Russian Roulette /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿
CHAPTER 3
Tessa felt a wave of heat rise within her, fueled by shame, yet she couldn’t bring herself to deny Vicente’s words. What tormented her wasn’t the mocking questions or even the unrelenting grip on her wrist.
It was the primal need burning inside her, a thirst that had gone unquenched for far too long. Her instincts craved Vicente, the one Guide she had finally found, with a fervor that left her powerless to resist. There was no escape from him, and the likelihood of another Guide appearing in her life was vanishingly small.
Or perhaps, she thought grimly, she should hope he was the only one.
Because if another Guide were to come into the picture, who knew what Vicente might do?
He was the kind of man she despised most—ruthless, unflinching in spilling the blood of others, a ruler of the underworld. The idea of seeking solace in his arms felt unthinkable. If she let herself fall for him, she would surely lose her sanity. As it was, the stress of infiltrating his world had already pushed her to her limits.
Would reason prevail, or would instinct take over first?
“Tell me why you didn’t let me die,” she demanded, her voice trembling.
“It’s a first for me,” Vicente replied, smirking.
“Someone complaining about being saved.”
“You knew I was a spy! This isn’t how you operate. Why did you allow me to receive treatment? Why am I the exception?”
“Why? Does being treated differently make you nervous?”
Vicente loosened his grip on her wrist but didn’t release her entirely. Instead, he gently pressed her shoulder, easing her back onto the bed.
Now they were lying on the bed, face-to-face, so close that they could feel each other’s breath. Vicente knelt on the mattress, effectively trapping her beneath him.
Yet, he didn’t go any further.
“Don’t be anxious, Tessa. You won’t get hurt again. Even though you’ve been sneaking around behind my back.”
He said, brushing a hand lightly against her ear, sending a shiver of unexpected pleasure down her spine. She frowned deliberately, trying to hide her reaction from him.
“I’ll let it slide this time.”
His tone was dangerously calm, almost like someone forgiving a lover’s indiscretion. It wasn’t so much a warning as it was a statement.
Tessa felt her confusion deepen. Vicente was not the kind of man to show mercy—especially not to someone he’d hired, someone he now knew to be a spy.
Why was he letting her go?
“You killed all the others. Why only me?”
“You don’t need to work so hard to put on that frown,” Vicente said, his voice calm yet cutting.
“The moment you feel even the slightest bit of pleasure, I know it instinctively. There’s nothing you can hide from me.”
He looked down at Tessa, trembling like a frightened animal, and then slowly straightened. The moment she was free, Tessa scrambled backward, putting distance between them.
“Cut all contact with those people from now on,” Vicente ordered.
“If they try to reach out, report it to me immediately. I’ll handle it.”
“I’m worthless, Mr. Zermo,” Tessa said quietly.
Vicente paused, adjusting his collar, his sharp gaze now fixed on her.
“My designation is only C-class,” she continued.
“There are plenty of others like me elsewhere. I don’t have much to offer you, and you know that.”
“So, what you’re saying is, there’s no reason to keep a mere C-class Sentinel alive. And I should take the trouble to kill you?”
It wasn’t that she wanted to die; she simply couldn’t understand. People far more capable than her had met brutal ends the moment they fell out of Vicente’s favor.
That was how his world operated. To control the most dangerous and ruthless, there could be no exceptions. Exceptions created openings, and openings bred chaos.
Yet Vicente was making an exception for her—someone with unimpressive abilities, even for a Sentinel.
“What you can offer me will be revealed in time,” Vicente said. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“But—”
“I’ll give you a choice,” he interrupted.
Standing as composed as ever, Vicente pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a flick of his lighter. Surrounded by a thin haze of smoke, his voice carried with chilling clarity.
“You can either continue suffering alone and let your life end that way, or you can live comfortably in my care. That much, I’ll let you decide. If you choose the latter, come to my residence by nine tonight.”
An exact address wasn’t necessary. In this city, everyone knew where Vicente resided—it was too obvious to miss.
“If you don’t want this, you’re free to decline the offer. I saved your life without your consent, so this time, I’ll let you decide what to do with it. That seems fair, doesn’t it?”
Vicente took a final drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the silver ashtray beside him. As he turned to leave, heading toward the exit, he spoke again, almost as if it were an afterthought.
“Don’t even think about relying on those garbage supplements, Tessa. You know exactly what I mean by that.”
