_______________

GANGSTA

♧

KEHLANI

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SOMEONE WAS GOING to die.

I had Malakai on the phone the second I got in the car.

"Antonio's last mission. Who was there?"

He exhaled. "You're really about to do this?"

"Names, Malakai."

A pause, then: "Mikhail's men. Five of them."

I hung up and pushed my foot to the gas, weaving recklessly through traffic. My fingers tapped against the wheel as I chewed my gum, rolling the minty flavor across my tongue.

Shooting my husband? My man? No. Fucking. Way.

Three guns sat in the back, locked and loaded. A pocket knife was strapped to my inner thigh. I wasn't in my usual outfit for this kind of thing, but I'd murdered eight men in a thong before. A silk dress and robe weren't going to stop me.

Malakai sent the locations. Five men. Five dead bodies waiting to happen.

The first was easy. I parked three blocks away and climbed to the rooftop of an old abandoned building, rifle in hand.

From my vantage point, I could see everything.

He was outside his house, standing under the dim yellow porch light, dragging on a cigarette. Oblivious. Relaxed. Like he hadn't put a bullet in my husband just hours ago.

Pathetic.

I settled the rifle against my shoulder, my breathing steady as I lined up the shot.

He laughed at something on his phone, flicking his cigarette into the street.

Perfect.

I pulled the trigger.

His head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground. Blood painted the porch steps, pooling beneath his skull.

I clicked my tongue, blowing a bubble with my gum as I adjusted my aim.

One down.

Four more to go.

The next one was across town. I didn't rush. Killing was best done with patience, with precision. I had time. They didn't.

I blew another bubble, the snap of the gum filling the silent car as I rolled down the street. The leather of the steering wheel creaked under my grip. My veins were buzzing.

Antonio had been bleeding. In my hands. Bleeding.

I took a breath, inhaling through my nose. I'd seen blood before. I'd bathed in it, danced in it, painted the walls with it. But Antonio's? That was different. That was mine.

And now, theirs would be mine too.

The second target was at a strip club. I parked in a shadowed alley across the street and let my fingers dance over my gun. Not the rifle this time—too public. This one had to be personal. Close.

I tilted my head, watching him stumble out the back entrance with a girl clinging to his arm. He was laughing. The kind of laugh that rattled against my skull, the kind of laugh that shouldn't exist when Antonio was in pain.

I grinned.

I could feel it now, the high creeping up my spine, curling into my ribs. The anticipation. The thrill.

I got out of the car, moving like a shadow. Quiet, unseen.

The girl said something, and he waved her off. Good. She didn't deserve what was coming.

But he did.

I was on him before he could reach his car. A swift movement, a sharp press of my knife against his throat as I shoved him against the door.

He choked on his breath. "Wha—"

I twisted the blade, just enough to make him panic. Not enough to kill. Not yet.

"You put a bullet in my husband." My voice was soft. Sweet. Like a whisper before a storm.

His eyes widened. He shook his head, stammering, but I didn't care. I wasn't here for words.

I yanked his head back by his hair and slid the knife down his chest, slow, deliberate. Then lower.

He started begging then.

I smiled.

I shoved the blade up, fast and deep.

A wet gurgle. A twitch. A final, dying breath.

I wiped the knife off on his shirt and let his body slide to the pavement.

Two down.

Three more to go. Get running boys.

7:32 PM.

I still had time.

Two down, three to go. Then I'd be home.

I blew another bubble with my gum, popping it loudly as I reached for my lip gloss. The wand slid over my lips in slow, even strokes as I turned onto a quieter street. The city was alive around me—horns blaring, people moving, but none of it mattered.

The third man was a creature of habit. Every night, at exactly this time, he stopped by the same liquor store, bought a pack of cigarettes, and sat in his car outside for exactly ten minutes before heading home.

Predictability got people killed.

I parked a block away, far enough to stay unnoticed, close enough to watch. I twisted the gloss back into the tube and leaned back, one hand drumming against the wheel as I watched him move.

Hoodie up. Cigarette between his lips. Lighting up like he wasn't about to be dead in the next few minutes.

I sighed.

Antonio would hate this.

Which meant he'd love it.

I reached for my gun, screwing the silencer onto the barrel with steady hands. My pulse was calm. My breathing even. The thrill wasn't in the kill—it was in the moment before.

That single heartbeat before realization hit.

I rolled down the window just slightly, enough to aim, and waited.

He took a deep drag, tilting his head back.

Perfect.

I pulled the trigger.

The bullet ripped through his throat, cutting off his breath before he could even think to scream. He choked, hands flying to his neck as blood spurted between his fingers, staining his hoodie, dripping onto his lap. He thrashed, gasping for air that would never come, eyes darting wildly, searching for something—someone—to save him.

No one would.

I checked the time.

7:36 PM.

Plenty of time.

Two more to go.

7:46 PM.

One more.

7:42 PM.

Two more.

I rolled my shoulders back, stretching my neck as I drove. No rush. No hesitation. Just precision.

The second-to-last target was a man named Viktor Sokolov. Former Spetsnaz. Trained killer. Tactical. Smart. But men like him? They got comfortable. The longer they lived, the more they thought they were untouchable.

That was their mistake.

I parked two blocks from his apartment and moved to the trunk, pulling out what I needed—a suppressed sniper rifle, a pair of gloves, and a glass cutter.

He lived on the twelfth floor. Penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows, because men like him loved to show their power, but not bulletproof, because he was an idiot.

