Chapter 80: Mariana's Pov

Time flies when happiness fills your days.

It's been two months since I gave birth to my Angel. Two months since my heart swelled with love so pure and overwhelming, I thought I might drown in it.

I love my son.

I love him for coming into my life and unraveling a part of me I never knew existed. For being my light in the darkness.

But most of all, I love him for arriving exactly when I needed him-as though sent by the universe itself to give me a way out.

Because today, after weeks of persuasion, my husband has finally done what I've been waiting for. He has presented my son to the elders of his family, naming him as his successor should anything happen to him.

It's tradition, a ritual of power. To the outside world, it's a declaration of legacy. To me, it's the final piece of the puzzle.

I know Angel is too young to be entangled in this messy, bloody business, but I had to secure his place in this world before setting my plans into motion.

Plans that have been months in the making.

What plans, you ask?

Radimr's death.

I didn't endure months of torture just to live the rest of my life as his dutiful wife. To smile at him across dinner tables or pretend that what he did to me-what he did to my brother and Alejandro-could ever be forgiven.

No.

Revenge. Power.

These are the reasons I returned to Russia, even after all the scars Radimr left on my body and soul. I came back to take everything from him-to strip him of his power, to turn him into nothing more than a shadow of the man he once was.

And when I had nothing left to gain from him, to kill him.

Tonight, the final act begins.

He has no idea what's coming.

For two months, I've smiled. I've played the perfect wife. I've held my son in my arms and imagined the future I will carve out for him-free of Radimr's shadow.

But tonight, the game ends. Tonight, I take back everything he's stolen from me.

And when the clock strikes midnight, Radimr will no longer draw breath.

We walk into the manor-me, Radimr and our son-all laughs and giggles. He's fawning about how Angel is such a beautiful and calm boy, how he's a proud father. I laugh, but not because I find humor in his words, but because I know he'll be proud of Angel but he'll do so from six feet beneath the earth.

I just want to scream at him and tell him that Angel could never be his son, that a man like him can never father a beautiful boy like my son. But I keep my tongue to myself.

Not yet.

When we reach the top of the stairs, Alejandro is waiting. For me perhaps, but he of course plays it cool and pretends as though he's intending to walk down the stairs.

"Don't sleep tonight," I whisper as he walks past me.

Three words whispered breathlessly.

I know he almost stops to ask me more, to uncover more. But I keep it pushing, keep my conversation with Radimr alive as we disappear into our bedroom.

. . .

Hours tick by and my nerves threaten to get the best of me. I don't let it.

Heaving out a breath, I slip on my lingerie, smoothen the fabric down before strutting out of the washroom.

When I walk into the room, Radimr lifts his gaze from his phone and a smile takes over his features. "Angel is asleep," he says, his voice almost a whisper.

I smile coyly, my gaze briefly shifting to the baby's crib, immediately returning to my husband. "I see that. . ." I hush on a sultry voice, "you're such a good father, aren't you?"

"I did promise to give it my best shot." He responds.

I scoff. "How about you try being a good husband. . . if you know what I mean. . ."

As I speak, I move forward. My steps are slow, stalking in a way that arouses every desire in him. He sits up eagerly, but I don't wait for him to take control of this situation.

I'm on him in a blink of an eye, straddling him, grinding on his growing bulge. "You know what?" I ask, my lips ghosting over his.

"What," Radimr whispers, his eager hands squeezing my ass.

"I think you don't know me quite well, Alexandr Radimr Vastlav."

The corner of his mouth curves into a smirk, his head falling back. "I think I know you well enough, Maria,"

"You think?" I ask.

"Hm," he hums a response.

I stare at him for a moment, my teeth bared into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Then I lean down, mouth to his ear, words whooshing like the wind as though it's meant to be kept a secret between us. "Then do you know me well enough to know I don't forgive those who hurt me? Do you know me well enough to know that I'm not one to break my promises, especially the ones made to those who have hurt me?"

"What are you. . ." he starts, but I cut him off.

"I told you, didn't I?" I murmur, "I told you I was going to kill you for insulting me."

Realization dawns and pleasure seizes, replaced by something else-fear, anger, uncertainty perhaps.

My smile does not falter. It remains as though to keep him in a state of confusion. Am I serious or am I pulling his legs? I see the contemplation in his eyes. But then my next words hold the answer.

I continue. "Maybe I wanted to forgive that, perhaps I did in fact pardon your foul mouth, but then you married me and started hitting me. Me. Mariana Denaro. You fucking hit me? Do you know who the fuck I am?"

All hell breaks loose. He's fighting, struggling underneath me. But I have him exactly where I want him-trapped between my thighs, under the influence of something that simply reduces the efficacy of his physical strength.

I don't play fair, because honestly, life is not fair. And I'll actually be a fool to think I can overpower the Pakhan of Russia Bratva while he's operating at his full capacity.

"Stay. Still." I grit through clenched teeth.

He doesn't budge. His fingers curl into a fist and he throws a punch with all he's got. But all he's got isn't much-it's not enough to take me down.

"Stop fucking fighting." I breathe, throwing my own punch. It draws blood from his nose and his head veers to the side. "Don't fucking fight me, because there's no winning. You lost this game the moment you laid eyes on me and looked longer than a second. You're a loser."

"What about our child?" Radimr reasons.

"What child?" I ask, my eyes darting to the crib. "My son?"

"He's my son too!" He roars.

I chuckle humorously. "You must be delusional to think I'll have a baby with a man like you."

"W. . . what. . ."

"Even if I fell pregnant by a man like you, Radimr, I wouldn't let myself birth your child. Angel is mine. Mine and Alejandro's."

His eyes widen, disbelief and loathe morphing into the piercing orbs. His breathing is ragged, grunts. His muscles twitch beneath me, his head shaking from side to side.

"There you go. . ." I goad, "I see your darkness coming alive in those eyes of yours." I tut. "It's a shame that you have to leave too soon, Alex."

Before he's able to decipher my words and react to them, my blade drives into him. He grunts and fights. I pin him down. He throws another fist that meets me square in the face, drawing blood from both my nose and my mouth.

I laugh at his failed endeavor as my blade buries into his stomach again.

There's blood everywhere. Messy. But I like messy.

I pull out and slam into him again, this time into his chest.

He chokes on both the pain, his blood, and his breath. I don't know how long he struggles for, but what I do recognize is the exhilarating feeling that seizes my bones as I watch life drain from his eyes.

When I've confirmed him dead, a scream of, "help me!" tears from my throat.

The piercing sound wakes my son from sleep and his wailing fills the room. Good. Makes it all the more better.

I run to the crib and pick him up before curling myself up into a ball in a corner.

"Help me!" I scream again.

The door bursts open.

Alejandro.