★★Mariella's POV★★



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As I crouch down on my knees, holding my breath and staying as silent as possible, I watch a guard turn the corner. My heart pounds, but when the coast clears, I exhale quietly.

Finally. Time to move.

Convincing Luna to cover for me wasn't easy, but I managed to pull it off. Now I just need to keep to the plan. I creep to the back of the house, where the tall gate looms ahead, its 13-foot height taunting me. The sun is dipping below the horizon, casting everything in a burnt orange glow. Eliseo disabled the motion sensors, so I've got a small window to jump this thing and get out. On the other side, my motorcycle is waiting for me—dropped off by one of Eliseo's people.

I take a few steps back, bracing myself. Go big or go home. Sprinting full force, I launch into the air, arms reaching for the top bar of the gate. My fingers catch, gripping tightly as I swing one leg over, then the other. The dismount is steady—a clean landing.

Not bad.

I guess you could call that my Simone Biles moment.

Dusting myself off, I walk to my sleek, all-black BMW S 1000 RR parked just beyond the gate. Sliding the helmet on, I swing a leg over and fire up the engine. As the roar echoes through the air, the location pings on my phone: Rouge Spire Casino. Never heard of it, but that's where the target is.

Speeding onto the highway, I weave between cars, the cold wind biting at the bare skin exposed by my ridiculously short skirt. Tonight, I'm undercover as Mika Rizzo—a 20-year-old on her first night working at the casino. The outfit? A glittery pink skirt that barely covers my ass, a black mesh crop top over a matching pink bra, and black six-inch heels.

Practical? Hell no.

But necessary? Absolutely.

The clock's ticking, and the countdown in my mind accelerates. The casino finally comes into view. My eyes narrow as I pull behind the building and park in the shadows. The rear entrance looks clear.

Good.

I take a moment to adjust the waistband of my skirt, my fingers brushing against the blades tucked into my heels. Needles are hidden in my ponytail, just in case. One deep breath, and I make my move.

As I step toward the front of the casino, the bass-heavy pulse of music vibrates through the air, thumping against my chest. It's chaos in there—loud, uncontrolled.

A perfect cover.

The bouncers, thick as walls, stand near the entrance, engrossed in some conversation. They're oblivious.

I move past them, keeping my eyes straight ahead, every step calculated. My pulse quickens. One wrong move, and they'll catch on.

The door opens. The scent of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume hits me like a wave. I'm inside. The cacophony of slot machines, laughter, and chatter surrounds me. The low hum of tension rises beneath the surface.

But no one notices me.

Not yet.

I slip into the crowd, my every movement controlled, my senses heightened. The hunt has begun.

I push open the door to the back of the casino, slipping into the bustle of the locker room. The clinking of heels, the low murmur of voices—all of it fades into white noise as I blend into the crowd of workers. They don't even look twice at me. My steps are effortless, my presence calm and assured. I'm just another one of the girls.

I make my way toward the back of the room, slipping past a few of the women at their stations, all too busy retouching makeup or slipping into their costumes. Some are strippers, others waitresses, but they all have that same look in their eyes. The hollow expression of someone who's been worn down by this place.

I stop in front of the mirror, pretending to touch up my makeup, but my eyes are moving. I scan the room with practiced indifference. There's a girl in the corner, her blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She's young, probably not even 18, and her outfit barely covers anything. I watch as she stares at herself in the mirror, her face blank, her expression disgusted.

My eyes drop to her arms. The bruises are darker than I expected, angry splotches of blue and purple that have no place on someone so young. It twists something inside me. I can feel my jaw tighten, my chest burning with a disgust I can't quite push down. I force it back, the urge to intervene, to make things right, but I can't yet.

A woman's voice cuts through the tension like a knife.

"Girls, gather. Now," she snaps.

Without hesitation, the others stand, shuffling into a circle, all too familiar with the drill. I tilt my head down, taking a step back into the shadows to avoid the woman's gaze. My heart races, but I steady my breathing.

"Alright," she continues, her voice cold and commanding. "Tonight's important. The exclusives are here. So I expect nothing less than perfection. You fuck up, you know what happens."

She pauses, her eyes sweeping over the girls, and I follow her gaze. The bruises on their bodies tell a story I don't need to hear. A fire ignites in my chest.

The woman's heels click against the floor as she paces, her voice sharp as a whip. "You all know your roles. Now move your asses. Let's make it a night to remember."

