The Mob Queen Wants to Claim Me for Herself (In a Reverse World)

"Why does it smell like your cum in here, Adam?" she asks, her voice soft and flat, lacking any inflection whatsoever. The question hangs in the air between us, sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous.

I gulp hard, my throat suddenly bone dry. The air feels like it's being sucked out of the room, leaving nothing but the oppressive silence between us and the thundering of my heart against my ribcage.

"I was horny last night, so I blasted some ropes before I went to bed," I lie, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It must have gotten on the sheets."

My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, strained and pitched slightly too high. Sweat beads at my hairline despite the morning chill. The lie hangs between us, pathetically transparent.

Caterina's expression doesn't change. Not a single muscle in her face twitches. She remains perfectly, terrifyingly still, like a statue carved from ice. Only her eyes move, drifting from my face to the rumpled sheets, then to a strand of brown hair on the pillow that clearly isn't mine.

"Interesting," she finally says, the word dropping from her lips like a stone into still water.

She steps closer to the bed, reaching down to run her manicured fingers over the sheets. She lifts them to her face, inhaling deeply, her nostrils flaring slightly. Something dark and primal flashes across her features, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

Without another word, she turns on her heel and strides toward the door, her movements fluid and predatory.

"Cat, wait…" I yell, my voice full of fear.

She doesn't stop. Doesn't even acknowledge that I've spoken. She simply glides out of the room with deadly purpose, her cream-colored pantsuit a stark contrast against the homey floral wallpaper of the hallway.

I stumble after her, my hangover and terror making my movements clumsy.

I reach the bottom of the staircase just in time to see Caterina step into the living room where the Harper family and Connor have gathered in tense silence. Lara and Maddy hover near the entrance, their postures alert despite their casual expressions.

Caterina's face transforms before my eyes, rage blooming across her features like a time-lapse of a deadly flower opening. Her crimson eyes blaze with unholy fire.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU PUT YOUR GRUBBY LITTLE HANDS ON MY LOVER?" she screams, the sudden violence of her voice shattering the tense quiet.

The silence that follows Caterina's outburst is absolute as if all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Everyone stands frozen, a scene of shock and fear. June's hand grips Connor's arm so tightly her knuckles have gone white. April stands rigid, her eyes darting between Caterina and me, calculating something I can't begin to fathom. Gabby has backed against the wall, her usually confident posture crumpled into something small and defensive.

But it's Candice who moves first. She steps forward, her chin lifting slightly as she meets Caterina's burning gaze. There's no fear in her stance, only resignation mixed with a strange, guilty like look. The morning light streaming through the windows catches the silver strands in her brown hair, illuminating them like threads of courage woven through ordinary life.

"I'm really sorry," Candice says, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. Her eyes flicker briefly to me, a look that contains an apology. "It was me th…"

Before she can finish her confession, Caterina's hand moves with terrifying speed. The gun appears as if conjured from thin air, an extension of her rage made manifest in cold steel. There's no hesitation, no warning, just three deafening cracks that rip through the fabric of normality.

The first bullet catches Candice square between the eyes, her expression still locked in that mixture of defiance and regret. The second and third shots are pure malice, striking her already falling body. Blood blooms across her chest like terrible flowers, crimson spreading across the fabric of her robe.

Candice crumples to the floor, the soft thud of her body hitting the hardwood somehow louder than the gunshots themselves. A dark halo begins to spread beneath her head, the rich brown of her hair now indistinguishable from the growing pool of blood.

The Harper sisters' screams blend together into a single wail of anguish that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Connor lunges forward, his face contorted with horror and disbelief, but June and April hold him back, their instinct for self-preservation momentarily stronger than their grief.

My vision tunnels, the edges going dark as I stare at Candice's motionless form. The room tilts sickeningly around me, reality distorting like a funhouse mirror reflecting the worst nightmare imaginable.

Caterina stands over Candice's body, the gun still smoking in her hand. Her cream pantsuit remains immaculate, not a single droplet of blood marring its pristine surface.

Caterina's crimson eyes burn with unholy fury as she turns to her accomplices. "Lara, Maddy," she says, her voice terrifyingly calm now, like the eye of a hurricane. "Finish the rest off."

Maddy nods with practiced efficiency, her hand already reaching for the weapon holstered beneath her fake police uniform. But beside her, Lara hesitates. For a fraction of a second, something flickers across her face, revulsion, perhaps, or fear before her features smooth back into their usual mask of cold professionalism.

