Marla

Liach POV

Some girls dream of love. Of gentle hands, warm smiles, promises made beneath stars.

But me? I dream of screams—outside of Elias of course. The kind that echoes from pain, and from pain that I inflicted.

I dream of blood on my knuckles. Of silence that follows the final breath of a dying person.

That's why I don't mind when my papa sends me out to kill.

It's been two days since Sinveer allowed me into the east wing. That place is meant for their underworld discussion, while the common meeting room is for the general company meeting.

I don't know why he allowed me, but I'm sure it's not because he trusts me.

"He's trying to fish me out. Then I have to gain your trust and the company's.

Bzzz

My phone ping, bring me back to reality.

Staring at my phone, It was a encrypted message: Cleanup required at home. Full disposal of the trashes. Leave no traces dirt. And make the house creatively beautiful.

And it makes me happy, because by creativity Papa wants it messy.

The target is a low-level informant who thought a petty deal with the police would go unnoticed. He's hiding in a cheap motel, room 6C: alone, twitchy and paranoid. But he is not paranoid enough.

He should be hysteric.

I'm inside the building already, before he knows anyone was coming. Black gloves. Compact knife. A bag of supplies that would make a coroner weep.

I knock once. No answer.

Then I knock again, still no answer.

But before I could knock the third time, he peeks through the chain lock. I catch his eye.

"Delivery," I shout, even though I'm not holding anything.

He hesitates for a moment, but eventually opens the door. Which was a very big mistake.

Why do they keep falling for this delivery stuff, every single time? Or is it that they actually ordered something?

I slam the door into his face before he could close the door again. My other hand shoves the door open, forcing him inside as he gurgles and collapses onto the carpet.

Blood sprays across the dingy walls from his nose, like paint.

"Why did you not answer the door at the first knock? Or don't you know what manner is?"

" I'm sorry. P-please don't kill me."

"Kill you? Who said I was going to kill you?"

"Are you not?" he says, with a hint of relaxation in his voice and body.

"NO! Silly you" I say, smiling brightly. "I'm here to torture you. So brace yourself, love," as I pick up the bottle from the side table, and smash it on his head, causing it to shatter everywhere.

He crumbles on his knees, grovelling at my feet. "Please don't kill me." He begs

I kick his neck, knocking him out.

I drag him into the bathroom and start my work.

After some minutes, he gains consciousness, finds himself tied to a chair close to the bathtub.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask as he bleeds from a puncture just below his ribcage.

"I didn't mean to…They threatened my family—" he says, sobbing.

"Wrong answer." I slap him across the face. Hard. Enough to remind him who's in control.

"And Gabriel won't? Plus, your fucking sobs are annoying" I say. shoving a towel into his mouth.

I don't really know why. But I just want to watch the light leave his eyes.

Firstly, I start with his fingers. I remove his fingernails one by one, slowly, savoring each flinch, each scream muffle by the towel I shoved in his mouth. His fingers tremble after every one, twitching like a broken machine.

And the sounds he was making between the towel? Is exquisite.

Time passes fast, as I indulge myself in my masterpiece, so much so that I don't know it was almost morning.

When he finally dies, it wasn't with a scream—but a whimper. I cleaned my knives, wipe my gloves, and scatter bleach across every surface.

Cleaning it spotless, perfect. Untraceable.

Brutal enough that it'll send a message through the streets.

Don't cross the Ciscos.

And don't fuck with Gabriel.

I step outside, pulling my hoodie, as the cold air biting through my bones.

*DE LUNA HQ – 9:03 AM*

Sinveer walks in late again. His shirt is slightly unbuttoned, his almost-black dark brown hair ruffled like someone's fingers had run through it multiple times. Probably some slut from last night.

Somehow, the thought bothers me.

It's not that I care.

But if someone else distracts him, he might miss my moves.

And I want him to be watching.

"Morning, Sir De Luna," I say, offering him his espresso without looking directly at him.

He takes it without a word but pauses just long enough to make the air tighten.

"You look rested," he says.

I glance up. "Shouldn't I be?"

His gaze lingers on my lips, then to my eyes.

"Depends on what you were doing last night."

"Sleeping." Lie. My voice is evenly smooth. With ten years worth of practice who would know.

He hums. "Shame."

"Mr De Luna, didn't you sleep well last night?" I asked feigning a concerned face.

"I did." He said with a tone flat.

"But you don't look like it."

With that he dismiss me out of his office, not giving me more of his time.

He's testing me now—with words dropping like knives.

Moments later, while I'm organizing some files.

The sounds of heels came disrupting my solace.

Too loud and too arrogant not to be noticed

The kind of sound only a desperate woman makes when she wants everyone to know she's arrive.

She stops in front of my desk, one hand on her hip, the other holding a designer bag probably full of nothing but lip gloss and condoms.

"Hey, is Sinveer in?"

Who is this bitch? And why's she talking to me as if I work for her?

I don't look up. Not right away. I finish the schedule for tomorrow's security briefing, click save, and only then do I lift my gaze.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, bitch."

And there she is. Long legs,tight dress, platinum hair, lips too red for the morning and face too ugly to look at.

"You listening?" Fury flashes in her eyes.

I remain silent, looking at her.

She marches across the De Luna headquarters like she owns it. Like she belongs here.

Wrong.

I know who she is. Everyone here does.

Marla.

Sinveer's little side toy. She's the kind of woman who thinks after she spreads her legs, earns her power. The kind who confuses being used, with being wanted.

"You're Liach the new assistant? Ain't you?" she snaps.

I raise an eyebrow. "Depends. You selling something?"

"I think this bitch is fucking Sinveer. If my Sinveer is fucking you, it's because he misses me, so don't give me that attitude."

She slams her hands on my desk, again. "Listen, bitch. I don't know what you think you're doing around my man, but let me make it real clear for you." She leans closer, breath reeking of vodka and jealousy. "Stay. The fuck. Away. From Sinveer. Focus on your job only."

I pause. Trying to think where this delusion, came from.

A hush falls in the hall. Marek at a far distance on the other side of the hallway watching.

I smile.

Why does she talks as if she saw us fucking. She is getting on my nerves.

Then I stand up, move past my desk, toward her at the other side of the desk.

Marla's bravado falters—just a flicker.

I take one step forward.

Then another.

Now we're face to face. Her heels give her height, but I am the storm.

"I'm going to say this once," I murmur, my voice calm. "And I want you to listen carefully, Marla."

She blinks, stepping backwards a little.

"I don't chase men. I don't need to."

I step even closer, forcing her back a fraction.

"And I don't know where you get the idea that there's something between me and my Boss!? But it doesn't matter. Because if I want to fuck him, it would have been a long time ago, and you— you would have been dead. Also don't ever put your filthy fake-nailed hands on my desk again…" My voice drops to a whisper. "I'll cut them off and shove them so far down your throat you'll be tasting acrylic in your next life."

She gasps, raising her hand to slap me.

And I slap her.

Hard.

The crack echoes down the hallway.

She stumbles, grabbing the edge of my desk.

I follow it with a fist to the gut—fast and brutal.

"I thought I told you a moment ago, never to touch my fucking desk again. Are you so dull, you take it for a joke?"

She collapses to the floor, coughing profusely.

"You think fucking a man makes you untouchable?" I hiss. "I was carving out organs while you were sucking cock for bottle service." I whisper in her ears, so know your place."

She tries to slap me again.

I catch her wrist mid-air and twist it, slow but painful.

She screams, sobbing that I should let her go.

I release her and stand, brushing my blouse smooth.

"Next time you come for me," I say over my shoulder, "bring a weapon. Or don't bother coming at all.