Chapter 44: CHAPTER 44

Kira's POV

The boss's eyes flickered with something I recognized—wariness mixed with greed, the eternal dance of men who traded in death. He gestured to a chair across from his desk, and I sat, Elena hovering at my shoulder like a shadow that had forgotten how to exist independently.

"Speak," he said, leaning back in his chair. The wood creaked under his weight. "Tell me what you want, Lady Kira."

I didn't mince words. I didn't have the patience for games, not anymore.

"There's a girl," I said, my voice flat and even. "She's traveling with the Lycan King's convoy. She's his personal maid, newly appointed. Brown hair. Green eyes. Insignificant in every way except for the hold she has over him." I paused, letting that sink in. "I want her dead. I want her obliterated. I want there to be nothing left that he can recognize."

The boss's expression shifted—a slight tightening around his eyes, the kind of micro-expression that betrayed genuine concern beneath the professional facade.

"His personal maid," he repeated slowly. "The one who travels in his carriage. The one who shares his table."

"Exactly."

"And you want us to kill her."

"Yes."

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the scarred surface of his desk. Then, very carefully, he said: "Lady Kira, I don't think you understand what you're asking."

"I understand perfectly."

"No." He leaned forward, and his voice dropped to something almost conspiratorial. "I don't think you do. You're asking us to assassinate someone who travels under the personal protection of the Mad King. The most powerful Lycan in existence. A man whose beast has torn apart armies and who kills without hesitation when provoked." He shook his head slowly. "That's not a job. That's a death sentence."

I felt the rage building behind my eyes, hot and immediate. "I'm not asking you to kill him. I'm asking you to kill a girl. A wolfless, insignificant, utterly powerless girl."

"Who is important to him." His voice was flat. Final. "Who, by your own account, he has placed under his explicit protection. Who he would hunt to the ends of the earth to avenge."

"Then don't get caught," I snapped. "That's the point of hiring professionals, isn't it? You make it look like an accident. A bandit attack. A carriage accident. Anything that doesn't lead back to me."

The boss exchanged a glance with Darian, and I saw the silent communication pass between them. The kind of look that said this woman is insane and we need to get rid of her and this is too dangerous even for us.

"We're professionals," the boss said carefully. "But we're not suicidal. Killing anyone under the Mad King's protection would bring down his full wrath on this operation. We'd lose everything. Our contacts, our safe houses, our lives. He would burn this city to the ground to find out who was responsible."

"Then I'll pay you enough to rebuild," I said, and I heard the desperation creeping into my voice. The vulnerability I'd sworn I would never show again. "Name your price. Whatever it is, I'll pay it."

He was silent for a moment. Then: "A hundred thousand gold."

I didn't flinch. "Done."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "A hundred thousand was a test, Lady Kira. I wasn't expecting you to agree so readily."

"I told you. Name your price. I'll pay it."

He studied me for a long moment, and I could see the calculation behind his eyes. The reassessment. The understanding that I was more desperate—more dangerous—than he'd initially believed.

"Two hundred thousand," he said.

"Done."

"Three."

"Done."

He stared at me, genuinely startled now. "Lady Kira, that's—"

"Whatever it takes," I cut him off, my voice sharp as a blade. "I don't care about the cost. I don't care about the risk. I don't care about anything except seeing that girl's blood on the ground." I leaned forward, my hands flat on his desk, my eyes boring into his. "She took everything from me. Everything. My position. My dignity. The only man I've ever loved. She walked into my life and destroyed it in a matter of days, and I want her to pay. I want her to suffer the way I've suffered. I want to watch the light fade from her eyes and know that I was the one who put it there."

The room was silent. Even Elena had gone still, her breath caught in her throat.

The boss looked at me for a long moment, and I could see something shifting in his expression. Not sympathy—men like him didn't do sympathy. But recognition. The understanding that he was dealing with someone who had crossed a line and wasn't coming back.

"Elena," he said, and his voice was quieter now. "Is this really what she wants?"

Elena stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "Yes," she said, and her voice was steady in a way I hadn't expected. "This is what she wants. And I'm asking you—begging you—to help her. Please, Darian. For me. For everything I've done for you and your people over the years."

Darian's jaw tightened. I could see the conflict in his eyes—the loyalty to his sister warring with his survival instinct.

"Three hundred thousand is already more than we've ever taken for a single contract," he said slowly. "But it's not enough. Not for this. Not for the risk we'd be taking."

"Then name your price," I said again, and the words came out like a prayer. "Whatever it is. I have assets. Property. Jewels. I'll give you everything. Everything."

Darian and the boss exchanged another glance, and I saw the moment they made their decision. The moment the greed outweighed the fear.

"Four hundred thousand," the boss said, and his voice was final. "Plus the deed to your estate in the eastern district. Plus the contents of your personal vault. In advance."

"Done."

"And if we're caught—" He held up a hand. "If we're caught, we don't know you. We've never met you. This conversation never happened. You'll deny everything."

"Of course."

He was quiet for a moment, studying me with those cold, calculating eyes.

"You realize," he said slowly, "that this is the most dangerous mission we've ever undertaken. We're risking everything—our operation, our lives, our very existence—by killing a girl that your King has placed his interest in. He won't let this go. He'll hunt for answers until he finds them."

"I know."

"And if we fail—if we're captured or killed—you'll be left with nothing."

"I know."

"Then why?" The question came out almost curious. "Why is this worth everything you have?"

