mark.

I didn’t get that luxury because my first victim wasn’t a stranger at all. 

It was my father.

Honestly, the only regret I carry about that night is that I was too kind. That piece of shit didn't deserve kindness. He deserved a worse ending that would haunt him straight to hell where he belonged. 

I'd planned to erase him from existence brutally and unforgettably, but I let my emotions get in the way. I was too rushed, too angry, and he didn't suffer nearly enough for his sins.

The bastard was a tough one, though. He wouldn’t just die like a normal person. He clung to life like the cockroach he was, writhing and whining like a bitch as if his pathetic pleas would change anything. 

I had to stab him forty-seven times right in that shriveled thing he called a heart. By the time he stopped begging and slumped over, I felt more annoyed than triumphant because he didn’t deserve even that much effort from me.

Still, there was a perverse satisfaction in the way he made me work for it. It gave me time to savor the sound of him breaking, to burn his screams into my memory like some awful chorus. Sixteen-year-old me had been ridiculously proud of my handiwork. 

It has been eight years now, and he's still "missing" according to the police. And they will never find him. I made sure of that. And if someone ever gets curious, good luck piecing him together. I scattered him so far across this earth that even the devil himself would have a hard time claiming him.

So yeah, he was the one who turned me into a murderess. The first in a growing roster of victims I had professionally escorted to their graves. The difference between him and the others? The others I killed for cash. Him… him I killed because he crossed line after line, and I tolerated it until he hurt Haley. That was when I decided his miserable little existence needed to be erased. Permanently.

That's what my first victim and my current target had in common. They had both hurt Haley and the outcome would be identical. Dominic Sokolov was already dead; he just hadn’t realized it yet.

The bastard had murdered my sister in cold blood because she "knew too much." At least, that’s what her diary said. Reading it, it was painfully clear she’d known the end was coming. She’d scrawled his name over and over, maybe hoping someone else would find it, maybe the police would intervene, but I got my hands on it first.

Part of me wanted to ask him why he ordered her death. To find some closure. But what difference would it make? She was gone. Dead. Nothing I said or did could drag her back to life. She was gone forever, and I hated myself for not protecting her, for not working hard enough to keep her out of the shithole jobs that led to him. If I’d sent her enough cash, maybe she’d still be here.

​That's why he had to die. Maybe then she could finally rest. 

Killing him was proving harder than I let myself admit. Months of tracking, waiting, getting every little detail right only to have the one clean opening vanish the second we walked through his front door. He’d told me to clean up while he waited on the bed and I did exactly that. 

When I stepped out, he was gone. My one fucking shot, gone in a heartbeat.

And that was a week ago.

I’d tried leaving more times than I could count, but his men shut me down every time, with the "The boss said you wait" line. I didn’t exactly have the luxury of arguing because I’d already clocked at least a dozen men posted around the perimeters, all of them gripping loaded pistols. And I knew there were more I hadn’t seen. One wrong move, one step out of line, and I’d be dead before I even hit the door.

Even with years of assassin training it wouldn’t matter. I had no weapons or backup. And I definitely wasn’t stupid enough to walk into a losing fight. 

So I stayed.

At least the degenerates had the decency to keep me fed and clothed. Small mercies, I supposed, though I didn’t exactly feel grateful. I was stressed, wondering what his plan was. Was he on some extended Bali vacation? Or did he know exactly who I was and was plotting some twisted way to end me?

The door clicked behind me and my pulse kicked up a notch. The same guard from the club stepped in, shutting it firmly behind him. A jagged scar slashed from the corner of his left eye down to his cheek, and his crooked nose, broken who knows how many times, gave him the permanent look of a guy you didn’t want to cross in a dark alley. 

His eyes flicked over me coldly like he already knew every little thing I was hiding and I could tell instantly he didn’t like me, but I didn’t care. I'd already run out of fucks to give.

"From the boss," he said flatly, before placing the box at my feet before he turned away. 

"Wait! Where is he?" I called, letting just enough impatience drip into my tone to make him pause.

He froze. Just for a fraction of a second; long enough for me to feel that twinge of satisfaction and then exhaled like my question had personally inconvenienced him. "He had something urgent to take care of."

I didn’t even blink. I’d been around the underworld long enough to know that "urgent" could mean anything—from a Bratva skirmish in Moscow to a rival trying to gut him in the alley behind his own club.

Is that why he had to leave?

"When is he coming back?" I pressed, leaning forward assessing his face.

Silence. 

Just that look, the one that froze me mid-breath, the one that said don’t push it, girl—and then a long, slow exhale that seemed to carry all the patience he clearly had in spades before he turned away and closed the door behind him.

Asshole.

I stared at the box. It was large and unmarked. Probably some kind of "gift" or a message. Could be food. Could be a bomb. Could be exactly what Dominic wanted to test me with.

I kicked it, just lightly but it didn’t move much. I crouched, fingers brushing against the tape sealing it. 

With a deep breath, I tore at the tape, ripping it open with more force than was strictly necessary. The box lid flipped open, revealing a swath of shimmering black fabric. I reached in, pulling out the contents with a sense of dread curling in my stomach.

It was a dress. A scandalously short, sheer dress that would leave little to the imagination. The fabric was a deep, rich black, shimmering like liquid sin under the light. It was cut high on the thighs, low on the back, with a plunging neckline that would barely contain my breasts.

Paired with it was a matching lace thong, so thin and delicate it was practically invisible and black heels.

And there, nestled in the folds of the dress, was a note. I snatched it up, my eyes scanning the neat, precise handwriting.

"Wear this tonight and be ready for me at 8 pm sharp."

***

I stepped out of the car, the cool night air caressing my bare skin. Goosebumps rose instantly against my skin but not from the cold, but the anticipation and the thought of seeing him again.

I felt the driver’s eyes hook onto me the moment my stilettos hit the pavement. His gaze crawled up my legs, lingered on the sway of my ass, then snagged on the teasing glimpse of cleavage spilling from the deep neckline. He didn’t even try to disguise it. I let my hips sway a little harder as I approached the skyscraper’s entrance, feigning oblivion while every instinct screamed at me to break his jaw for ogling me like that.

The elevator ride up was tense, the driver standing stiffly beside me, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Still, I caught it; the quick flick of his gaze, the not-so-subtle weight of his eyes dipping to my chest before snapping back forward.

When the doors finally slid open on the 27th floor, I stepped into another world entirely, one dripping with wealth and sin. The club was unlike anything I'd ever seen before, a dark, seductive space filled with plush velvet sofas, glittering chandeliers, and a pulsing, rhythmic beat that seemed to vibrate through the very walls.

I followed him through the throngs of people, past the VIP areas and onto the main floor. The music was louder here, a pounding, primal beat that seemed to call to something deep inside me. I could feel eyes on me as I walked, men and women alike staring at me in open appreciation, their gazes raking over my body like a physical touch.

But I barely noticed them. My attention was focused solely on the figure waiting for me at the end of the bar, his back turned to me as he surveyed his kingdom.

And then, like he felt me, he turned. My breath hitched before I could stop it, my heart tripping over itself like some stupid schoolgirl’s. His eyes dragged over me, a wicked smile tugging at his lips, and for one insane second, I swore my pulse forgot its job.

Nerves, I told myself. That’s all. Just nerves. Nothing else.

When he started walking toward me my body froze even as my brain screamed to move. The distance between us vanished, and all I could smell was his cologne and the blood he represented.

"Did you miss me, Maleeshka?"