Isa positioned herself on the rooftop, one eye closed, the other fixed on the sniper’s scope. Night wrapped the city in a thick, indifferent blanket. Her finger hovered near the trigger.

Don’t let him out of your sight, the message had said. Sergeant Maxwell, the cop who walked with the Cobra — one of the most violent biker gangs in the city. They robbed stores, terrorized neighborhoods, stole cars and motorbikes. The police never managed to keep them locked up. The Cobras were a blot that the Lorenzo cartel wanted wiped clean.

Isabella Monroe, mafia princess, elite assassin. That title felt heavier tonight. This was her job: to cut down the men who threatened the Lorenzo name. Tonight she had come to take down Maxwell’s general. Kill him, install fear, redraw a boundary.

“Three, two, one,” she whispered, adjusting the silencer with the practiced calm of someone who had done this a hundred times. The man below stood stiff as a plank. The crowd around him laughed and talked — ordinary noises making the scene feel almost obscene.

Then Maxwell crumpled. Blood burst from the back of his head and painted the pavement. People screamed and scattered like startled birds.

Yes, Maxwell was finally down, she thought. But—

She had not squeezed the trigger.

On instinct she swung the scope to another corner of the roof and froze. A figure leaned in shadow, dressed all in black. A mask hid his face; black curls fell over it. The only thing that showed through was a pair of green eyes as bright and cold as crystal.

Something inside her shifted.

She eased the rifle to her shoulder and trained the scope on him. He trained his on her. For a second their gazes locked. Isa felt the air go thin. She pulled away, turned the rifle into her bag with hands that did not tremble but felt oddly foreign to her.

Her chest was pounding, not from fear but from the strange, small defeat of watching someone else take what she had been sent to take. She always prided herself on precision and speed, on getting the job done without hesitation. Tonight, someone had beaten her to it. For the first time in a long time she tasted defeat.

She thumbed open her phone and scrolled through the group chat.

Maxwell is down boss. But I didn’t kill him. Someone else did.

Her throat dry, Isa swallowed. She packed the rifle and slipped it into the bag with the same mechanical movements she used after every hit. It was the job that kept her mother safe, that bought them fragile peace. She had no illusions about it. This life had cost her everything but survival.

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

“How could you be so fucking stupid?” Viktor’s voice split the room. The slap landed against her cheek and sent her to the floor. Heat flooded her face; her vision swam with the sting and the humiliation.

People nearest the screen drew back. Isa pushed herself up, smoothing her jacket with hands that shook just enough for anyone watching to notice. “I’m sorry, boss,” she said, head bowed. “I tried to do it like you said. The man killed him.”

Viktor crushed his cigarette between his fingers, jaw tight with the satisfaction of owning a wound. He loved the credit of things done, even when others did them. He cupped her face, fingers rough and possessive. The gesture made her skin crawl. He was the kind of man who enjoyed both praise and fear.

“You have to prove yourself to me, princess,” he said, voice low. He pushed the cigarette back into his mouth and leaned back on the couch, legs crossed like a man with time to kill.

Isa’s eyes watered, but she blinked the tears away. Pride kept them from falling. Marco, one of Viktor’s lieutenants, stepped forward with a tablet and shoved it into Viktor’s hands. The screen glowed, and Viktor pushed it toward Isa.

“Come over,” he said.

She obeyed without hesitation, because there was no room for hesitation. He thrust the tablet into her grip as though it were a scalpel.

“That’s the victim,” Viktor said.

Isa’s blood ran cold. The image on the screen was unmistakable. She swallowed, trying to keep her face neutral. “That’s the senator’s son,” she whispered.

She had killed people for less complicated reasons, but this was different. The senator’s son would be wrapped in security, always in public or in sanctified privacy. He was someone who moved behind armored glass and tight schedules. Getting close to him would mean patience, strategy, corners cut only in desperation.

Viktor’s lips twisted into a smirk. “And how are you so sure you can’t take him down, princess?”

“It’s not that I can’t,” Isa said, forcing the logic from her lungs. “It’s that it will take time. He’s hardly seen in public. I’ll need time to find his patterns, his exits, his weak moments.”

Viktor studied her, and for a moment she saw whether he believed her or not. Then he nodded. “You have thirty days.”

Her relief was immediate and short-lived. Viktor’s voice dropped. “If you exceed those thirty days, consider your mother dead.”

The words landed like an anvil. Isa’s hands tightened into fists. Everything she had done, everything she had endured, had been to protect the one fragile life she could not replace. She bowed her head and returned the tablet on shaky legs. Viktor waved her away like he might wave off a servant. She left before he could change his mind.

