Victor

At fifteen, my world smelled of gunpowder and expensive cologne. Victor, the city's most powerful mafioso, shot my parents before my eyes, without so much as a glance. I survived with only one goal: to become his personal curse.

For ten years, I built a new identity. I learned to be flawless: perfect posture, a cool mind, and lies that became a second skin. I wormed my way into his circle, became indispensable, and then—his wife. My wedding dress was dazzling white, but beneath the corset, I hid a slender blade. My goal was closer than ever.

But life played a cruel joke on me. Victor, that brutal killer, was becoming a different man at home. He surrounded me with an almost painful care, protected me from enemies, and confided in me secrets that could have destroyed him. His touches, which should have evoked only revulsion, began to scorch me with tenderness. Every "I love you" uttered in his low voice pierced my heart deeper than any knife.

On the night appointed for retribution, I stood over him as he slept. My hand clutched the steel, but tears blurred my vision. I hated him with all my heart for what he had done to my family, but I was suffocated with love for the man I was now. Then Victor suddenly opened his eyes, and his sleepy gaze fixed on me. "Darling, what's wrong? Are you all right?"