“You open the door the way you always do,” I continued. “Smile like you’re thrilled to see him, even if your insides are doing backflips. If he hesitates, flinches, or god forbid, gets suspicious—I paint the floor with your brains.”
I lifted the gun again, not aiming. Just showing.
“Got it?”
Her eyes flooded again. She nodded.
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
Sashko returned. He gave me a nod.
Clear.
We waited. Silence thick enough to slice.
When the doorbell finally rang, she froze like a deer before the shot.
“On your feet.”
She stood, legs wobbling. Smoothed her robe. Reset her face. Walked to the door with a smile so convincing it almost fooled me.
I stepped into the shadows, gun raised, ready.
This bastard—this noble judge—was about to die in the arms of his mistress.
He’d lied to his wife, funded this house, snuck off twice a week for pussy and lies. Thought himself untouchable. A man above judgment.
Tonight, he was meeting mine.
The door clicked open.
“There’s my littlesolnishko (sunshine),” the judge crooned, stepping inside like he owned the air she breathed. He shut the door behind him, sealing them in. “You look good enough to eat. I was thinking about you in traffic, you on your knees. Almost crashed the car.”
He laughed as he reached for her, his hands greedy and practiced, fingers gripping her cheeks, thumbs grazing her lips like she was a toy he couldn’t wait to unwrap.
“You miss me?” he murmured, before pressing his lips to hers.
She let him kiss her without pulling away, standing perfectly still as if locked in place, her body trembling and every muscle drawn tight with fear.
And then I moved.
I stepped forward from the shadows, my arm steady and my trigger finger certain, and fired a single shot—silent and clean, the whisper of the suppressed round slicing through the air.
His head snapped back with a sickening crack—blood exploding across her chest, her throat, her face. His skull fractured open, bone shards and brain matter splattering across the pristine tile.
He collapsed instantly, body going slack and heavy, crumpling to the ground without control.
She staggered back, a choked gasp caught in her throat. Her knees buckled, but she didn’t fall. She didn’t scream.
Her hands flew to her mouth, trembling. Her entire body vibrated like a struck wire. Her eyes—wide, glassy, drenched in horror—locked on his corpse, as if she couldn’t believe it had once been human.
“Wash up,” I said, voice sharp and guttural.
I pointed toward the hallway. Not a request. An order.
She nodded. Then turned and disappeared down the hall, the smear of red across her neck trailing with her like a shadow.