She storms out. The rest of the girls scatter, grabbing metal trays for drinks. My gaze flickers back to the blonde girl. She's sitting at her station now, staring at the floor, her breath hitching in shallow gasps. I can see her shoulders trembling.

I take a few steps toward her, my heels clicking sharply against the floor, the sound almost too loud in the tense silence of the room. She looks up at me, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion, but it's that emptiness in them that makes my stomach churn.

"Hey," I say softly, offering her a warm smile, though inside, a cold fire is burning. "I'm Mika, it's my first day here."

She blinks, startled, and forces a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Oh... Hi. I'm Malennie."

I study her for a moment, the way she shifts uncomfortably, the way her gaze flickers to the door like she's trying to escape without anyone noticing. "So, what's your... role here?" I ask casually, though every fiber of my being is screaming that something's off.

When Malennie hears the question, her smile vanishes, replaced by something darker. Her voice quivers slightly as she answers, "I... I take care of the VIPs. Serve them drinks." She glances down at her shaking hands, her fingers grazing the hem of her dress like she's trying to make herself smaller.

Before I can say anything else, Malennie grabs my wrist with a force I didn't expect. Her eyes lock onto mine, intense and desperate. "You should leave. Now," she hisses urgently, pulling me closer, her breath ragged. "You're new. They won't know. This place is the devil's cave. They'll eat you alive here."

Her words hit me like a slap. I can feel the weight of her fear, the intensity of her warning. It's real. Whatever this place is—whatever happens here—it's much darker than I thought.

I pause, meeting her wide eyes, the truth in them cutting through the illusion of safety. I give her a reassuring squeeze on the hand, my thumb lightly grazing her wrist, trying to steady her. "You're not alone," I whisper, though a cold anger starts to build in me, settling like a stone in my stomach.

Her hand twitches in mine as if she wants to pull away but is too scared to. Then, still in a low voice, I ask, "Do you have any lip gloss?"

She stares at me, confused for a moment, before nodding and going for her makeup bag.

I move fast.

The moment she turns her back to reach for it, I gently press my thumb against her carotid artery. I don't apply too much pressure—just enough to slow her pulse, just enough to put her into a deep, painless sleep. Her body goes limp in my arms as I catch her, easing her down into the bathroom stall where she'll be safe for now.

With a deep breath, I grab her metal tray from her station, the weight of it heavy in my hands.

Time to make my move.

I make my way through the crowd of girls, tray in hand, maneuvering around the bustling casino floor. The noise of clinking glasses and the sound of laughter almost drowns out my thoughts, but I push it aside. My focus sharpens as I scan the room. Eliseo's instructions flash in my mind: five targets—men with too much money, too much power, and a penchant for violence. They all need to die tonight. But I'm not here just to kill them; I need to leave clean, and that means planning every move.

The VIP section is clearly visible in front of me. I take in the layout—there's a small hallway to the left, a set of windows overlooking the street, and exits strategically placed. This could work. I need to stay close to my targets, but I need an escape route. If things go south, I can make it to the back quickly, then out through the window and make a clean exit.

My eyes lock onto the group of older men seated at the blackjack table, laughing and raising their glasses. There's an empty seat at the table, and I don't remember hearing about a sixth person. The familiar heat of adrenaline begins to pump through my veins. It's a good sign, means I'm ready to strike, but I need to stay sharp.

I take a steadying breath, adjusting my posture and keeping my head high, letting the confidence in my walk do the work. My body moves fluidly, balancing the tray with practiced ease. Get in. Get close. Complete the job. Get out.

As I draw closer, the chatter fades, and the men's eyes shift to me. The warmth of their attention feels like a cold shiver down my spine, but I maintain my composure. The lecherous gaze of these men does nothing but make me clench my fists tighter.

"Hello, everyone," I say, my voice smooth, carrying just the right hint of playfulness. "I'm Mika. I'll be taking care of you tonight."

One of the men, older than the rest, with a salt-and-pepper beard, lingers on my legs as he grins, clearly not bothered by the obvious disdain I have for him. He chuckles lowly and leans forward.

"How well are you going to take care of us?"

His eyes travel up and down my body, and the air grows thick. I want to take him down right here, right now. But I can't. I have to wait for the right moment.

I step toward him, leaning over just enough so that the scent of my perfume lingers in the air, just close enough to send a shiver down his spine, even as I force a seductive smile.