Outside, her phone buzzed so desperately it felt like an accusation. Thirty missed calls from Mom.

She jumped into her car and drove like a shadow, each stoplight a small annoyance she had no patience for. Today was her mother’s wedding. The fourth marriage in as many years since the divorce. Isa did not believe in romance; she believed in bargains and survival. The idea of attending made her resentful, but she could not not go. Whatever this life took from her, she would not lose her mother to Viktor’s threats.

She arrived at the venue still in her jacket, still smelling faintly of rooftop wind and smoke. The place was grander than she had expected: crystal, laughter, uniforms. Men in suits moved like chess pieces. The gun in her pocket felt heavier than usual.

She stepped through the crowd with the practiced indifference of someone used to being eyed. Then someone tapped her from behind.

“Who are you?” a voice asked.

“Who are you?”

A gun pressed hard against her back. Isa froze. Whoever it was must have thought she was an intruder. In a place like this, she couldn’t blame them. Anyone would.

“I asked you a question, miss. Turn around.”

She obeyed slowly, hands lifted in surrender. The music in the hall still played, blending with the hum of conversation and laughter. The officer in uniform glared at her, scanning from head to toe with suspicion.

“I’m a guest too, officer. No need to get so tense,” she said, smirking slightly.

The smirk didn’t help. His hand stayed on the gun at his side.

“Since you’re a guest, where’s your invitation card?”

Isa blinked. Her fingers slipped into her pockets, searching. Empty. Her heart sank. The invitation her mother had given her—she had left it at home. She never even looked at it properly.

She tried to hide her nervousness with a smile. “I think I might have misplaced it.”

“I’m sorry then. You’ll have to leave.”

He grabbed her arm roughly and started pulling her through the crowd. People turned to look, whispers spreading like wildfire. Isa struggled to free herself, twisting and pulling with all the skill she had, but the man was stronger.

“Wait, what’s going on?”

The voice stopped everyone. Isa’s breath caught. It was her mother.

Elena stood there, radiant in a white wedding gown, her hair curled perfectly, her face glowing. Isa had never seen her mother this beautiful. For a moment, it didn’t feel real.

The officer released her immediately and stood upright. “I’m sorry, ma’am. She said she’s a guest, but she has no invitation.”

Elena’s smile faltered. She took Isa’s hand gently and turned her toward the man standing beside her. “I want you to meet him with your own eyes, Isa. He’s your new stepfather.”

Isa’s expression hardened. She had heard those words too many times before. Another stepfather. Another man who would eventually ruin her mother.

Elena had been through four of them already. The last one turned her into an addict in the name of love and left her broke. Isa was the one who got her into rehab. Isa was the one who paid their rent, who kept them alive when everyone else disappeared.

And she had made her mother promise never to go back to that life again.

“Mom, you don’t need to tell me who he is,” Isa said coldly. “As long as he treats you right this time, I don’t care.”

She turned and walked out, ignoring Elena’s calls.

The ride home was silent. Isa needed to breathe, to wash the night off her skin. But when she arrived, something felt wrong.

A strange car sat in their driveway. Sleek, black, expensive. Nothing her landlord could afford.

Her stomach tightened.

She pressed her lips together and walked to the porch. The air felt unfamiliar, heavy, almost hostile. Something was off.

Still, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The moment she did, her chest tightened even more.

The walls weren’t the same. The wallpaper had been changed to a soft pastel shade that made her dizzy. Their family photo was gone, replaced by a painting of a plant. The house looked… staged.

Isa pulled out her phone and texted Elena.

Mom, what’s with the house? Did you change the decor overnight or something?

No reply.

She pocketed the phone and went to the kitchen. The air carried a scent that didn’t belong to her or her mother. Someone else had been here.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

Then she heard it—music. Faint, coming from upstairs.

Her pulse quickened.

Isa grabbed the gun she always carried and climbed the stairs quietly, her boots pressing softly against the wooden steps. Whoever was in her house had chosen the wrong place.

As she reached the top, the music grew louder. She turned toward the door at the end of the hall and pushed it open.

Inside were four guys and a girl, laughing, drinking, and dancing. Bottles littered the table.

Rage surged through her.

She stepped in and raised the gun. “Who the hell are you people?”

The room fell silent. Then one of them snorted. He poured himself a drink, walked up to her, and held out a cup. “Take this, princess. You look tense. You’re getting wrinkles already.”

They all burst out laughing.

“You can’t just break into my house and act like idiots,” Isa snapped, her grip tightening on the gun.

