by K.C. Crowne
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Date: 10/20/2026
My ex called me fat over the microphone at a mafia masquerade. A masked stranger silenced him. “Speak to my fiancée like that again, and I’ll cut out your tongue.” Apparently, I have a new type. Deadly. Silver at his temples. Blood-red ink across his knuckles. One threat, and my ex’s smirk dies. “Your fiancée?” I whisper. “Let the bastard watch what he lost.” I should go home. Instead, I follow him upstairs, his hand at my spine, his commands...