"Well, how much do you want to be taken care of?" I ask softly.

His eyes widen with a hungry gleam, and the others start chuckling in agreement, eager to play into whatever game is unfolding.

But suddenly, the temperature in the room shifts. It's subtle, almost imperceptible at first, but I feel it in my bones. It's like the air around me has grown heavy, charged with some sort of electric tension. Then, I hear it—his voice. Deep, low, unmistakable.

"I hope I didn't miss any of the fun."

I freeze. No. My mind races with disbelief. Why is he here? Out of all the places on earth why here?

My body betrays me as I slowly turn around, and there he is.

Leon.

I feel his gaze before I even look at him. Dark eyes—dangerous, commanding, knowing—locked on mine as he takes a few measured steps toward the table. His smirk doesn't leave his face, and every step he takes feels like a slow countdown in my mind.

Is he one of them?

A wave of unease crashes over me. He walks into the room like he owns it, and for a moment, I wonder if he does. The others don't seem to notice anything strange; they're too busy eyeing me, but the way Leon looks at me... it's different.

What is he playing at?

I swallow hard, fighting the instinct to retreat. The game is changing, but I can't afford to panic. I have a job to do, and if he's here, I'll just have to adjust.

He takes his seat, the chair scraping across the floor. His eyes flicker to the men briefly, then back to me, never once breaking contact. There's something sinister in that look, and it makes my stomach twist.

"Mika..." Leon calls me over with a simple wave of his fingers, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

My breath catches. This is it.

I force myself to move toward him. Step. Step. Step. My mind races, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and all I can think is: don't let him see you sweat, don't let him know you're rattled. I come to a stop in front of him.

His eyes bore into mine as I stand there, tray in hand, trying to play it cool. The scent of his cigar is overpowering, mixing with the fresh cologne that's somehow even more dangerous than his piercing gaze.

He leans in slightly, and the world goes silent. The words that leave his lips are barely a whisper, but they feel like a command, like a challenge.

"Princess," he says, his voice rough and low.

The way he says it—harsh, dark, filled with unspoken meaning—sends a sharp pang of desire coursing through me, pooling between my thighs. I want to push him away, slap that smirk off his face, but I can't move.

"Tell me why on earth you're here?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.

I don't flinch. Instead, I hold his gaze, my lips almost touching his as I whisper, "Leave now."

My voice is tight, harsh, the warning clear in my tone. He can't know.

"I'm warning you, Leon," I add, my voice a low growl, before I pull back and walk toward my tray.

The drunken laughter in the room grated on my nerves, a discordant mix of slurred voices and the clinking of glasses. One of the men slammed his palm against the table, shaking his head with a drunken smirk.

"Lenny, you're getting dumber than Niko," he taunted, nudging the man beside him.

The others roared with laughter, their voices thick with alcohol, the game they were playing long forgotten in favor of senseless banter. It was pathetic, really—a group of rich, washed-up men drowning their regrets in whiskey, too far gone to care about the weight of the words slipping from their mouths.

And then, one of them spoke, his voice low, careless.

"Please, no one can be dumber than Niko," he slurred. "That idiot almost got caught up in some mess a few years ago... Something about a woman."

The air shifted. It was subtle, but I felt it—a prickle down my spine, a tightening in my gut. I forced myself to remain still, to keep my breathing even, but my entire body had gone rigid.

The man chuckled darkly, swirling the liquor in his glass. "Yeah... one of his women. Alessia, I think?"

The name hit me like a gunshot to the chest.

Alessia.

The world around me slowed, the laughter dulling into a muffled hum, like I was submerged underwater. My hands, which had been resting casually on the bar, curled into fists. My heart pounded against my ribs, each beat hammering louder than the last.

It had to be a coincidence. Alessia was not an uncommon name. It couldn't be—

But the universe wasn't that kind.

"They still don't know," another man muttered, shaking his head. "The Italians... they never figured it out. They've been clueless for years."

The ice in my veins spread, paralyzing me.

I felt my breathing grow shallow, my pulse erratic, my mind struggling to process the words. My mother had died when I was a child—beaten, brutalized beyond recognition. That pain had shaped me, carved me into the woman I was. I had spent my entire life believing she had been a victim of a senseless act of violence, of some unknown monster in the dark.

But now... now they were saying her death hadn't been random at all.

It had been orchestrated.

