Chapter 2
Sterling
An hour earlier
They’re everywhere. Including my family. And leave it to them to not notice me at a wedding they’re hosting at this haunted estate I grew up in.
Given, it’s my oldest brother’s property now, and no one can tell it’s me with how well I blend in at this damned wedding reception. One that unites my bloodline, the Song-Smiths, to the infamous Knights.
Both families hide in darkness despite such powerful names behind myths and legends that’s coursed through the criminal underworld for decades. All that corrupted power. All these years of blackmail and carnage.
Damon met Kayla only some hours ago, and they tied the knot practically right after meeting for the first time today. Typical of Damon to see her once and make the call. They’re each other’s problem now. How fucking romantic.
A dominant, spoiled asshole with a firecracker rebellious mafiosa. Somehow they’re gonna try to make it work. For alliances, huh? How fucking ironic.
At the moment, I sit hidden among the thirty-six musicians in the orchestra, violin resting under my chin. Soon there’ll be one less. I already have my excuse. A missing violin string. A quick exit. Easy.
Before I make my move, my eyes wander. Armed guards at every corner. Worse guests enjoying their evening. This reception’s drowning in excess. No surprise there. My parents always knew how to dress up corruption and call it couture.
I roll my eyes. At least every hired hand wears a black mask. Can’t have us stealing the spotlight from the real thieves. It’s better this way. No one can see my face. If they could, they’d know exactly what I’m thinking. Fuck this place, and fuck my family too.
Every unnecessary excess is on display. Just to rub it in the guests’ faces, that the Song-Smiths finally formed an alliance with the Knights. Two dynasties, merging rot with rot under one roof.
Our family’s fortress crouches over the vineyard like it’s proud of the bodies buried beneath it.
Perfect backdrop for corruption. Damon’s the lucky bastard who inherited the place.
And I don’t know whether to sigh in relief or defeat.
Either way, this family won’t get any reaction from me.
I’m just a mercenary quietly thinning their guest list, paid well to do what I would’ve gladly done for free.
I dyed my silver-white hair black for this. Like I’ve done before to blend in. Like I always will. Long fringe hides my gray eyes. Sides cropped short to hear better. To react faster.
Beneath my jacket, the real me waits. The goblin mask.
Carved deep red, twisted into a grin too sharp to be human.
A face built to haunt, not be forgotten.
Clo used to call me dokkaebi—goblin in the language she spat at me.
She thought she was cursing me. She was making me.
My goblin mask is carved perfectly for me after years of figuring it out.
Now it’s a face meant to unsettle. The sort of look that laughs at you as it sends you to your grave.
The song swells into a high note. I bow the violin with practiced ease, the music bleeding into the air.
My pulse stays steady. My eyes burn as I keep staring, studying, and assessing.
Despicable criminals sit at the head table.
Suits crisp, smiles easy. But their hands are filth.
Their deals are murder dressed in the finest fabric their dirty money could buy.
But tonight is their last supper. And I’m the undoing they invited inside without even noticing.
If I could take my own family down, I would’ve years ago. But they’re too powerful. Too shielded with security. Too deep in the pockets of corruption. And too well-known not to cause consequences.
My hand tightens around the bow, my shoulders tense slightly, still moving with the music. We’re playing Le Carnaval des Animaux. The carnival of animals. Fitting. The cue in the music hits. That’s when I tilt my violin, fingers sliding the string free. The wire swiftly vanishes into my jacket.
I lift the instrument slightly. The first violinist catches the signal and scowls. Her urgent whisper follows. “Again? You really need a better luthier.”
“Next paycheck,” I lie with ease.
She groans, pinching her brow as if my absence is the gravest offense of the day. If only she knew. “Do you even know who we’re playing for?”
Yeah, I fucking know. It’s my fucked-up family. Does this idiot even know who hired her? And who we’re surrounded by? Conniving criminals who wouldn’t blink an eye before killing her. Or paying someone like me to do it. Just for fun, if they wanted to. Just to prove they can.
She groans again. “Forget it. Make sure your empty chair isn’t obvious. Leave after you get rid of it.”
“Yeah.” I nod.
Oh, I’m good at getting rid of things. No trace and no evidence. It’ll be too late before anyone notices.
