Chapter 2 — Shadows Beneath the Apron
The night had barely begun, but the city never really slept. Neon lights painted the streets in ribbons of red and blue as Matilda’s heels clicked against the cold pavement. She had swapped her silk dress for black leather, her hair loosened from its perfect bun and falling like fire down her shoulders. No trace of the meek housewife remained.
Inside the car that waited at the curb, Ace leaned against the driver’s seat, cigarette glowing between his fingers. His sharp jaw and dark eyes caught the reflection of passing headlights.
“You’re late,” he said.
Matilda slid into the back seat, legs crossed, voice low. “Dinner ran long. You know how family can be.”
Ace snorted. “If they only knew what you do after dessert.”
Her lips twitched. “If they knew, they’d be dessert.”
He chuckled, started the engine, and the city blurred into streaks of light as they drove toward the docks.
---
The warehouse smelled of oil, salt, and metal. Men in black suits stood at attention the moment she stepped in. The room went silent, like a church before confession.
“Where’s the missing shipment?” she asked.
One of her lieutenants stepped forward nervously. “We found two crates at Pier 9, boss. Third one’s gone. Someone tipped off the cops.”
Matilda’s gaze sharpened. “And?”
“No arrests. But they were close. Too close.”
She walked slowly around him, her heels echoing in the vast space. “Do you think I built all this by being sloppy?”
“N-no, ma’am.”
“Then find out who talked.” Her tone never rose. It didn’t need to. The calmness in her voice was the kind that froze blood. “And when you do… make an example out of them.”
She turned to Ace. “I want our accounts moved. All of them. If the police are sniffing around, someone’s feeding them crumbs.”
Ace nodded, flicking away his cigarette. “Already done. By morning, they’ll find nothing but ashes.”
Matilda smiled faintly. “Good.”
---
Back home, she washed her hands slowly in the sink, watching the water swirl pink from the faint traces of blood beneath her nails. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her — clean, calm, but hollow-eyed.
She had learned long ago that guilt was a luxury the powerful couldn’t afford.
The sound of the door opening broke her trance. Ethan stepped in, half-tired, half-drunk, his tie hanging loose. “You’re up late,” he muttered.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He leaned against the doorway, studying her. “You’re different lately. Cold.”
She smiled, a touch too soft. “You married me this way, darling. You just never looked close enough.”
He frowned, unsure what she meant, but brushed it off. “Mother’s planning another family lunch this weekend. Try not to… intimidate her.”
Matilda raised a brow. “Intimidate? I barely speak.”
“Exactly,” he said, leaving the room.
The moment he was gone, her phone buzzed again.
Ace: The leak’s confirmed. One of ours. Wants to talk before he disappears.
Matilda: Where?
Ace: Old sugar mill. Says he has something you’ll want to hear.
Her pulse didn’t quicken; her breath didn’t change. She simply grabbed her coat, slipped her gun into the pocket, and left through the back door — unseen, unheard, the ghost her family would never believe existed.
---
The sugar mill sat silent under the moonlight. Inside, shadows stretched long across the floor. The traitor was tied to a chair, trembling, eyes darting between her and Ace.
“Please, I didn’t mean to—”
Matilda’s voice cut through him like silk and glass. “You sold information to the police. That was a choice. So was breathing my air tonight.”
He swallowed hard. “They said they’d kill my sister. I had to.”
Her expression didn’t change. “We all have family. But loyalty isn’t negotiable.”
She stepped closer, her perfume faintly sweet against the stench of fear. “Who gave you the contact?”
He hesitated. One second too long.
A single shot cracked through the mill, echoing into the night. His body went still.
Matilda lowered the gun, exhaled softly, then looked at Ace. “Burn it. No trace.”
As she walked away, the wind whipped her hair into her face, carrying the faintest trace of gunpowder.
She didn’t look back. She never did.
---
By dawn, the housewife returned home, slipping quietly into bed beside her husband. Ethan stirred, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Where were you?” he mumbled, half-asleep.
“Just getting some air,” she whispered.
He smiled drowsily. “You should’ve woken me.”
“I couldn’t,” she murmured. “You looked peaceful.”
And as he drifted back into dreams, Matilda lay awake — eyes open, mind sharp, thinking not of love or sleep, but of control. Every lie, every gesture, every soft smile built the wall that kept her worlds apart.
But even walls crack.
And somewhere deep inside, she knew — the day her family discovered who she really was would be the day everything burned.