By Niko.

The weight of it crushed me, pressing against my chest until I could barely breathe. Niko, the man my father trusted. The man my family expected me to tolerate, to stand beside.

The man who had killed my mother.

Something inside me snapped.

The voices in the room bled together, the details of my surroundings fading into the background. All I could hear was the rushing of blood in my ears, the roaring fury building inside me, scorching hot and all-consuming. My fingers trembled where they gripped the edge of the bar, not with fear—never fear—but with a rage so deep, so violent, it made my vision blur.

I wanted to move. I wanted to act. To grab the nearest bottle and smash it over their heads, to rip the truth from their throats with my bare hands.

But I couldn't.

Not yet.

Because if I did, I wouldn't stop.

I wouldn't stop until every single one of them was choking on their own blood.

That was all I needed. The confirmation slammed into me with the force of a freight train. I wasn't just hearing about a murder anymore.

I was hearing about my mother's murder.

The room seemed to narrow, the edges darkening as I slowly reached for my knife. My fingers wrapped around the familiar handle, the cold steel grounding me as my heart thudded in my chest. The blood rushed in my ears, drowning out everything else.

I didn't think. I couldn't. My hand moved with a speed that even I hadn't anticipated, throwing the knife without hesitation.

It flew through the air with deadly precision, landing with a sickening thud right into the man's throat. His eyes widened in shock, his hands clutching at his neck as the blood sprayed out in a violent torrent. He didn't even get a chance to scream.

The room fell silent, with all eyes fixed on me. Fear crept into their faces as they shifted in their seats, unsure of what to do. I glared at them, my expression deadpan, as I began to circle the table.

My gaze flicked to Leon, expecting him to be just as rattled, but his face was emotionless, cold as ice. He didn't flinch, didn't look surprised. He just watched, his eyes narrowed, waiting for the next move. I couldn't tell if it was admiration or curiosity behind those eyes, but it didn't matter. What mattered now was getting to the other four before they could even think about regrouping.

The next man barely had time to scramble to his feet before I was on him. I grabbed a fistful of his greasy hair, yanking his head back so hard that he let out a strangled yelp. The glint of my blade caught his terrified gaze just as I pressed it against his throat, the cold steel biting into his flesh.

His entire body trembled. "P-please," he stammered.

I dug the tip in just enough to make a bead of blood trail down his neck. "What do you mean Niko covered up the murder of my mother?" My voice was low, venomous, dripping with malice.

"I-I—" He choked on his own fear.

"Wrong answer." I didn't give him another chance. I dragged the blade across his throat in a slow, deliberate motion, feeling the way his skin split open beneath my hand. His choked gurgle filled the room as his body convulsed, warm blood gushing over my fingers. I shoved him forward, letting him collapse onto the table, his lifeless eyes still frozen in terror.

The others recoiled, horror washing over their drunken faces.

I smiled.

The next man tried to bolt, but I was faster. I grabbed his wrist, twisting it back until I heard the sickening pop of his shoulder dislocating. He screamed, but it was cut short as I slammed his face into the table, splintering the wood beneath his skull. Blood trickled from his nose, but I didn't stop.

"You think it's funny?" I hissed, gripping his throat and forcing him to look at me. "You think Niko can just cover up my mother's murder and walk away unscathed?"

He whimpered, trying to shake his head.

I slammed him down again, harder this time. A sick crunch echoed through the room as his forehead split open. "That's what I thought."

I pressed my blade against his chest, right above his racing heart, and leaned in close, my lips brushing against his ear. "Let me tell you what happens to people who keep secrets from me."

I twisted the knife into his flesh—slow, torturous—watching the agony spread across his face. His hands clawed weakly at me, but I twisted again, feeling his heartbeat stutter beneath my grip. When I finally yanked the blade out, he collapsed forward, dead before he hit the ground.

The remaining men tried to scatter like rats, scrambling over the blood-slick floor, but I was already moving.

I caught the next one mid-run, wrenching his arm behind his back until he howled in pain. Then, with a sharp jerk, I snapped it like a twig. He barely had time to scream before I slammed his face into the nearest wall, his blood splattering like a grotesque painting.

"You're all friends with Niko, aren't you?" I murmured, my voice sickly sweet as I pressed my knife against the soft flesh of his ear. "All in on it together?"

"N-no, please—"

I sliced the blade through his ear in one clean motion, his shriek like music to my ears. "Then start talking."

