Page 1 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

Mikhail - 35 / Gabriette - 25

MIKHAIL

Ilook at the blood splatter on the walls, the red a stark contrast to the white color scheme of the bedroom itself. Her dark curls laid out over her pillow, those tresses I would have wrapped my fist around in another day or so.

Normally, a suicide wouldn’t get my blood boiling since I see it as the coward’s way out of their problems. But this time it’s different; this time, it’s fucking personal.

“What exactly am I looking at here?” my voice echoes through the room and I watch as her father, Alberto, visibly stiffens. “A promise sealed in blood has ended in blood as well, Alberto?”

He turns around to face me, his eyes wide at what I have just implied. Swallowing deeply, he shakes his head and walks toward me, a pleading look in his eyes.

“N-no! Definitely not! I can rectify this and our agreement will remain in place,” he says, swallowing deeply, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Unless you have a way to bring a woman back from the dead, then I say our deal is through. It’s a pity. I was looking forward to what you had to offer me other than your daughter,” I say, placing my black-gloved hands into the pockets of my coat.

This should have been a fucking simple transaction; a ring on his daughter’s finger would mean safe dealings in territories the Bratva cannot cross, and the same for him as well. It would have kept both sides happy, and now it’s all a fuck up.

“I have another daughter,” he says, and I blink at him, confused. “One who no one knows about—”

“A bastard? You’re offering me one of your bastard children?” I say through gritted teeth, my fingers itching to grab my Beretta and pump every single fucking bullet into him.

Not only is this fucking suicide a slap in my face, but now he wants to rub an illegitimate daughter onto me. Who does this asshole take me for?

His face goes pale, and he shakes his head, holding his hands up in surrender. “No, she’s not a bastard! She’s my daughter, but she’s not part of this life … But I can bring her back.”

My eyes widen slightly at this; a hidden mafia princess?

“Hmm, if your word is your honor, then give me her address. We still have a wedding tomorrow, so—”

“I’ll collect her myself and bring her to you,” he interjects and I fucking see red.

Ignoring his men raising their weapons, I grab him by the throat and slam him against the wall where his daughter lay dead, my hand squeezing his windpipe.

“If there’s one thing I hate to my very core, it is being interrupted,” I grit out, my grip on his throat tightening. “So, unless you want to insult my family even more that you already have, you will give me her fucking address or so help me God, the next one to join your daughter will be your wife.”

His face reddens, and he sputters, grabbing at my hand while nodding his head as spittle flies everywhere. Disgusted but feeling satisfied with his answer, I let go of him and he coughs as he falls to the floor.

“She’s…”

I grin when I get the address from him, then I leave the bedroom to collect my dead fiance's replacement.

GABRIETTE

The lights in the intimate concert hall dim, and the rustle of the crowd stills while my heart thrums in my chest. My fingers dance over the strings of my cello, each note flowing from my heart.

As the bow traces the strings, it paints a picture of the dreams I long for—freedom, love, passion. The cello’s voice is mine, a voice unfettered by the chains my last name holds.

For that brief moment, I wasn’t the youngest child of a Chicago underboss; I was a musician, alive and free.

The final notes resonate throughout the hall, and the audience erupts into applause. My heart pounds, not just from the thrill of the performance, but also from knowing I am finally living the life I want, no matter how trivial it may seem to others.

The venue is small, but every performance is a step toward my dream. The crowd’s appreciation is genuine, and I find warmth in their smiles, something I rarely experienced growing up. I gave a slight bow, my eyes meeting those of a man in the front row.

My security detail, discreet yet ever-present, watches from the shadows. My father insisted on it. It’s a constant reminder of a world I am no longer a part of and one I’d never return to. But the security detail was a reminder of my father’s love, his way of caring from a distance.

Thinking about my family at this moment sends a pang of guilt through my heart, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying.

I’m the youngest of two daughters. My sister Sophia made an agreement with my father for me to have a normal life away from the one we were born into. She sacrificed her own happiness and freedom for me, knowing the type of men we’d be married to, and I have no way to repay her for it.

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