The laughter grew louder. One of them shoved the girl aside and stepped forward. “Is this chick serious?”

Another moved closer and slapped the gun out of her hand. It hit the floor with a dull thud.

Isa froze in disbelief.

The guy sneered. “Who sent you here? You high on something?”

Her cheeks burned. Never in her life had anyone disrespected her like this. She clenched her fists. This was her home. They were in her territory.

“Get out,” she hissed.

“Old bitch,” one of them muttered.

Before she could react, he pushed her hard. She hit the floor, pain shooting through her arm as a sharp edge scraped her skin. Laughter filled the room again.

They poured their drinks on her, one after another, like it was a game. Isa gritted her teeth.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” she said darkly.

One stepped on her back, pressing her down. “You can’t just walk into our friend’s house and claim it’s yours. We’re not nice people.”

Her voice came out cold. “Who’s your friend?”

He pressed harder on her spine, his voice close to her ear. “You don’t want to know. Because once you do, you’ll beg for mercy.”

Isa let out a low laugh that made them all pause.

Another one kicked her stomach, making her curl up and gasp. “What’s so funny?”

Today couldn’t get any worse. Her target had been killed by someone else. Her mother was married again. And now strangers were humiliating her in her own house.

“You should leave,” she warned.

They ignored her. One of them grinned. “Since Raven D isn’t here yet, let’s entertain ourselves with her first.”

Isa laughed again, low and dangerous. They thought she was bluffing. They had no idea who she really was.

One pulled her up roughly by the chin. “This isn’t your house, bitch.”

Another slapped her across the face. “Never come here again.”

The one who had her gun examined it, pointing it toward her playfully.

“Careful,” Isa said. “You’ll regret that.”

He smirked. “What will you do? Shoot me with your toy?”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered. “You should be.”

He laughed and pressed the gun against her forehead. “Let’s see.”

Isa didn’t flinch. She stared straight into his eyes. His finger hovered over the trigger.

Then everything changed.

A tall figure stepped through the doorway, silent and composed. Dressed in black. Helmet in one hand. Mask covering half his face. His eyes, green like emeralds, locked on her. A scar ran down his nose, sharp and defined.

His voice cut through the room like a blade. “What’s going on here?”

The boys froze.

“She came in saying this was her house,” one of them stammered.

The man stepped closer to Isa, his gloved hand lifting her chin. His touch was rough yet strangely careful.

“Is this your house?” he asked.

Isa nodded.

He studied her for a moment. “Then I’m sorry, darling. You must have misunderstood. I bought this house from the previous owner this morning.”

Her breath caught.

Previous owner.

Her chest tightened as realization hit her.

Her mother had sold the house.

Without telling her.

“Before you go, how about I offer you something?” he asked with a quiet smirk. Isa raised a brow, confused and irritated, trying to figure out what he meant.

She rose to her feet and brushed the dust from her clothes. “And what would that be?”

He reached for her face and gently tilted it toward her neck. Isa pulled back immediately and glared at him. Embarrassment flushed through her. She hated anyone touching her without permission, especially a stranger surrounded by his pack of boys.

“Do you even know what you’re playing with?” Isa asked. Her tone held more warning than question. The man looked impressed rather than threatened.

“That makes it even more interesting,” he murmured. “I love your boldness.”

He turned to one of the boys and yanked him closer by the back of his neck. “Bring the first aid kit. And when you’re done with that, you already know what you owe me.”

Fear struck the boy’s eyes. He nodded, rushed out, then returned with a small white box. The man opened it, took a gauze, soaked it with alcohol, and leaned close to Isa.

The sting hit her lip, but that wasn’t what made her flinch. His fingers brushed her skin. It was soft and careful, a strange contrast to his cold voice. She shifted her face away and let her eyes fall on the boys behind him. Their earlier abuse replayed in her mind with painful clarity.

She swallowed the humiliation and curled her hands into fists.

He dropped the used gauze into a metal box and covered the small cut with a tiny bandage. Isa didn’t thank him. She didn’t see this as kindness, only as a tiny repayment for what his boys had done.

“So you’re Raven D?” she asked.

“Yes.” He nodded without hesitation.

“I never asked you to treat me,” she said. “And let me make something clear. Your boys won’t get away with what they did. None of you will.”

His eyes almost smiled. There was something familiar about them under the mask, something she couldn’t place. She pushed the thought away. She didn’t care enough to figure it out.

Whispers rose behind him. She knew they were mocking her again. He picked up her gun and examined it with interest.

“This is a real one,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

Isa replied with dry sarcasm. “Protection.”