She mutters clear disdain under her breath and ducks back into place. I don’t care. Let them think I’m some careless struggling musician. I’m not here to play. I’m here to end things.
I pack my violin without looking down. My eyes stay on the crowd. Criminal royalty laugh over red wine and blood money. They don’t see me as I slip out. The black cloth mask helps. But it’s their arrogance that helps the most. People like them never notice a real killer walking among them.
I move toward the vines. Toward the dark. Toward the real reason I’m here. Beyond the reception’s glow, the vineyard waits. Dark rows of trellises. Thick shadows pooling between them. My graveyard.
I slip deeper into the vines, the reception’s noise fading behind me, smothered by the soil and salt air. Here, no one sees. So I slide my dark red mask into place. Pull on the black nitrile gloves. The wire winds once around my knuckles. It feels satisfyingly familiar, silent, and final.
I was made for this. The stuff of nightmares. The shadow that waits in the dark until it’s time to strike and kill.
I’m the dokkaebi they made, born of blood and a thousand last breaths of bad men who deserved their deaths at my hands. Time to end this reception on a high note.
***
The first kill’s easy. Loose tie. Heavy drink.
Stumbling off to piss in the vines. He never even sees me.
I slip the wire around his throat—tight, practiced—and pull.
He convulses. Kicks at the dirt. Claws at nothing.
Almost pitiful. I shrug. Almost. I drag him deeper into the vineyard, leaving his body to sag between the thick vines. One down.
The second’s even easier. Expensive suit.
Shitty fit. New money. He wanders off, barking into his phone about payouts and debts unpaid.
I decide to collect. I move faster this time.
The wire snaps tight before he even knows he’s not alone.
His phone hits the dirt. His body follows soon after.
Greed drains from his eyes right before they go blank. Two down.
The third’s stupider. Slips out for a smoke, thinking the shadows will hide him.
They don’t. Not when I’m already waiting there for my next mark.
Him. I catch him easy. Not much of a struggle.
Only the usual thrashing while he gasps for air, choking from my wire.
Then he gives out a loud gasp. His fallen body thuds on the dirt. Nothing of note, really.
By the time his body stops twitching at my feet, that’s three down. All clean kills. I’ve taken the time to dig their shallow graves before starting my spree. And all of that in under an hour is almost a personal best.
I should go back, blend in, and pick another target. But something stops me. There’s that feeling of a ghost itch at the back of my neck. That only means one thing. Someone’s watching.
I look down under the rows of tall, thick vines. Perfect for hiding my graveyard. But would you look at that? Black dress shoes some rows ahead. Completely still. Out of place.
A soft squelch breaks the silence. Crushed grapes bleeding underfoot.
Whoever it is across the rows, it might be too late for him to run.
But I wanna see what he does next. This is something new.
Something unexpectedly exhilarating. I feel the rush of thrill buzzing into my veins, straightening my spine, while my jaw works behind my mask.
I tilt my head down. The fallen fruits bleed under my shoe, staining the dirt like old blood. There’s the lingering scent of wine, salt, and death. I breathe it all in. But it’s not that satisfying scent that sets my teeth on edge.
It’s the shoes rows away from me. They look small, trembling just beyond the vines. I wait, listening. The music thrums somewhere far behind me. Its blurred strings, the people’s polished lies. But out here, there’s only that other man’s hitched breath.
I roll my shoulders back, jacket shifting.
Still no movement from my soon-to-be fourth victim.
He’s testing me. So I step forward, slow and exact.
Another wet crush under my heel, grapes bleeding into the dirt like little corpses.
Then I stop shy of the vines, the tall trellis walls still between us. But I’m in his view now, aren’t I?
I smile, imagining the fear that must be in him. And, taking my time, I tip my mask forward, just enough for the lantern light to catch the curve of the goblin’s sneer. This is my quiet warning. You’re next.
My ears pick up on the way his breath hitches. Good. Let him feel it. Let him know exactly what’s coming.
There’s movement from his end, barely there. The indecision crackles through the air like static. I step forward even more. The lantern’s weak glow must be revealing me in my black suit, my gloves, my goblin mask, and my coiled readiness to strike. I let him see. I want him to see.
Seconds stretch thin. Then more movement. The figure jerks back, stumbling a bit. I smile wider, satisfied. Is he finally choosing to run?