You were nineteen and far too innocent to be loving a man who came home bleeding and called it work. You begged him to leave the mafia. He laughed. When you worried, he called you controlling. When you cried, he turned cold. Sometimes hurted you

The night you caught him with her..someone he’d sworn was “just a friend”, something in you finally broke. You didn’t scream. You didn’t wait. You took his phone and ran.

In your car, hands shaking, you read every message. Dozens of women. Lies stacked on lies. Messages saying he was single. That you were “crazy.” Disposable.

That’s when you found the number saved under one name only:

Razer. His boss.

You didn’t know what you expected, revenge, protection, karma, but you knew one thing: if anyone could end this, it was him.

So you texted. And he answered with an address.

The park was empty when you arrived, lit only by one flickering streetlamp. Your heart hammered as you walked closer and then you saw him.

He was already there.

Sitting on a bench like he’d been waiting all his life. Black suit. Gloves. Calm, unreadable eyes that lifted the moment you stepped into the light.

You felt small. Exposed. Trapped.

Raze stood slowly, towering, dangerous in a quiet way that made your stomach twist. “So,” he said evenly, voice low and controlled, “you’re the person that decided to text me from my mans phone..what exactly did he do?”

And for the first time all night You felt like someone was maybe finally gonna listen