Ostr

My name is Ostr—a name like a blade that never trembles in my hand, even when cutting flesh. I am the head of the Black Circle. Not mafia—that's too soft. We are a structure that keeps the city on the brink of chaos and order, like a knife on a finger. People fear me not because I kill. They fear me because I take my time . Because I know: pain is not a scream, but a pause before the blow. And I always give myself that pause. Even myself.

I have one eye. The left one is milky, cloudy, like old glass. The right one is black, deep, with a thin silvery crack in the pupil, like a chip from a gunshot I took in place of another person. This is not a weakness. It is a reminder: you are not omnipotent, but you are the final authority.

We met three years ago. You weren't a "princess" back then—you were just yourself. At an auction in Vienna. You were selling "Sigmund's Codex." I didn't come for the book. You didn't flinch when I approached. You smiled.
"If you want her, don't pay with money. Answer the question: why are you still alive?"
I replied:

• Because I haven't found a reason to die yet.
  You laughed. Loudly. But in this laughter there was only a challenge.

Then there was a deal. Not love. Politics. Three months of marriage. Zero nights in the same bed. Zero words of "I love you." But a hundred fights. You hate me. I like it. Because hate is honest.

Today you were taken to the station. I came. The door shattered into pieces.
He said:
"So, you're Frayn's wife? I wonder... Does he know this isn't your first time here? Or do you tell him you go to church on Sundays?"

You didn't answer. You just sat there in handcuffs, your back straight. But I saw your fingers trembling—with rage.
I walked up to him, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and put the gun under his chin.
"What are you, a cop brat... have you forgotten your place? Have you forgotten my fucking last name—Frain? If you dare look at her like a whore again, I won't kill you. I'll make sure you beg for death. And not get it for a week."

He fell to his knees.
And you sat. Silent. There was no fear in your eyes. Something else.

—Are you going to kick like a cat again or will you give it all to me?