Outside, a waiting attendant opened the door for him. Without a glance back, Vicente stepped out of the room.
Bang.
The door shut firmly behind him, and only then did Tessa finally release the breath she had been holding.
* * *
After leaving the hospital room, Vicente strode down the corridor with his subordinates neatly lined up against the wall, trailing behind him. A considerable number of his men were Sentinels, but even with their superior physical abilities, they behaved like obedient lapdogs in his presence.
Dogs were such creatures, weren’t they? Predators capable of turning on their masters and tearing them apart if they chose to. But dogs who had submission carved into their very bones would instead lay themselves bare before humans, exposing their bellies in a display of loyalty—even to those without sharp teeth or claws.
There were rumors that Vicente himself might be a Sentinel, but no one knew the truth. He was a commander, not someone who fought on the front lines.
“Hurry up. It’s not easy for them to wait,” he said as he climbed into the car.
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
At his command, the driver started the vehicle, and they headed toward a large warehouse on the outskirts of the city, far from any prying eyes. The car came to a stop in front of the imposing structure, and Vicente’s attendants exited first, entering the warehouse ahead of him. Vicente followed last.
The cold light of the fluorescent bulbs lit up the interior of the warehouse, but the oppressive and eerie atmosphere lingered, untouched by the illumination.
In the center of the room, in the most visible spot, a man knelt on the floor. His upper body was bare, and his skin was bloodied and bruised, a clear sign that his will to resist had long been shattered.
Vicente walked over to a chair prepared at a short distance from the man and sat down, his gaze coldly fixed on him. Surrounding the man were subordinates wielding wooden clubs, standing at attention like loyal guards.
It was evident the man had received their “services” while Vicente had been meeting Tessa.
“Maurice.”
The low, soft voice called his name, and the man, addressed as Maurice, flinched visibly. His hands bound, he didn’t dare lift his head to meet Vicente’s gaze.
Vicente’s piercing eyes remained fixed on him as he made a slight gesture in the air. One of his men approached, handing him a glass and pouring brandy into it.
“You know better than anyone why you’re here, don’t you?”
“…”
“Speak. Why didn’t you follow my orders?”
Maurice, who had been nervously gauging the mood, hurriedly opened his mouth when he saw one of the men wielding a club shift his stance.
“T-The woman… she was clearly a spy sent by the government… She seemed to be plotting something with her associates. As your loyal servant, I thought it was only right to handle her—”
“I told you not to touch Tessa.”
Vicente took a sip of the brandy before handing the glass back to one of his attendants. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and swung his foot, striking Maurice squarely in the jaw.
A sickening crack echoed through the warehouse as Maurice let out a scream and toppled backward. One of the men grabbed him by the hair, forcing him upright again.
The air in the warehouse grew even heavier.
Vicente’s act of violence was a clear signal—he was genuinely furious.
“Why didn’t you listen to me?”
“M-Mr. Zermo, I—”
“I hate dogs that don’t obey my commands. You know that, don’t you?”
“I only… I was just worried it might reflect poorly on you…”
Instead of listening to Maurice’s pleas, Vicente reached into the inner pocket of his coat and retrieved a small, transparent pouch. Inside, a metallic gleam caught the light.
He opened the pouch and poured its contents out in front of Maurice’s face—bullets.
“These were pulled from Tessa’s body.”
Standing at the trembling subordinate’s feet, Vicente nudged the bullets with the tip of his shoe, his expression cold.
“Four rounds. All fired from the same gun.”
“M-Mr. Zermo…”
Maurice stammered, his voice trembling.
“You were the one who fired them, weren’t you?”
“I was wrong! I’m so sorry! I’ll never do it again. Please, just this once… please forgive me!”
“Mister Maurice Seiden,” Vicente said softly, patting the man’s cheek lightly with his palm. Then, with a composed air, he stepped back a few paces and returned to his chair.
One of the attendants, holding the glass of brandy, respectfully handed it back to him.
There was no escape for anyone who touched what belonged to Vicente.
Crossing his legs and sitting back, his expression devoid of emotion, Vicente gave a single, chilling command.
“What are you waiting for? Get started.”
Maurice’s blood-curdling scream tore through the air as the others moved to carry out the order.
Vicente took a sip of his brandy, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before him, observing every detail with the detached demeanor of someone enjoying an opera.
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