Page 3 of Hunted By Valentine

“N-no. You’re the best. It needs to be you.” I cock my head to the side, wondering if he really thinks flattery is going to win him any favors. “I know you only kill in February, but, ahh… I was hoping for an exception.”

“No exceptions,” I state coldly. “If the time frame is a problem for you, you’ll have to find someone else to get rid of your wife.”

I purposefully don’t let on that I know I’m the only one he’s willing to outsource the job to. The Knight family rules New York City supreme, so he’d be a fool to risk asking someone who is either on their payroll or would use it as an opportunity to get a leg up and earn themselves a favor.

Everyone answers to someone, even me.

Arthur Hatt is one of only two people, not including myself, who knows my true identity. Eve, my therapist, knows everything about me because I want her to. But Arthur only knows it because of his dad, the previous King of the Hatt empire.

The politics between the Hatt and Knight families doesn’t interest me, soI stay out of it. All I know is that I once did Arthur’s dad a favor, and when I called it in, the Hunter got free rein one month a year. With my name, I couldn’t resist the irony of picking February. Which is when New York City turns into my deadly playground.

“No problem,” Michael rushes out. “February is fine.”

I don’t acknowledge his words. Instead, I turn and slip back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as I arrived. He won’t see me again until the week is up.

As I step back into the cold air outside the garage, the snow continues to fall, coating the streets in a thick layer of white. The streets are empty as I move through the city, my breath visible in the cold air. The job intrigues me, and that’s not something I say often.

Ruby Simmons… formerly Knight. She’s more than a liability. More than just a wife to be erased. By the time the week is up, I’ll know her. Inside and out. And then, I’ll decide how this story ends.

Chapter 2

The Hunter

The week I’ve spent observing Ruby has been… informative. She’s a creature of habit, bound by the tight strings her husband pulls with an iron fist. Her days are an endless loop of restraint—rare outings, muted conversations, the occasional half-hearted smile that never touches her eyes.

She’s learned to survive in his world, but there’s a quiet misery in her. She moves like a ghost—silent, deliberate, as if fading into the background is her only means of escape.

Each day has peeled back another layer. The way she flinches at sudden noises, the stiff way she holds herself around her husband, the bruises she hides so well beneath expensive fabric and mountains of makeup.

I clench my hands as my blood starts to boil again at the memory of the damage Michael inflicted on her only a few days ago. A part of me still wants to rip his throat out and serve his heart to her on a silver platter. Michael doesn’t seem to have understood what my presence means yet.

Ruby might behiswife; but she’smyprey.

Mine.

There’s no defiance in her, no rebellion. Only cold, quiet resignation.

Yet… there’s something else.

Despite everything, Ruby isn’t completely broken. There’s a resolve beneath her porcelain surface, a spark of something that she keeps hidden, even from herself. It fascinates me—the way she navigates her fractured life without crumbling. She is both fragile and formidable, a contradiction I find myself drawn to.

Tonight, New Year’s Eve, I follow her again. She leaves the house, cloaked in her usual air of detachment. She doesn’t look over her shoulder, doesn’t check to see if anyone’s watching. She’s used to being invisible, but not tonight. Tonight, I’m close, staying hidden in the city’s shadows as she moves through the snow-dusted streets.

She makes her way to a small church, tucked away from the bustling holiday crowds. I watch as she slips inside, her frame swallowed by the darkness. She’s not here for the celebration. She’s here for something else, something more intimate. I follow her silently, my footsteps muffled by the fresh layer of snow.

Inside, her brother, Nicklas, stands at the altar with Carolina. The wedding is small, private—just the two of them and the priest. Ruby doesn’t join them. She hides behind a marble column, watching from the shadows like she’s not meant to be there.

She’s an outsider in her own family, a woman who has long learned to make herself disappear.

There’s no emotion on her face, not even when the priest pronounces her brother and his bride husband and wife. She watches with the same detached air she wears like armor, but I see it—the faint crack in her façade. The way her eyes linger on their joined hands, the brief tightening of her jaw.

Happiness is not something she allows herself to believe in.

Well, my little prey, that makes two of us. Happiness is just the absence of pain or other negative inflictions. It’s not real; not tangible. It’s a myth just like the Easter Bunny, Santa, and the fucked up Tooth Fairy that collects teeth from kids.

The wedding ends quickly, and Ruby slips out before anyone notices her. I wait, watching her, this time from closer than before. The way she moves,her body language—so rehearsed, so restrained.

She is not just a Mafia princess. She’s a prisoner in her own life, and yet, there’s a fire buried deep beneath the layers of control and fear. It’s faint, but it’s there. I wonder what would happen if someone were to stoke those embers.

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