My husband steps toward him but I stop him.
He looks at me angrily, then back at the man.

“You cheated on me, Sana?” he asks in a calm but raging voice.

“This is not what you think,” I say, worried. Why is he angry? He’s the one who cheated on me with every slut he could find.

He comes closer and places his hand on my shoulder. His grip tightens with every passing second and I hiss in pain.

Umar stands and looks at me when I hiss. He tightens his fist and launches himself at my husband. He lands a hard hit, but my husband keeps his balance.

Before he can hit back, I stand between them and they both suddenly stop — their fists only inches from me. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and force my eyes open.

“He is my brother!” I shout at Leo.

He looks shocked when I tell him. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

“Yes, I am — and by the way, who are you?” Umar asks, standing his ground.

“I am…” Umar starts, but before he can finish I step in front of him and say, “He is my trainer. He thought you were bullying me or something. Please — I’m sorry.”

Umar looks at him and laughs. “Bro, I like it. At least my sister is safe with you,” he says, patting his shoulder. Then he hugs me and leaves.

I sigh in relief and look back at my husband — who is, in fact, fuming with anger.

Why? I ask myself. I want to ask him, but I stay silent.

He leaves in a few seconds. What the—? He left me in the middle of nowhere! I don’t have money or my phone — he never gave it back. He left with the driver and it’s almost one in the morning. His house is at least an hour away.

I huff in frustration and start walking. It’s the only way I’ll reach home.

I rub my shoulders as the cold air hits me. A wave of fear passes through my body.

“Oh God, please help me and protect me,” I pray silently.

Suddenly I hear weird noises. I try to walk faster but four drunk men are coming toward me. I look around and panic rises.

There’s a club nearby; it seems safer. I make my way inside.

The club is loud — music blares and people spill across the floor. I search for the ladies’ washroom, but before I can find it a man steps in front of me and begins dragging me.

I fight — push, kick, punch — but when nothing works I slap him hard. He freezes, then shoves me into a wall.

He slaps me once, twice, three times, four times. Then he pulls out a gun and shoots me in my left leg.

I scream and fall to the floor. My vision blurs but I fight to stay conscious. He grabs my hair, jerking me up, and throws me across the hallway.

I try to get up and run, but I can’t. He comes to me and spits, “I was polite to you. You did this to yourself, bitch. I’ll let the boss handle you.” Then he bangs my head on the wall and I sink into darkness.

—

Leo’s POV

I am king of all mafias. My name is Leo. I’m twenty-seven. People call me a monster because they think I’m heartless.

I’ve killed many people without a second thought; no one can change me. My men kidnapped some women who worked with my enemy; they stole data and passed information that almost led to my parents’ deaths.

Today I will meet those worthless whores and kill them one by one. The thought makes me smile — it’s going to be a lot of fun.

“Boss, Alex is bringing them to your office,” Peter says. He’s like my gemma. Peter and Alex are childhood friends; I trust them more than anyone.

I nod and pull out my gun.

After five minutes the door opens and they walk in with the women. They throw them one by one onto the floor; their makeup is smeared, their faces full of fear.

My eyes sweep the room and I recognize all of them — except the last woman. She hides in the dark; her face is unfamiliar. But she’s here, and she’s seen everything. I can’t let her go.

I raise my gun and start shooting each girl in a line.

When I shoot the seventh girl — the youngest — the hidden girl steps out and takes a bullet in her left hand. No one has ever done that before. People don’t stand up to me, and yet here she is.

She looks at me, then at the gun. “How dare you stand up to the boss,” Alex snaps angrily. I signal him to stop.

“What is your name, slut?” I ask her. By her reaction I know she hates the word.

After a long silence she answers, “Don’t judge if you have bad taste in judging.” Surprisingly calm while Peter and Alex fume.

“How dare you, slut,” Peter says and aims his gun. Again I stop him with a hand signal.

I walk to her and place the barrel under her chin, tightening it. Her hands find my shoulders and I’m shocked at her reaction — so she is a slut after all… or not.

I wait for her to beg. My men smirk like wolves. You don’t see a Muslim girl stand like this these days.

Her hands suddenly grip my neck. Alex and Peter stop smirking and pull their guns. I’m shocked, but her words are more amusing than scary.

“I will not die alone if I have to be killed,” she says quietly, containing the edge of a cry.

Wow. I want to laugh and kill her all at once. People fear me — and here she’s threatening me.

I backhand her. She falls, and Alex grabs her. I shoot her in the lower abdomen. To my surprise she doesn’t scream.

