Page 157 of Vicious Kingdom

I flinched, ready for the pain.

But the darkness never came.

The soldier jerked to the side, body forced by gravity to the ground. A pool of blood formed around the soldier’s head, expanding across the polished floor like a macabre halo. His eyes remained open, vacant and glassy, staring at nothing. The bullet had caught him just above the ear, leaving a small, neat hole where it entered and a much larger exit wound on the other side. His fingers still curled around his weapon, but the threat had vanished with his life.

I couldn’t look away. The man who moments ago had been so intent on ending my life now lay motionless, his face frozen in that final moment of surprise. Blood seeped into the collar of his expensive suit—the uniform of my husband's men. His chest didn’t rise. His eyelids didn't flutter. The peach cologne that had announced his presence now mixed with the metallic tang of blood.

My stomach lurched. I’d seen death before—in this life, how could I not? But this was intimate. It could have been me.

“Isabella!” Father Donelli appeared suddenly in front of me, blocking the grotesque sight. “Isabella, child, are you alright?”

I closed my eyes sucking in a desperate breath. “I’m unharmed.” I blinked, body swaying, and I reached for the back of the pew to steady myself. “Thanks to you, Father.”

The priest laid down his rifle and gently reached for my arm. “You shouldn’t be out and about alone. Where is your guard?”

“At home,” I managed to say, my stomach flipping inside my abdomen. “I didn’t think….”

The priest studied me with a guarded expression. “Isabella, this rumor is going to be the death of you.”

A sick twist of fate.

The Black Widow, they called me. While there were plenty of whispers as to my late husband’s demise, this was the one that was gaining traction.

“You need to call your guard. Have him come take you home, while I clean this mess up,” Father Donelli instructed.

I nodded and sat heavily on the wooden seat.

“One more thing,” Father Donelli looked between me and the dead body, “if you insist on going out and about without a guard, you need to be armed. Do you have a gun?”

That was probably the funniest thing a holy man could ask. But he was right. I needed to protect myself.

“I’ll get one.”

Father Donelli nodded, his expression grave. “Good. The Lord helps those who help themselves.” He crossed himself quickly. “I recommend something small, that you can easily conceal.”

I would have gaped at him, maybe even laughed. But the shock was setting in.

“Alright, I’ll have Franky find me something,” I gulped. Glancing around him, I sucked in a sharp breath. “You sure you don’t need help with that?”

The priest shook his head. “I’ll make some calls. This will be taken care of.”

I knew what that meant. In this neighborhood, bodies had a way of disappearing. Even in God’s house, certain rules applied.

“Thank you, Father.” My voice sounded hollow, distant even to my own ears.

“Go home, Isabella. Lock your doors at night. Be careful who you trust.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I fear the wolves have only just begun their hunt.”

I stood on unsteady legs, my black dress suddenly feeling like a target rather than mourning attire. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Fuck them.

Stepping over the soldier’s body, I walked down the center aisle toward the exit, my shadow stretching long across the sanctuary floor. The sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows cast prismatic colors across my black dress, painting me in hues of crimson, violet, and gold.

Black Widow. The name echoed in my mind with each step.

I paused at the heavy wooden doors, my hand resting on the ornate handle. Why was I running? Why was I hiding from a reputation I never earned? If they were going to hunt me regardless, perhaps it was time to become the predator they already believed me to be.

My late husband’s enemies had feared him. His allies had respected him. And now they were coming for me, assuming I was weak, vulnerable—prey.