Russian Roulette /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿
CHAPTER 1
Haah, ha.
Tessa leaned against the cold stone wall, struggling to hold onto her waning consciousness. It felt as though her entire body was shattering into pieces. Was there a more visceral way to describe it than this?
Perhaps using such a metaphor was a more polite and restrained way to put it. The reality, however, was far more gruesome.
She coughed up blood, glancing down at her own body. Her white shirt was riddled with red bullet wounds. The fabric, once white, was now soaked and stained with spreading crimson, no longer deserving to be called white.
For an ordinary person, just two bullets would have been enough to kill instantly.
But Tessa was not ordinary.
What others might call a blessing was, for her, more akin to a curse—her extraordinary physical abilities.
Tessa was a Sentinel.
“Haah… hiss…”
Letting out a heavy groan, she shrugged off her tattered jacket. As it fell to the ground, a hidden holster came into view. One pistol remained in the right-hand holster.
Tessa thought she might call this her salvation.
Yes, this—this is salvation.
Under the grandiose title of “Sentinel,” her body had been broken and patched together countless times, like a disposable tool. Sentinels like Tessa didn’t just avoid death easily; they also possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But that power wasn’t something that could shine through sheer willpower alone.
There was one other entity that made a Sentinel truly complete.
Someone who could prevent her from going berserk, aid her recovery, and play an indispensable role in unlocking her full potential.
A Guide. And one with a perfect match at that.
There was a time when Tessa believed she would eventually meet a Guide who fit her like a well-tailored garment.
“Someday, they’ll show up.”
With that naive hope, she endured for years—no, over a decade.
But a Guide with a compatibility rate of over 80% never appeared.
Now and then, she’d recall the pitying expression of the matching agency staff member, whose face had grown familiar over time.
“We’ve matched you with every registered Guide… but why is there no one?”
Others found their Guides mere weeks after awakening, sometimes even sooner. But such luck had never come Tessa’s way. Then again, she was never one to be particularly blessed with fortune.
Still, wasn’t this just too much?
‘Not even among the newly registered?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’m truly sorry… The results this time aren’t great either. You make the effort to come here every time, but I can’t ever give you good news. I feel so ashamed.’
Why should you feel ashamed? It’s not as if you can conjure up a compatible Guide out of thin air.
Tessa had told him it was fine. Then, she went home and took a dose of guiding supplements to fend off the unbearable headaches.
The fate of a Sentinel who runs out of supplements is painfully clear.
‘I’ll probably self-destruct.’
But that wasn’t the kind of death she wanted. Tessa had always yearned for a clean and quick end. That was why she felt an overwhelming gratitude for the single pistol she still had tucked away.
After loading the pistol, she pressed the barrel to her temple. Even now, her body was healing ever so slowly, but she no longer had the will to recover.
It had to end. Everything.
Tessa closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
Click. Click-click.
Instead of the ear-piercing explosion she expected, all she heard was a feeble metallic sound. Tessa, filled with rage and frustration, screamed as she flung the pistol across the room. The empty, useless weapon clattered to the floor with a hollow thud.
She sobbed aloud, her cries interspersed with fits of coughing. When she wiped her mouth with the still relatively clean sleeve of her shirt, it left a fresh smear of crimson behind.
It was then that Tessa, her enhanced hearing sharper than most, caught the faint sound of footsteps approaching from afar. The clicking of dress shoes. A man, over 188 cm tall, with a solid build. Perhaps another combatant like her, or even another Sentinel.
‘Are they coming to kill me? Good. That would be for the best.’
Resigning herself to fate, she closed her eyes and waited for him to draw near.
‘Come closer. And end it.’
The footsteps gradually slowed until a towering figure came to a stop in front of her. There was no sound of a weapon being drawn. Instead, after a moment of silence, the man spoke her name.
“Tessa.”
Her eyes snapped open. The one who had come wasn’t a combatant or a fellow Sentinel, but a familiar man. Dressed in a finely tailored suit layered with a luxurious cashmere coat, his raven-black hair framed a face that looked every bit as composed and immaculate as ever—starkly contrasting her own battered state.
“Tessa Ambrose.”
It was Vicente. His dark, cobalt gaze was as cold and unyielding as ever. To him, her life probably held the same worth as yesterday’s discarded newspaper.
