All Chapters of MY KILLER'S HUSBAND: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Leo was already awake.The sun hadn’t even broken the sky yet, but Jacob could feel the chill of an empty side of the bed before his eyes fully opened, sheets tossed, pillows cold, and the scent of Leo’s cologne still clinging to the air like a warning.The man didn’t sleep when he was unraveling.Jacob sat up slowly, body aching from a night that hadn't delivered rest, only questions. His eyes caught the edge of Leo’s tumbler still sitting on the desk, half full, untouched, which was a bad sign.He pulled on a shirt, ignoring the way his hands shook.Down the hall, the estate was too quiet. Even the guards were silent, more like shadows than men, and that only happened when Leo gave orders not to be disturbed.Jacob found him in the rooftop garden, standing by the stone railing with a lit cigarette pressed to his lips. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loose, his sleeves rolled up like he’d never even bothered to change after last night.Leo didn’t look back when Jacob stepped outside.

The sun rose like it had something to prove, pouring golden rage into the bedroom. Leo wasn’t beside Jacob. Just the indentation of his weight left on the sheets, already cold. Jacob sat up slowly, his chest tight.He hated how silence had become louder between them since Gabriel showed up. It wasn’t distance, no, it was something worse. It was presence. A constant, shadowy presence clinging to Leo’s body and voice, as if Gabriel had marked him all over again.Jacob dragged himself out of bed, tugging the sheets off with a low curse. His phone buzzed.Unknown Number:You should really learn to hide your emotions better, Jacob.Somebody might use them against you.He gripped the phone tighter until his knuckles paled, no name, and no trace. But the text carried Gabriel’s breath all over it.Downstairs, the smell of coffee curled in the air. Leo stood shirtless by the window, a mug in one hand, his phone in the other. Tension sat on his spine like a loaded weapon.Jacob stepped closer.

Gabriel watched them from the other side of the screen like a man admiring a painting he’d defiled.His finger hovered above the replay button.Jacob, standing with the bloodied handkerchief.Leo, trembling with guilt like a stained angel.And Alina, poor Alina, fragile, fiery, and so easy to crack.He smiled to himself and whispered into the empty air, “Home sweet home.”From the security of his private bunker, somewhere between nowhere and untraceable, Gabriel leaned back in his leather chair, the walls around him lined with surveillance feeds, screens that blinked and flickered with every breath his victims took. The Valez estate was fully wired. It always had been. Leo never knew.Gabriel had planted the cameras back when Leo still thought love meant obedience.He pressed play again.This time, he watched Jacob’s rage like a connoisseur sips wine, savoring it.“They’re cracking,” Gabriel murmured. “All on their own.”A knock at his bunker door shattered the silence.He didn’t flin

Before the fire, before the bloodshed, Gabriel was just a boy.Not born wicked. Made.He was eight when his mother set the table for three, even though the house only had two residents.“Your father’s coming back,” she’d say, every Sunday, with lipstick smudged and hope bleeding from her eyes.Gabriel waited at that table every damn week.His father never came.But the fists did in the form of loan sharks and bruised promises. When they came knocking, Mama would smile too wide and say, “He’ll pay it soon. He always does.”Gabriel knew better. Even as a child, he knew broken men only leave broken boys behind.Then came the day she didn’t get up from the floor.Leo was thirteen when he first saw Gabriel, covered in ash, holding a matchbook, standing in front of the charred ruins of his mother’s home.“I didn’t mean to,” Gabriel had whispered, tears streaming down his soot-streaked face.Leo had scoffed. “Yes, you did.”That’s when Leo took him in, not out of kindness, but of strategy. B

It started with a letter.No return address and no postage stamp.Just her name.Alina Valez.Tucked beneath her pillow like a threat, or a promise.She unfolded it with trembling hands.The blood on your hands is not your own.The boy you loved lives.But the man he’s become will ruin you.Ask Leo about the cabin in Turin.Ask him who really killed your father.Her breath stilled.Then she moved.Flashback: Eight years ago. Turin.A snowy forest. A remote cabin.Inside, a man screamed, while another fired.Blood painted the walls.In the corner, a child watched, silent and wide-eyed.That child was Gabriel.The shooter?Leo Valez.But the trigger wasn’t pulled for business.It was personal.Present day. Valez Estate.Alina stood in the library, her face pale as marble.Leo walked in, eyes dark, shirt unbuttoned just enough to look careless, but he was anything but…“I know about Turin,” she said.He stopped.The silence stretched like a wire between them.“What exactly do you think y