She looks up at Alex, who’s smiling — until her bloodshot stare meets his. She throws herself at him with full force. His head slams the wall; he blacks out and collapses.

Everyone tenses, on guard.

I look at her; she’s closing her eyes — but before she hits the floor I find myself catching her, picking her up bridal style.

“Call a doctor,” I tell Peter. He nods, wide-eyed, and calls.

I look down at the beautiful, brave angel in my arms. She looks like she belongs here, in my arms.

“Any updates on the hacker who tried to steal information from our devices?” I ask.

“Sorry, boss, no updates on where he went,” Alex answers, angry and sad.

Peter bursts in: “It’s not her — that hacker is the master everyone fears. Remember three years ago when someone hacked American military satellites and missiles? Everybody tried to find him and failed. That hacker is H King.”

“H King is a normal boy with a normal life. He means no harm,” Alex adds, panting.

“What does he want from us?” Alex asks.

Good question — why would a hacker want anything from us when he can do whatever he wants?

“Maybe he was just doing it for fun. Forget it. Good job keeping him away — keep it up, Peter,” I say and signal them to leave.

It’s been a week since I last saw her. Well, it doesn’t matter — I’ll find her soon. I can be kind enough to give her one week of rest; from today she will come and serve us as a maid.

I walk downstairs and something soft hits my chest. She’s sitting on the floor, and she’s poured hot, boiling soup on me. She’s not even in uniform.

“Where is your uniform?” I ask, trying to control my anger.

“I don’t wear such revealing clothes. I am not a slut!” she shouts.

She’s a goner.

“STRIP,” I command.

She’s visibly scared; her heart races. When she doesn’t move I pull my gun and point it at her.

She looks at the gun, then at me. That same determination from the other day returns to her eyes.

“Go ahead and shoot me,” she says, “but I have told you — I will not die alone. I will never do what you say. I am not your slut.”

She takes a breath and stares into my eyes.

“I will never strip, even if it costs my life. You can shoot me, but what will you get by doing that? Nothing, huh? What do you get by killing people — authority? If you think they give you authority out of respect, maybe you are wrong. Maybe they are just scared of you. They obey you today, but they can never give you loyalty. They will leave you when you need them most,” she says, fighting back tears.

Peter, Alex and the others look ready to kill her for questioning their loyalty. In the chaos, my parents approach and start clapping.

My father reaches us and says, “If you care so much about my son, why won’t you become that loyal person to him?”

Then he looks around and points at her. “It’s clear this girl is my son’s bride. Take good care of her.”

I stand frozen as the maids take her away. She looks at me the way I feel inside.

I am the king here — and I will see what I can do.

I stand there frozen as the maids take her away. She looks at me with the same expression I feel inside — something between defiance and fear.

My father’s words hang in the air: “This girl is my son’s bride. Take good care of her.” The room buzzes with whispers and nervous glances. My men wait for my command.

I am the king here — and I will see what I can do.

I step forward, forcing the calm I always wear like armor. “Bring her to the servant wing,” I say, my voice measured. “She will work for the house until I decide otherwise.”

Peter nods and signals the others. Alex looks at me, puzzled, but follows orders.

As they lead her away, I feel something I can’t name twist inside me — anger, yes, but also a strange, reluctant respect. She stood up to us. She did not beg. She hurt herself for others. That stubbornness irritates me and, absurdly, pleases me.

Back in my office, I close the door and lock it. For a long moment I stare at my reflection in the dark window: the same cold expression, the same ruthless calculations. But tonight, an irritation I can’t ignore crawls under my skin. She interrupted my plans, she embarrassed my men, and she still—somehow—survived.

“Keep her under watch,” I tell Peter when he returns. “Don’t let anyone hurt her. If she steps out of line, bring her to me.”

He blinks at the order, but the hint of a smirk crosses his face. “Yes, boss.”

I light a cigarette to steady my thoughts and exhale. A plan begins to form — not of mercy, certainly, but of advantage. If she’s to be in my house, then I will decide how she’s used. If she’s to be a thorn, I will make her a tool. If she’s to be trouble, I will make sure that trouble works for me.

For now, she is mine to watch.

Outside, the night is cold and the city is quiet. Inside, the house returns to its routine. But I don’t sleep easily. Something about the way she met me — the way she refused to die alone — keeps replaying. It’s a dangerous echo.

I’m the king of all mafias. I have never let anyone play me. Not my rivals. Not my men. Not my feelings.

Tonight I tell myself I won’t start.

But tomorrow is another day.