Sinveer's POV
They say your body remembers trauma better than your mind ever will.
Mine does.
It remembers that night, the sting of her blade. She didn't shoot me. She came close. Close enough that I can smell her skin, feel the heat of her breath when she whispers, "Goodbye!" She meant it to be the end.
Instead, it becomes the beginning.
For two years nothing had changed, except my libido of course. Skyrocketing in those two years—every single morning is a constantly reminder of death in a woman's clothing; every night is either a curse or I'm fucking high—it's either she's riding me as if planning to take my soul away or she has a blade at my throat with her eyes looking down on me to moan or bleed. A constant pain of erection. I've tried using different girls with similar builds, but none quench my cravings.
Even after killing that girl that night, I didn't stop searching for her, for the real one.
When I was searching my mind remains fixated on Gabriel's daughter but after deep checkings, she came out useless, nothing but a mere pawn; she isn't of any use, not to her father, certainly not to anyone else, only good as a bargaining chip: for marriage, all she has is her looks.
I continue searching every part of this damn country, leaving no stone untouched, yet I couldn't find her.
She just vanished. As if she doesn't exist in the first place.
Which certainly is what makes her the Butterfly.
And one, in any case, I must find.
But three days ago everything ended.
Her files were among the applicants that day. I never pay attention to these things, Marek is always in charge of recruiting.
I was going through some files when it slips out.
I felt a chill in that moment. To the extent my cock got hard, so hard I have to relieve myself. Her eyes, her hair was the same. Which makes me call Marek—asking if the interview has ended and if not, whether any girl with red hair has been interviewed yet. He says no.
Then bring her to me, I told him. Is there a problem, Marek asks. No, I want to check some things… personally.
After the call ended, I went through her files and discover that she is a top student, schooled in Switzerland, and has recently moved here.
I ask Serena to pull a background check on her. It turns out she's an orphan with a little brother.
Immediately Marek and her entered my office, I scrutinized her. She doesn't look like the girl who attacked me—but something feels off. Her hair is red, her eyes are shimmering blues—like the sea and the sky.
Exactly like Butterfly.
My mind screams at me. "Sinveer, that is the girl, the one you've been looking for."
It's her. She's back.
Her background may be clean, that doesn't mean she isn't an assassin. Killers have private lives too.
If she is the one... has she come to finish what she started?
But right now, she's in my empire, sitting at the desk, every day, with her glasses on, legs crossed outside my office, organizing files like she didn't try to slit my throat once.
But my logic keeps saying otherwise.
If she is the one, it will be nice because now I can do all that I want with her.
"Sir,"
Marek says, dragging me out of my thoughts. "We caught the rat. The one that passed intel to Cisco."
"Bring him in," I mutter, rising.
Nothing clears my head like blood.
The warehouse is quiet when I arrive.
The rat is tied to a metal chair, blood already dripping from his nose. Marek stands beside him, arms crossed, waiting for my permission to begin.
Which I haven't given.
I step forward slowly, eyes on the man's swollen face.
"Why? Why did you do it?"
"I... I needed the money," he whimpers.
I nod. But I don't care.
"Do you know what they're saying about me?" I ask softly.
He shakes his head.
"That I'm slipping. That I'm soft. That I let traitors walk away after stabbing me like I was some street rat."
I lean closer to him. "And you are taking me for one."
His eyes widen. "I... I never meant to—"
I don't let him finish. I grab a hammer from the worktable and bring it down hard on his knee.
The knee cracking is loud. And satisfying.
He screams.
"I want to know what Gabriel Cisco's planning," I say calmly. "Names. Locations. Targets."
"I... I don't know! They blindfolded me every time—"
Another crack. This time his other knee.
He sobs, writhing in the chair.
"Don't insult me," I growl.
"I'm telling the truth! They didn't trust me! They just paid me to leave USBs under a bench in the park!"
Marek steps closer, whispering in my ear. "He's been consistent, Boss. Even under sedation."
I study him again. Study his body language, his facial expressions.
And he's not lying. That's the problem.
The Ciscos are getting smarter.
And bolder too.
My thoughts drift back to the lipstick message left on the mirror after the murder of that accountant last night.
Tell De Luna his time is coming.
Too theatrical for Gabriel.
Too precise for the other families.
But perfect for someone who loves to play games first.
Like her.
I believe she'd do it just to see my reactions.