His Immortal Wife Returns No Mercy for the Heavens

When I returned to the crew from the road, all I found of my master was a heap of ruined flesh.

Every bone in his body was gone. My senior brothers and sisters were nowhere to be found.

Donna Vittoria sat before his corpse, her aged voice calling out to me.

"Nara, your master traded his life for every protégé's place in the Valente family. You should go report to the Commission stronghold too."

Only then did I learn the truth. Aldric Valente, the Boss of All Bosses, had needed the Original Oaths to legitimize his wife's position at the head of the syndicate. He'd chosen my master, the one who held them all as neutral custodian, the one whose word every family head trusted.

In exchange for allowing every protégé of the Castellano crew to be made, he had ripped every bone and sinew from my master's body.

I've had a flaw for as long as I can remember. I don't cry. I don't laugh. The whole crew called me cold-blooded.

Now, staring at the mangled remains of the man who had saved my life and raised me as his own daughter, I was still calm.

"Donna Vittoria, did Master agree to this willingly?"

Her eyes reddened instantly.

"Aldric Valente is the last true power in this world. What he says goes. We never had a choice."

I gave a quiet "oh."

"If Master didn't agree to it willingly, then Aldric Valente deserves to die."

Donna Vittoria seized my arm, her voice tight with worry. "Nara, before your master drew his last breath, he told all of you to take care of yourselves. Don't throw your life away picking a fight with the Boss of All Bosses."

I pulled my wrist free, lifted my gaze toward the Valente compound on the hill, and smiled faintly.

"Donna Vittoria, Master said not to fight him. He never said anything about killing him."

——

I turned and walked back to my courtyard. Without a word, I dropped to my knees and began digging through the soil beneath the old fig tree with my bare hands.

Before long, a black-handled stiletto caked in dirt saw daylight again. Mietitore. The Reaper. My father's blade, broken once and reforged by a child who didn't yet know what she was reclaiming.

Donna Vittoria rushed after me and snatched the blade from my grip, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Nara, I know you want to avenge your master."

"But Aldric Valente commands every soldier, every capo, every made man in the syndicate. With this blade, you cannot defeat him."

"Please don't throw your life away for nothing."

"Your master said it himself. Trading one life for the future of every protégé in the crew was worth it."

But I knew Master was lying.

One look at the wreckage strewn across the Castellano house told the whole story. The moment Aldric destroyed him, every last protégé had followed the Boss away without hesitation.

Not a single one stayed behind to bury him.

For a pack of protégés that heartless, did Master truly believe it was worth it?

Faced with my silence, Donna Vittoria's eyes grew redder still.

But she was terrified I would do something reckless, so she swallowed her own tears and forced a smile.

"Nara, you came back, didn't you? As long as you remember your master, that's enough."

Desperate to smother the hatred in my heart, she hurried into the kitchen and brought out a pot still faintly warm with steam.

"Nara, our Castellano crew is small. We don't have the power. Let's not talk about revenge."

"Look. Your master stewed this pigeon soup for you right before he died."

"He said you must have suffered on the road. You were already too thin, he said. You needed to eat properly."

I reached out and touched the dried blood crusted on the side of the pot. My face showed nothing. "Was Master making me soup when he died?"

Donna Vittoria's hands trembled. Her voice cracked further.

"Yes. He was watching the pot. He was afraid it would turn bitter if it stewed too long."

"He said you hate anything sour or bitter."

I thought to myself, that foolish old man. He died without ever realizing I'd been lying to him.

I never actually minded sour or bitter things.

I just hated taking medicine.

When Master first found me, I was badly wounded. My health never fully recovered after that, and I needed medicine constantly just to stay alive.

It drove me mad. Every now and then I'd dump the doses in secret.

When Master caught on, he bought sour jujubes to coax me, saying that if I ate one first, the medicine wouldn't taste so bitter.

I didn't want to cooperate, so I told him offhandedly that I didn't like anything sour or bitter.