‘Then why… why is he looking at me like that…?’
Vicente stood there for a moment, his eyes lingering on her ruined form, before crouching down to meet her at eye level. It was shocking—Vicente, bending his knees. The thought was almost absurd. There wasn’t a person alive who could bring him to his knees.
Yet here he was, examining her as though she were a specimen, a trinket, or perhaps a living thing barely clinging to its final breaths.
His gaze swept over her blood-soaked torso, but there wasn’t a flicker of shock, a sigh of dismay, or even a trace of pity in his expression.
Instead, he asked in an unexpectedly gentle voice,
“Does it hurt?”
“…”
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
What should I even say to that? Tessa stayed silent. Vicente rested his right arm on his knee, which he had drawn up casually, his posture deceptively relaxed.
“You must want to live.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but Tessa could tell that his eyes weren’t smiling. Those dark irises glimmered with a familiar, sharp light, fixing solely on her.
“You told me once—you wanted to leave for somewhere quiet and peaceful. Was that really just a poetic way of saying the afterlife? I doubt it. You’re not the sentimental type.”
“What do you… what do you even know about me?”
“I know you’re a low-grade Sentinel running around on your own without a proper Guide. Reckless.”
The last word carried a mocking edge, almost like a sneer.
“Still, your courage is impressive. You’re strange, foolish, and… pitiful. That’s why I like you so much. Watching you makes me feel like I want to do something for you.”
“Thanks, but there’s nothing you can do for me,” she replied sharply.
“Is that so?”
Vicente, showing no inclination to address her severe injuries, propped his chin on his hand and continued speaking, calm and unhurried.
“Tessa, why do you think a suitable Guide has never appeared for you?”
“How would I know that?”
“There are no Sentinels born without a Guide.”
“…”
“Maybe the Bureau lied to you. Or maybe your Guide is already dead. Or perhaps… they’re someone who can’t be registered in the system. Have you ever considered that? Tessa.”
“What are you even trying to say…?”
Vicente pulled off his black leather glove, revealing his bare hand. It was a stark contrast to his reputation—clean, pale, and unblemished, not at all what one would expect from a man who ruled the Empire’s underworld.
“They probably told you something like this: ‘None of the registered Guides match.’ But was that truly the whole truth?”
“Mr. Zermo…”
“Let me ask you one last time. Do you want to live?”
Before Tessa could utter a response, Vicente smiled and reached out his hand.
“You’ll want to live. Because I’m going to make you.”
His large hand cupped her cheek, and in that instant, her pulse quickened, her pupils constricted, and her breath hitched. The noise that had filled her head vanished, her relentless headache dissipated, and even the pain from her gunshot wounds began to fade.
When she came to her senses, she realized she was gripping Vicente’s hand as if it were her lifeline. It wasn’t a conscious decision but an instinct—a Sentinel’s primal reaction.
They said the moment you meet the perfect Guide, you experience an indescribable sense of fulfillment.
Tessa clung to Vicente’s wrist, tears streaming down her face. Vicente—of all people—was her Guide. Not someone else. Vicente.
The man who was practically the embodiment of everything she had desperately wanted to avoid.
“Congratulations, Tessa. You’ve been through so much.”
He reached out with his other hand and gently smoothed her disheveled hair. Even that small touch sent waves of calm coursing through her, grounding her in a way she’d never known.
“Why… why does it have to be you…?”
“Don’t cry.”
Vicente withdrew his hand, and Tessa’s Sentinel instincts screamed in protest at the loss of contact. She found herself looking at him with a hunger she couldn’t suppress, and he smiled in satisfaction at the sight.
“I’ll touch you. Until you’re satisfied. But before that, you need to show proper respect to your Guide.”
“Ah… ngh.”
“I won’t lay a finger on you unless you ask me to. So.”
His deep voice, rich with authority, wrapped around her like a command, his scent overwhelming her senses. Vicente Zermo, the ruler of the underworld and her one and only Guide, delivered his first order.
“Beg me for a kiss, Tessa.”
[Russian Roulette]
TL/N: Helloo!! Picked up a new novel and its guideverse with mafia trope hehe hope you enjoy it!!
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