My hand moves before my mind can fully process what I'm doing. The weight of the gun, hidden in my waistband all this time, is suddenly in my palm, the metal warm from pressing against my skin. In one fluid motion, I raise it not toward Caterina or her henchwomen but to my own temple. The barrel is cold against my skin, a small circle of ice that somehow burns.

"Wait," I say, but the word barely comes out despite the cavernous silence that follows Candice's murder.

Caterina slowly turns toward me, the gun still hanging casually from her hand as if it weighs nothing. For a heartbeat, her eyes hold that familiar loving gaze, the one that made me feel like the center of her universe, precious and irreplaceable. Her lips part slightly, as if she's about to say something kind.

"I know you're bad with bodies…" she begins, her voice honey-sweet.

Then she sees the gun pressed against my temple.

The transformation is instantaneous. The loving expression dissolves, replaced by naked terror that strips away all her carefully constructed masks. Her perfect composure shatters like fine china thrown against concrete, revealing the raw, desperate woman beneath.

Her face drains of color, the blood rushing from her cheeks so quickly it leaves her looking ghostly against the backdrop of her golden hair. Her crimson eyes widen, pupils dilating with fear as they lock onto the barrel pressed against my skin.

"Adam," she whispers, my name a broken thing in her mouth. "What are you doing?"

I'm sobbing now, tears streaming unchecked down my face, my vision blurring as I struggle to keep the gun steady against my temple. My entire body shakes with the force of my grief, my breath coming in ragged gasps that tear at my throat.

"You can't kill them," I plead, my voice cracking. "Please. Caterina, please, you can't kill them."

My finger trembles against the trigger, applying just enough pressure to make my intentions clear. The cold metal digs into my skin, the weight of it both terrifying and comforting in its finality.

"They're innocent," I continue, each word pushed through the vise of my constricted throat. "Connor is my friend. My only friend. Please."

Caterina takes a single step toward me, her hand outstretched as if to bridge the impossible distance between us. Her face contorts with a mixture of rage and desperation, the conflict visible in every line of her body.

"Put the gun down, Adam," she says, her voice unnaturally calm despite the panic in her eyes. "You know I can't live without you."

"Let them go," I choke out, pressing the gun harder against my temple, metal biting into my skin. "Let them live, and I'll come with you willingly. I'll never try to escape again. I'll be yours completely."

My voice breaks on the last word, tears streaming down my face in hot, salty tracks.

"I swear I'll pull the trigger if you hurt them." The words come out with surprising steadiness despite the tremor in my hand. "Is that what you want? To watch me die right in front of you? Because I will. I'll do it, Cat."

Caterina stands frozen, her crimson eyes wide with naked fear. Her gaze darts between me and the Harper sisters, calculating, weighing options, searching for a way out that doesn't end with my brains splattered across the quaint living room wallpaper.

She looks toward the family with pure disdain, her upper lip curling slightly. They huddle together near the wall, June and April flanking Connor protectively while Gabby kneels beside her mother's body, shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she clutches Candice's lifeless hand.

Maddy has her gun trained on them, her expression professionally blank despite the chaos unfolding around her. But I can see the uncertainty in her stance, the slight hesitation in her trigger finger as she waits for Caterina's command.

"Wait!" Connor suddenly shouts, his voice cracking with desperation. "Uhhh... pin the murder on me! Right?" His eyes dart wildly between Caterina and her associates, words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "That way, if we ever say anything, I'll go down for it. You'll have leverage forever."

The silence that follows his suggestion stretches like taffy, thick and uncomfortable. Connor's chest heaves with ragged breaths, his face pale with terror but eyes bright with desperate calculation. It's a terrible plan, hastily conceived in the grip of fear, but I see what he's trying to do, create an option, any option, that doesn't end with everyone dead.

Lara breaks the silence, her head tilting like a curious bird examining something unusual. "Boss," she says, her singsong voice incongruously light against the backdrop of death and despair, "I can probably make that work."

Caterina's eyes narrow, surprise flickering across her perfect features. "Yeah?"

Lara nods, a calculating gleam replacing the momentary hesitation in her eyes. "It's actually perfect. We stage it like a breaking and entering gone wrong. But if anyone talks, we can just say Connor killed the mother in a jealous rage when he found out about Adam, then we leave his prints on the gun. They'll never talk because he'd go down for murder."

My hand trembles against my temple, the gun growing heavier with each passing second. The barrel digs into my skin, cold metal warming against my flesh as sweat beads along my hairline.

"Maddy?" Caterina asks, her voice carefully controlled as she turns toward her other lieutenant.