I looked at him, and I let him see it. The full extent of the darkness that had taken root in my chest. The obsession that had consumed every other thought, every other feeling, every other purpose.

"Because I want her dead," I said simply. "I want her gone. I want to know that she's gone. I want to see it. I want to taste it. I want to watch Dmitri's face when he finds out what happened to his precious little pet. I want him to know what it feels like to lose something he loves. To have it ripped away from him the way he ripped everything away from me."

I was breathing hard now, my hands trembling against his desk. The words were pouring out of me like poison from a wound, and I couldn't stop them. Didn't want to stop them.

"She's not special," I continued, my voice cracking at the edges. "She's nothing. A peasant. A nobody. A wolfless, pathetic excuse for a woman who somehow—somehow—managed to do what I couldn't do in a hundred years. She made him care. She made him choose her. She walked into my life and took everything that was mine, and I will not rest until she's dead. Do you understand that? I will not rest. I will not stop. I will not give up until she's rotting in the ground and he knows—truly knows—what he threw away."

The room was silent. Even the candles seemed to have stopped flickering.

The boss stared at me for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was different. Softer. Almost respectful.

"Lady Kira," he said quietly. "You're insane."

"Probably," I agreed. "Does that change anything?"

He was quiet for another moment, and then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a man who had seen madness before and knew how to turn a profit from it.

"No," he said. "It doesn't change a thing."

He pulled a sheet of parchment from his desk and dipped a quill in ink, scrawling something across the page with quick, practiced strokes. When he was finished, he slid it across to me.

"The contract," he said. "As we discussed. If the mission is successful, we take everything you've offered. Four hundred thousand gold, the deed to your eastern estate, the contents of your vault. If it fails, we take half. Non-negotiable."

I read the document quickly, my eyes scanning the dense legal language. It was exactly what we'd discussed. Every detail meticulously noted, every contingency accounted for.

"Half?" I said, looking up. "If you fail, you still take half of everything?"

"Half of the offered payment," he confirmed. "Not half of the success fee. The gold, the estate, the vault contents. Half."

"That's extortion."

"It's insurance," he said calmly. "We're risking everything on this contract. Our lives, our operation, our very existence. If we fail—if we're captured or killed—we won't be around to collect anything. The half goes to our families, our contacts, the people who depend on us. It's the price of doing business with a man who's signing his own death warrant by taking this job."

I stared at him for a long moment, the anger warring with the pragmatism. He was right, of course. He was asking for a staggering sum, and it was a risk that could destroy the entire operation—their operation, not mine. My life was already over. I had nothing left to lose.

"Fine," I said, and the word tasted like ash in my mouth. "Half if you fail. Everything if you succeed. And a signed statement that I have no connection to any of this."

"Already drafted." He slid a second document across the table—a deniability agreement, legally binding in every territory, stating that I had never met with him, never agreed to any contract, never authorized any action against the target.

I read it carefully, then signed both documents with a flourish.

"The ink is barely dry," the boss said, examining the signatures. "We'll start planning immediately. The convoy is traveling to the Council of Kings—we have contacts in that region who can help us intercept them. It will take time to arrange, but we'll make it happen."

"How long?" I demanded.

"A few days, perhaps a week. We need to be careful. We need to make sure there's no trail leading back to you or to us."

"A week." The words came out flat. "I've been waiting a century. A few more days won't kill me."

But even as I said it, I felt the impatience burning in my chest like a fever. Every day that girl breathed was an insult. Every hour she spent with Dmitri was a mockery of everything I'd sacrificed.

The boss stood, extending his hand. "We have a deal, Lady Kira."

I took his hand, and his grip was firm and calloused—the hand of a man who had killed before and would kill again.

"We have a deal," I confirmed. "But understand this: if you fail me—if that girl survives—I will find you. All of you. And I will make you regret ever taking this contract."

The boss didn't flinch. "If we fail, Lady Kira, there won't be anything left of us to find. The Mad King will have already destroyed everything we are."

I nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then we understand each other."

Elena stepped forward, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you," she said to her brother. "Thank you for doing this. For helping us."

Darian's expression softened, just slightly. "For you, Elena. Always for you."

He pulled her into a brief embrace, and I looked away, feeling like an intruder on a moment I didn't belong to.

"When do we leave?" I asked, my voice brisk.

Darian pulled back from his sister, his expression shifting back to business. "You don't. You return to the palace and wait. We'll contact you when the deed is done."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to demand that I be there, that I see her die with my own eyes. But I knew better than to push. Knew that these men had their own way of doing things, their own protocols and precautions.

"Fine," I said. "But I want proof. A token. Something I can hold in my hands and know that she's gone."

The boss nodded slowly. "That can be arranged."

I pulled my hood back up, obscuring my face in shadow. "Then I'll wait for your signal."

Elena fell into step beside me as we walked out of the back room, through the dim tavern, and back into the morning light.

The sun was higher now, the shadows shorter, and the city was fully awake around us. Merchants hawking their wares, children playing in the streets, life going on as if nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

I had signed a death warrant. I had set the wheels in motion. And soon—very soon—that girl would be nothing but a memory. A cautionary tale. A lesson in what happened to those who crossed me.

As I mounted my horse and followed Elena back through the winding streets, I let myself imagine it. The moment the blade slid home. The look on her face. The realization in those green eyes that she was about to die.

It was the only thing that kept me warm.

The only thing that kept me going.

The only thing that made the next few days of waiting bearable.

Tessa was going to die. And when she did, I would finally be free.