2. Nadia
NADIA
The man in front of me cradles his arm like a newborn, his face flushed with pain, lips trembling as the Russian nurse we keep on retainer in Japan holds his arm out, away from his body and aligns it back with the socket.
Rebecca, the nurse, is small and squeaky, her thick Russian accent making her roll every "r." Her bright red hair is a tangled mess on top of her head, and she wears thick rainbow-colored glasses. I was assured that, despite her eccentric appearance, she’s the best in the business.
“Deep breath in,” she instructs, gripping my subordinate Emil’s arm with both hands.
He obeys, inhaling deeply as she counts down from three—only to snap the joint back into place on two.
“Fuck,” Emil hisses, biting his lip as he recoils.
“Oh, don’t be baby. You fight like man. You get man-like injuries,” Rebecca drones, securing his newly aligned shoulder before turning her attention to his unnaturally crooked wrist.
“Emil,” I snap. “You said you had a message, not that you needed a hand to hold while getting medical attention.”
“I did, Madam.” He nods, grimacing as Rebecca tugs his arm closer for inspection. “Sho says ‘if you want me, you need to come get me yourself, princess’.”
I hum, more irritated by the smug way he rolls his tongue over the word “princess” than the message itself.
I know it’s verbatim—Sho always calls me Hime , the Japanese word for princess.
Screw him for thinking I’m some delicate royal.
If anything, I’m a fucking queen. This is just another grievance to add to the ever-growing list against the man who escaped captivity and left me a bloody heart that I refused to let anyone wash away for three months.
I don’t know why. And I definitely don’t want to analyze why it intrigued me as much as it enraged me.
“And why were you the only one left alive?” I ask.
Sho and I think alike—leaving no survivors sends just as strong a message as sending one. In fact, it’s a stronger message. It means: send your best, because I’m not going down without a fight.
Emil swallows hard, avoiding my gaze, the vein in his temple pulsing. He clears his throat. “Because I was the last one to fight him one-on-one.”
I snort. He must think I’m an idiot. I know how my men fight because I trained most of them myself.
But Emil wasn’t part of my training sessions—he doesn’t realize I know that Russians fight relentlessly.
The moment the first guy landed a hit, everyone else would’ve swarmed Sho at once.
It would’ve been wave after wave of brutal attacks, meant to exhaust him.
Because Sho wasn’t just a hit. If he were, I would’ve sent my younger brother, Aleksandr, and called it a day. But Sho is special .
Sho knows where my father is. The same father who murdered my mother, tormented us with her body parts, and used his Yakuza connections to orchestrate his escape.
After almost killing Nikolai and undermining my rightful place as Queen, Sho deserves whatever nightmarish execution I plan for him.
Most recently, I envisioned slicing his chest open and ripping his beating heart out with my bare hands. Gnarly, but satisfying.
Emil studies me for a moment before adding, “He took us out one by one. That guy is a hell of a fighter.”
I smile, because that I believe. I’ve seen Sho fight. He’s a beast. That’s why I sent twenty of my best men, and even that wasn’t enough.
Did I just think my guy? No. A guy. That guy. He’s not mine.
“I believe he beat the crap out of our men,” I purr, leaning forward, flashing the smile Nik says makes me look like a sociopath and Aleksandr claims gives him the creeps. I scrunch my nose, shaking my head slightly. “What I don’t believe is that he let the last one go.”
Emil pales. He knows I despise liars. Not just because I can sniff them out like a bloodhound, but because people only lie when they think you’re stupid enough to believe them. And for him to lie to me ? He must think I’m the dumbest person in this room.
I glance over his injuries, noting the breaks in his wrist and joints—mostly on his left side. “Tell me, Emil, do you swing with your left or right?”
“Left.”
“Hmmm, interesting.” I hum, rising from my chair and strolling over to him. “Rebecca, let me.”
Rebecca immediately steps away from the dining table, retreating to the corner with sadistic curiosity in her eyes.
I fix my gaze on Emil, noting his shallow breaths and the way his gaze flickers anxiously around the room.
A chuckle crawls up my throat as I watch the slight tremor of his body. They don’t call me Queen for nothing.
I grip his shoulder, kneading it as if I’m a masseuse working out a knot. “You see, I think Sho got his hands on you like this .” I grab his uninjured arm, applying pressure to his shoulder while twisting his wrist in the opposite direction.
Emil sucks in a sharp breath, his tongue lolling from the pain.
“And then I think he pulled and twisted like this .” I wrench his arm into an unnatural angle, and he lets out a choked cry.
“Am I correct?” I coo.
“Fuck, stop, Nadia!” he snarls, trying to jerk away—but I hold on easily. I may only be 5’7" and 160 pounds soaking wet, but I’m a trained fighter. A sadist . I can take pain— a lot of it—but I love causing it. In fact, I excel at it.
“I think you tapped out like a little bitch,” I whisper in his ear, before yanking his arm from its socket and swinging the limp limb downward in a sharp motion.
He howls in pain. Music to my ears.
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he whines, using his broken wrist to clutch at his useless arm.
Emil whimpers, his body curling inward like a wounded animal. His breath ragged as pain radiates through him, and he avoids my eyes, focusing on his pathetickness.
I crouch down, balancing on the balls of my feet, my elbows resting on my knees as I tilt my head at him. “You look pathetic,” I muse, reaching out to tap his cheek lightly. “Did you really think lying to me was worth this?”
He flinches at my touch but doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly I half-expect his teeth to crack.
I sigh, feigning disappointment. “Well, since you’re such a brave little soldier, I suppose you won’t need Rebecca to reset those bones.”
His head snaps up, eyes wide. “No?—”
I press a finger to his lips. “Ah, ah, ah,” I chide. “Weak boys don’t get their boo-boos healed, remember? If you wanted medical attention, you should’ve been honest.”
His chest heaves, his panic barely contained beneath his pained grimace. “Please,” he forces out, voice tight.
I smile, slow and cruel. “No.”
Rebecca hums thoughtfully from her corner, adjusting her thick rainbow glasses. “He’ll pass out soon. Shock is a bitch.”
I glance at her, then back at Emil, watching the sweat bead along his hairline. “Then I suggest you take the next couple of minutes to reflect on your life choices.”
I stand, brushing imaginary dust off my pants, before turning toward the door. “Oh, and Emil?”
He lifts his head weakly.
“Tell me the truth next time, and don’t tap out, either kill the bastard or die.”
Then I walk out, leaving him to drown in his own agony.
I traverse the cramped streets, using back alleys and random turns to make it back to my safe house.
The Shadow… my thought trails as I make my way up the stairs, enter the pin, and subtly remove the small piece of hair from the doorway, my makeshift intruder alarm.
If I can find this Shadow, the bane of the Yakuza, I might get my shot at Sho.
I clean myself off, taking extra care to wash away the grime of today’s festivities.
Years of experience puts me in my salacious, yet coy battle armor.
Eye shadow that gives perpetual fuck-me eyes and cherry red lipstick with a matte finish, designed to get stares from everyone in the room, but my brows and contour lines tell those same people, don’t waste my time.
I slip on a crimson dress that hugs my curves tightly and accentuates my breasts to Victorian standards. The slit on the left leg reaches high enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination, enough to distract from the holsters hiding knives and a gun along my thighs.
My hair is wound up in a bun, held together by two sticks: one for throwing, the other for close range, a nice gift from a colleague in Beijing. To top it off is a short mink coat, perfect for revelations. The last touch of gold jewelry is added before I take off into the night.