He sobbed, babbling incoherent pleas, but I was done listening. With one final shove, I drove my knife under his ribcage, twisting it for good measure before letting his body drop.

Two left.

One of them made a desperate run for the door. Pathetic.

I grabbed a steak knife from the table and threw it, the blade spinning through the air before lodging deep in his spine. He collapsed instantly, twitching like a dying insect.

That left one.

The last man dropped to his knees, hands raised in surrender, his face streaked with tears.

"Please," he choked. "I didn't know—"

I clicked my tongue, crouching in front of him, tilting my head. "You didn't know?" My voice was full of mock pity. "That's disappointing."

His lip quivered as I ran the bloodstained blade along his cheek, watching his entire body shudder.

"Do you know what happens to men like you?" I whispered. "Men who laugh about the suffering of women? Who sit back while monsters like Niko do their worst?"

He tried to shake his head, but I didn't give him the chance.

I grabbed his lower jaw, forcing his mouth open before shoving my blade inside—flat against his tongue. His eyes widened in pure terror as I slowly dragged it down, slicing through the soft tissue beneath. Blood filled his mouth, spilling down his chin, but his screams were muffled by the metal lodged inside.

I smiled, tilting his head up so he had to look at me.

"Once you're in hell," I murmured, "tell them Serpente sent you."

And with that, I drove the knife upward, through the roof of his mouth, straight into his skull.

The room fell silent, save for the faint drip of blood pooling around my boots.

I took a deep breath, my heart still pounding. And then, just as quickly as it came, my rage settled, cold and calculating once more.

There was only one person left to deal with.

Niko.

The silence that followed was deafening. Blood pooled at my feet, and the men were all either dead or dying. The air was thick with the stench of death, but there was no relief in sight.

Not for me. Not for anyone.

I stood there, surrounded by the lifeless bodies, my chest heaving with the weight of the aftermath. The room was thick with the metallic scent of blood, and I could feel it dripping down my skin, staining my hands and clothes. The mess of it all—somehow, it felt right. They deserved to die, every single one of them. They had crossed the line, and I had made them pay for their sins. But the satisfaction of their demise was quickly overshadowed by a gnawing hunger deep inside me. I wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

Niko fucking Zervos.

His name twisted in my mind like a blade. That fucking cunt. The real question, though, was what happened to my mother. He thought he could get away with it—make her death a game, a whisper in the wind. But he was wrong. So wrong. His time was running out. I was coming for him, and he wouldn't know what hit him.

My breath was ragged, my pulse roaring in my ears as I tried to calm myself, bringing the bloodied knives back to their places. But then I heard it—footsteps, pounding up the stairs. My cue.

I dashed down the hallway, my heels clicking on the floor, my mind racing. There, ahead of me, was a window. No time for finesse. I slammed my elbow into the glass. It shattered, the sound sharp and loud in the otherwise quiet night. I kicked off my heels and quickly cleared the shards from the window frame.

Looking down, I gauged the distance. It wasn't far. I could do this.

But just as I was about to climb over, a voice shouted from inside.

"What the hell?!"

I didn't wait to see who it was. I exhaled sharply, threw my legs over the window, and dropped. The impact sent a jolt through my body, but I steadied my landing, feet hitting the ground in a practiced roll.

I was already moving before I'd even fully landed.

But then I heard it—a shout, distant but unmistakable.

"The place is clear!"

Another voice suddenly cut through the tension in the car, sharp and close. "There's an unknown motorcycle back here."

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. The sound of tires being slashed echoed through the night, followed by the hiss of air escaping.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, eyes darting around, assessing the situation.

The street was eerily quiet, but I could hear the heavy footsteps of more guards on the other side of the building. They were closing in. I backed up slowly, trying to stay out of view. The realization hit me: I'm trapped.

I pressed my back to the cold brick wall, feeling the weight of the situation. The echo of their footsteps came closer and closer. Every second felt like it was stretching into an eternity. My heartbeat was so loud in my ears that I could barely hear the shouts anymore. I needed to move—now.

But then, I heard the unmistakable voice of one of the guards. "I've got eyes on the target!"

And just like that, they were on me.

I pulled my knife from its sheath, ready to fight, but then—gunshots.

Bang. Bang.

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Wow wow wow

NIKOOOOO?? WHATT

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡

*I don't have an outfit for her, oops*