“Seems like your protection failed.” He held the gun out toward her. She reached for it immediately, but he lifted it just above her fingertips at the last second.

She expected that. She stomped the tip of her heel onto his shoe. A low groan escaped him before he could swallow it. Isa snatched the gun from his loosened grip.

Her eyes swept over every person in the room. None of them looked worried. They should have been. She walked out, her anger growing hotter with every step. They would all pay. Even him.

Once she reached her car, her phone vibrated. A message from Elena.

I forgot to tell you, sweetie. He offered me ten million dollars for it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. You’ll be living with me and your new family from now on.

Isa screamed so loudly it echoed through the car. She slammed the steering wheel again and again. Her mother had always been greedy, but this felt older and deeper than greed. This was betrayal.

She smacked her lips together, accidentally brushing the cut on her lip. Pain shot through her mouth. She drove to the nearest bar and slumped into her usual seat.

“Isabelle, you look terrible. Don’t tell me you fought again,” the bartender laughed. He poured her favorite whiskey into a tumbler.

“Minding your business is wise,” she snapped before taking a long burning gulp.

“Rough day?”

Isa nodded. She passed the empty cup back to him. Viktor’s warning replayed in her head, reminding her that one mistake meant her mother’s death.

Drink after drink went down until the room began to sway.

“No more,” she said and pushed the glass away.

Raven D’s eyes haunted her mind. That green glow. That masked face. The way his boys had touched her like she was nothing.

She headed back to the house. The car was still there. A motorcycle now sat beside it. Her head spun as she reached for her gun.

The boys stepped out with the girl from earlier. She wasn’t laughing anymore. She struggled desperately as they dragged her out of the house.

Isa watched. She waited. The moment they drove off, she followed.

They moved slow at first, unaware. They stopped at another house and kicked the girl out. Isa didn’t care about the girl. Not now. Not tonight.

She waited for them to leave again. Then she pressed her foot against the gas and followed. When the road turned quiet, she slammed into them.

They screamed in shock.

Good.

She hit them again. Harder this time. Her adrenaline spiked. She loved the chaos. She felt alive.

With the next hit, their car spun off the road and slammed into a billboard. Isa cheered as she jumped out.

She walked toward the wreckage and saw three boys unconscious. One remained awake, barely. It was the one who had slapped her.

His eyes widened with terror when he saw her.

Isa didn’t say a word. She pulled out her gun, flipped it, and smashed the butt of it into his face again and again until he blacked out.

“Worthless,” she muttered and walked away.

Her phone buzzed. Another message from Elena.

Come home now. I sent the address. You didn’t respond.

Isa groaned and rushed to her car. Her heart raced for reasons she didn’t understand.

When she reached the location, two uniformed men approached her.

“Who are you, miss? Why are you here?”

“My mom told me she lives here,” Isa said, showing her phone. “She sent me the address.”

“Who is your mom?”

“Elena. Just let me in. I don’t have time for this.”

The men exchanged looks. She began to feel unsure. Was her mom’s new husband this rich? That wedding didn’t match this level of wealth.

Her head spun. Her vision blurred. She tried to stay upright, but her body failed.

“Miss? Can you hear me?”

That was the last thing she remembered.

…

“Wake up.”

Isa groaned. The bed felt cloud-soft beneath her. Her body felt lighter, almost healed.

“You reek,” Elena’s voice snapped. “Wake up.”

“Mom, let me sleep,” Isa mumbled.

Elena tapped her repeatedly. Isa finally opened her eyes. For a moment she smiled, thinking the entire day had been a nightmare.

But when she looked around, her smile vanished.

A different room. Beautiful. Expensive. Too perfect to be theirs.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“In your new bedroom,” Elena said. “Now tell me where you got these wounds. Did you get into a fight?”

Isa ignored her and took in the room. Black and gold walls. A massive chandelier. Paintings. A vanity table. A queen sized bed that made her old one look like a childhood toy.

Elena tapped her shoulder again. “You were carried in drunk. You slept the entire night.”

Isa rolled away. “It’s none of your business, Mom.”

“Stop acting like that. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about selling the house.”

“I don’t care anymore,” Isa said. “I just need money so I can move out.”

Elena laughed softly and flashed her wedding ring.

“Don’t be angry. And don’t be shocked when you meet your new family. Go shower. We have something interesting to tell you downstairs.”

She left the room. Isa sighed deeply and reached for her phone.

A message from Viktor.

Her stomach dropped.

Remember, princessa. Your thirty days start now. Kill the senator’s son, or your mother dies.