I Loved the Man Who Murdered My Family

Moonlight streamed through the broken roof of the abandoned warehouse, casting eerie silver patterns across the blood pooling at my feet.

Three bodies lay sprawled on the cold concrete floor, their eyes still open, staring sightlessly at a ceiling they'd never see again.

I gripped the still-warm silenced pistol, feeling the metal's heat against my palm. 'Another perfect night.'

Daddy taught me well. He really did. Five years since I went from that terrified twelve-year-old girl trembling in human traffickers' hands to the seventeen-year-old killer who could execute traitors without blinking.

I'd become exactly what he wanted—his perfect weapon.

I walked toward the first corpse. Carlos, thirty-five, used to be one of Papá's most trusted mid-level operators. Until yesterday when we discovered his DEA connections. The price of betrayal was always death.

Bang. I put an extra bullet in his temple. Always confirm the kill—that was Papá's first lesson.

Miguel was the second. Younger, maybe twenty-eight, and his greed was stupidly fatal—he'd tried to leak our cargo routes to competitors.

Bang. Another bullet.

The last one was Eduardo. This sick bastard had wanted to kidnap little girls from across the border to "develop new business opportunities." Even in our world, there were lines you didn't cross. At least that's what Papá told me.

Bang. The third shot.

I holstered my gun and pulled out my phone, texting Papá: [Homework done.]

Then I turned and left the warehouse.

The night wind swept across the Texas border, carrying music from the Mexican side and the distant rumble of trucks on the highway. This was my world—bloody, violent, but it was home.

Twenty minutes later, I was back at Papá's private compound.

From the outside, it looked like an abandoned auto shop, but the basement was where the real business happened. I entered through the back door, expertly avoiding all the surveillance cameras and alarm systems.

The basement walls were lined with torture devices and weapons: chainsaws, chains, blades, and guns of every caliber. Papá called them "educational tools." This was where I learned how to make people tell the truth in record time, and how to make death "artistic."

Papá sat in his leather chair, documents and a glass of whiskey spread before him. When he heard my footsteps, he looked up, those dark brown eyes gleaming dangerously in the lamplight.

"My little rose is back," his voice was low and gentle, giving no hint that this was a man who'd just ordered three executions.

"Yes, Papá." I approached him. "Three traitors eliminated. Clean and efficient. No traces left."

He nodded approvingly, then stood and walked toward me.

I felt his warm palm caress my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the blood spatters on my face.

"My little rose is improving again." His voice was full of pride. "Five years, and you've transformed from that crying little girl into the perfect hunter."

I nestled into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent of tobacco and gun oil. This man had killed the traffickers who'd bought and sold me, rescued me from hell, and given me new life and purpose.

"As long as Papá is happy," I said softly, though complex emotions flickered in my mind.

Sometimes I wondered what I'd be like if I'd never met those traffickers, if my birth family were still alive. But reality always crushed those thoughts. The past was dead. Now I only had Papá.

"Come, let's go to 'El Lobo' to celebrate," Papá released the embrace and adjusted his black suit. "Lots of business to discuss tonight."

'El Lobo' was the most notorious bar on the border, where drug dealers, human smugglers, mercenaries, and every other type of criminal gathered. The smoke-filled space reeked of tequila, sweat, and danger.

We chose a corner table with a clear view of the entire bar. Papá ordered two whiskeys, and we sat in silence, observing the crowd around us.

That's when a young woman approached our table. She looked maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, with long black hair and a simple white dress that seemed completely out of place in this violence-soaked bar.

Interesting. My hand instinctively moved to the knife at my waist.

"Viper?" Her voice was soft, trembling slightly. "I'm Isabella Rodriguez."

Papá looked up at her, his expression instantly guarded. "Do I know you, girl?"

"Three months ago, at that warehouse deal in San Antonio." Isabella sat across from us. "You said you'd protect me."

I felt Papá's body tense suddenly. His eyes narrowed. "So what?"

Isabella took a deep breath, then looked directly into Papá's eyes. "I'm pregnant. It's your child."

The entire world seemed to freeze in that moment. I felt cold fury rising from my chest, my grip tightening on the knife handle.

"What?" My voice was low as a beast's growl.

Isabella turned to me, fear flashing in her eyes, but she continued: "I just want a home, a normal life. He said he'd protect me!"

I felt my blood boiling. This woman dared... dared to try to take my Papá away?

I shot to my feet, my blade already drawn, the point aimed at Isabella's throat. "You better shut the fuck up."

Isabella shrank back, but I caught an unexpected flash of determination in her eyes. "I'm telling the truth."

"He's my Papá," my voice dripped with killing intent. "I won't let anyone take him away. Anyone."

Papá's hand pressed on my wrist, signaling me to lower the weapon. "Cataleya, calm down."

How could I be calm? For five years, it had been just me and Papá. Now this woman wanted to intrude, claiming she was carrying his child?

"She's lying," I said through gritted teeth. "She has to be lying."

But Isabella shook her head. "I have the hospital test results. Three months, Viper."

I looked at Papá, hoping to see denial in his eyes, anger, anything that would prove this woman was lying. But his expression told me she might be telling the truth.

No, this can't be happening.

Other patrons in the bar were starting to notice our commotion. Several of Papá's men were moving closer, hands already on their weapons.

"We'll discuss this at home," Papá commanded quietly, but his eyes remained fixed on Isabella.

I reluctantly sheathed my knife, but the killing intent didn't fade. If this woman really was carrying Papá's child, if she really wanted to steal my family, then she was my enemy.

And my enemies had only one fate.

As we left the bar, I looked back at Isabella one last time. She still sat there, hand resting on her stomach.

'Whoever you are, whatever you want,' I told her silently, 'if you're trying to destroy my family, I'll show you the price.'

Another dangerous night, but this time the threat wasn't from outside enemies—it was from the young woman sitting at that table.

My fingers traced the knife handle as I planned my next move. Papá might be fooled by this woman's tears and her "baby," but I wouldn't be.

I was the perfect hunter he'd trained, and now I had new prey.