Maddy stares at the gun pressed to my head. Her eyes flick between me and Caterina, assessing the situation with the cold calculation of someone who's survived by making the right calls in impossible situations.

"We'd have to have someone watch them," she says finally, her tone measured and pragmatic. "Someone to ensure they never talk. Ever."

"Fine, fine!" Connor yells, his voice cracking with desperation. He steps forward despite June's restraining hand on his arm. "Put someone on us. Have us followed. Whatever you want. Just please don't kill anyone else."

The Harper sisters stand frozen, grief and terror etched into every line of their bodies. June stands slightly apart, her eyes locked on Connor with an expression of mingled horror and heartbreaking loyalty.

Caterina's gaze darts between them, then back to me, her crimson eyes calculating beneath the veneer of panic. I can almost see the wheels turning behind those eyes, weighing options, measuring risks, searching for the solution that gives her what she wants with minimal complications.

"Adam," she says, my name soft on her lips as she takes another cautious step toward me. "Please put the gun down. We can work this out."

I shake my head, pressing the barrel harder against my temple. "Promise me," I demand, my voice steadier than I feel. "Promise me they live. All of them."

Something shifts in Caterina's expression, a subtle change that transforms her face from merely beautiful to almost angelic in its sincerity.

"I promise," she says, and for a moment, I believe her completely. "Just come home with me, baby. Please."

"I don't believe you."

My eyes drift to the still form on the floor, the spreading pool of crimson beneath her head. Candice is gone, erased from existence because of me because I brought this darkness to her doorstep.

"ADAM, JUST PUT THE FUCKING GUN DOWN, MAN!" Connor screams, his voice cracking with raw panic. His eyes are wide with terror, not for himself but for me. "PLEASE! We'll figure this out! Just don't… don't do this!"

The desperation in his voice cuts through me like a knife. The thought of Connor watching me die sends a fresh wave of anguish through my body, making the gun waver slightly against my skin.

Caterina sees the hesitation, the fractional loosening of my grip. Her crimson eyes soften, filling with tears that look genuine. "Baby," she whispers, taking another cautious step toward me, her hand outstretched like she's approaching a wounded animal. "Please. I love you. We can start over."

The familiar words wash over me, and for a moment, I feel myself weakening. The weight of the gun seems to increase tenfold, pulling at muscles grown tired from tension and fear. My arm begins to lower, just slightly, the barrel inching away from my temple in tiny increments that feel like miles.

"That's it," Caterina encourages. "Come back to me."

My arm lowers another fraction of an inch, the barrel now angled slightly away from my head.

"Just let go, baby. Let me take care of everything."

She takes another step toward me. Her hand reaches out, fingers stretching toward the gun with agonizing slowness.

The gun drifts lower, my arm finally surrendering to Caterina as she takes it from me.

"Good boy," she says, the words no longer warm but mechanical, a reward dispensed to a pet that has finally obeyed. She slips my gun into her pocket, then reaches into her blazer and produces a zip tie.

I don't resist as she takes my wrists, binding them together with swift, economical movements. The plastic bites into my skin, too tight, cutting off circulation in tiny increments that will become agony in the hours to come. But I barely notice the physical pain. My eyes are fixed on Connor and the Harper sisters, their faces frozen in grief and terror.

"I'm sorry," I mouth silently to them as Caterina grips my bound wrists and begins pulling me toward the door.

Caterina pauses at the threshold, turning back to survey the scene with the critical eye of a director assessing a stage set. Her crimson gaze lingers on Candice's body, the spreading pool of blood, the weeping family huddled against the wall.

"Lara, Maddy," she says, her voice crisp and businesslike, all traces of earlier emotion carefully erased. "Get this fucking corpse set up. Make it look convincing."

Lara nods as Caterina hand her a gun. Her blue eyes gleaming with renewed enthusiasm now that the crisis has passed. She moves toward Candice's body with the eager efficiency of someone who enjoys their work far too much.

Caterina glances at the Harper sisters, her expression coldly appraising. "Help the family make a convincing story? Make sure they understand what happens if they ever breathe a word about what really happened here today."

The sunlight streaming through the open door feels obscene against the darkness that has descended upon this house. Caterina pulls me across the threshold and onto the porch, the morning air cool against my tear-streaked face. A black SUV waits at the curb, engine running, tinted windows revealing nothing of what's inside.

"Everything's going to be okay now," Caterina whispers as she guides me down the steps, her voice a grotesque parody of comfort. "You're coming home where you belong."

A/N:This is the end of Volume 1 but we're just gonna keep on trucking.