I took the fire escape of the building across from his, moving with practiced ease, my breathing steady as I scaled the metal ladder, settling onto the rooftop. From here, I had a perfect line of sight.

My eye pressed to the scope.

There he was. Sitting at his desk, glass of whiskey in hand, watching something on his laptop. Relaxed.

Predictable.

I exhaled slowly, adjusting my aim.

Wind speed. Distance. Angle.

A slight pull of the trigger—

The bullet pierced through the glass before he even had a chance to register what was happening. Straight through his skull. One second he was sipping whiskey, the next his brain was decorating the walls.

I packed up just as calmly as I'd arrived, sliding the rifle back into the case, tucking the gloves into my pocket.

7:46 PM.

I still had time.

I exhaled through my nose, slipping back into the car like I hadn't just put a bullet through a man's skull. My hands were steady. My pulse was normal. No adrenaline rush, no racing heart—just the cold, methodical hum of my mind calculating the next move.

The last target was Pavel Ivanov. Former arms dealer. Ex-military. Paranoid as hell. Unlike Viktor, he didn't get comfortable. He anticipated attacks. He never stayed in one place for too long, always had multiple escape routes, and never opened his own doors.

Smart.

But not smarter than me.

I knew where he was because men like him always had patterns, no matter how careful they thought they were. I'd had Malakai track his movements for weeks. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he made a stop at a private poker game in a building on the edge of town. No security inside—just a group of rich, dangerous men with egos too big to admit they needed protection.

His car would be parked in the private garage beneath the building. Two exits. No cameras.

Perfect.

I parked two blocks away, grabbed my knife, and slid out of the car, walking like I had all the time in the world. Because I did.

The doorman barely glanced at me as I walked in—men never did when they thought you were just a pretty face. I made my way to the back staircase, heading down to the garage.

And there it was. His car.

Black BMW. Tinted windows. Armored, but only for bullets—not for what I had planned.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a tiny EMP device, and attached it under the frame. It would kill the car's electronics in seconds, leave him stranded.

Then I waited.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then—

Footsteps.

I didn't even have to turn around to know it was him.

He walked past me without a second glance, keys in hand, looking over his shoulder like a paranoid little rat. He unlocked the car, slid into the driver's seat—

Click.

The EMP fried the engine instantly. The car shut off. No lights, no power.

And that was when he panicked.

He fumbled with the keys, cursing under his breath, reaching for his phone—

I opened the passenger door and slid in beside him.

The moment he saw me, his hand went for the gun in his holster.

Too slow.

I grabbed his wrist, twisted it until the gun dropped, and before he could even think about fighting back, my knife was already at his throat.

"Shh," I murmured, pressing the blade just hard enough to break skin. "You don't want to do that."

His pulse pounded beneath the knife, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"W-wait—"

I didn't.

I slit his throat in one smooth, practiced motion. Quick. Clean. Blood gushed instantly, soaking his expensive suit, his hands grasping at his neck like he could stop it.

He couldn't.

I leaned back, flicking the blood off my knife, watching him choke on his own breath, his eyes going wide with panic before they went blank.

Then it was quiet.

I grabbed a cloth from my coat pocket, wiped my hands, then leaned over and gently closed his eyes.

"Should've stayed home."

Then I stepped out of the car, smoothing down my dress, fixing my hair.

7:58 PM.

Just in time for dinner.

I stepped into the house like I hadn't just spent the last few hours hunting men like fucking animals. My heels clicked against the floor, the only sign of my presence, as I walked toward the living room.

Antonio saw me first. His sharp eyes locked onto mine, and he immediately tried to stand, but the second he moved, he winced, a hand flying to his chest.

I walked over, kissing his forehead. "Relax, baby," I murmured, fingers ghosting over his cheek. "You okay?"

Antonio clenched his jaw. "Celine—"

"So, Dante," I cut him off, turning to his cousin with a pleasant smile. "How are the kids?"

Dante blinked, caught off guard. "Uh... they're good. Matteo's been getting into fights at school, though."

I tsked. "That boy's got too much of his father in him."

Dante smirked. "Lorelei says the same thing."

"And how is Lorelei?" I asked, walking over to Venom's enclosure. The second my shadow passed over it, the scorpion twitched, its tail curling slightly. My smirk deepened as I tapped the glass. "It's been so long since I've seen my girl."

Emiliano groaned. "Of course. Because what else would be the first thing on your mind after—"

Alessandro cut him off. "Are we just not gonna talk about the fact that you—"

"No," I said simply, flipping the latch open and letting Venom crawl onto my hand.

Antonio exhaled sharply through his nose. "Celine."

I stroked a finger over Venom's back, watching her tiny, elegant movements as she adjusted to my palm. "Yes, love?"

His dark eyes burned into mine. "You know exactly what."

I hummed. "I do, don't I?"

Dante shook his head, grinning. "I don't know what's scarier—the fact that she came back like nothing happened or the fact that she's playing with that thing like a pet cat."

Alessandro muttered, "That thing is a fucking monster."

I looked at Venom, then back at him. "So am I."

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i lowkey hope this wasn't too eery and bloody y'all😣 to be real Celine is right next to Feyre in my most ruthless fmcs because I can't rank them lmao 😭 I just know Indiyah don't really have a chance like my girl is an influencer she makes silly little videos for a living 😭😛 plus I need to show y'all why Iva and Natasiya bad bitches imma show y'all once I update burn for me.

how did y'all like this chapter?? lmk !!

remember to stay healthy and eat !!

- zio 🍸