Chapter 1

Tony Montana had eyes like the devil, wild, hot, angry. He was absolutely wrecked. High on his own product, high on life and himself. His dark hair was a disheveled mess, the end of his crooked nose ringed in the white powder he hadn't bothered to wipe away. His cheekbones were sharper than ever, emaciated from too much cocaine use and too little food. Not that Vee could cast stones, she was high more often than not herself. But she used so she could disappear. To make her bullshit existence feel a little less awful. And the man in front of her was to blame for at least a decade of that misery.

Had she ever loved him? She tried to remember. Think back to her wedding day, the good days, before the constant fighting and abuse. Nothing came though. If she ever loved him it was long gone now. Just a fleeting softness as she remembered his infectious grin when he was trying to win her over. Something he hadn't shown her in years.

"Get out," Vee said coldly.

She wasn't talking to Tony. No, she was talking to the woman on her knees, beneath his desk, trying to suck off a flaccid dick. Vee knew from experience that cocaine did nothing for Tony in the bedroom anymore, so to speak. Back in the old days, when he still enjoyed life, the drug used to lift him up, make him feel invincible, crave Vee's affection. Back then, sex and drugs were the only thing they had in common. Now it was just one of those. And Vee was about done with all of it.

Nobody moved, Tony's eyes flicked to Vee and then glazed over again, unfocused. He was sprawled back in his chair, head tilted back against the leather. He lifted a ringed hand, waving it toward the door, telling her to go.

She was long past able to feel hurt over his constant rejections and mistreatments. She was pretty much numb these days. Tony never took her seriously anyway. She used to be his doll, his lovely trophy wife, now she was so much less. The hag that spent his money and screamed at him on a semi-regular basis. Not even the beatings could stop her tongue. She still had some pride, as unrecognizable as it was.

She wasn't going to have a single problem taking out the master of all her sufferings. She was following the Bolivian cartel's orders. It was time to bring Miami back under control, and she was going to be the woman to do it.

"I said, get the fuck out," Vee snarled, pacing forward. She lifted the gun she'd been clutching when she sought her husband out in his office and slammed it down on his desk. The whore jumped, banging her head on the edge of the desk as she finally surfaced, peeked over to stare at Vee. "Right fucking now, unless you think this pig is worth dying for. Then, by all means, stay where you are. I'll happily do you next."

When the woman didn't move fast enough Vee pointed the gun at her face. She blinked, crawled quickly out from under the desk and ran shrieking from the office, straight out the French doors and into the huge, immaculate back yard. Vee wanted to laugh at the topless bitch, but again, hypocritical. Vee'd done similar and worse, selling her looks, prostituting herself for protection. The only difference being she was pretty enough, tough enough and bitchy enough to demand a ring for her effort.

Tony ignored the gun completely. She'd handled them before and he knew better than to think his delicate blond wife was going to be any kind of threat. "Fucking unbelievable," he grumbled, Cuban accent strong in his befuddled state. He sat up a little straighter and finally looking at her. "What the fuck you doin' coming in here like that and scaring off my bitch? Now you need to get over here and finish me off."

Vee laughed coldly. "We both know you aren't even hard. Don't act like you could've gotten off, even with a pretty piece of fluff like her."

His eyes sharpened and his brow lowered. "Maybe if I didn't have such a frigid bitch for a wife I'd bang you once in awhile. Maybe if I did that you'd quit acting like a sullen fucking piece of work, moping around the mansion all day, shopping or whatever the shit you do."

He was definitely not going to make this hard.

"I want a divorce, Tony," she demanded, tapping her gun against the wood.

He laughed, banging his hand on top of the desk. Maybe if he was fast enough, cared enough, he could've reached out and grabbed her weapon. But Tony Montana was too much of a macho man to believe his wife would actually threaten him.

"Even if we could get a divorce, we won't. That ain't how it works in our world and you know it as good as I do. You know too much to ever be released from our marriage. No, Vee, we're stuck together. Until death do us part." He snickered at his own cleverness, no doubt planning her death so he could replace her with the inflated bimbo running across the back yard.

"I was hoping you'd see it that way." Vee smiled for the first time in a long time. "I was thinking a more permanent solution might be necessary anyway."

She braced her legs, lifted the gun and pointed it at him. The shit-eating smirk drifted off his lips as his face twisted into an ugly, hate-filled mask. "Put the fucking gun down, Vee. I'm not going to tell you again."

She shrugged. "You don't need to."

"Don't you fucking dare," he snarled, raising up from his chair and slamming his fists down onto the desk. "I'm going to beat the life out of-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Vee shot him once, clean in middle of his forehead, and once more through the heart after he was flung back into his chair. She didn't want to risk him surviving, going comatose and becoming even more annoying than he already was. Better just to make it a clean hit.

She wasn't worried about Tony's protection detail. They were either being eliminated or surrendering to the Bolivian's second-in-command, Alejandro. Vee's only job was to cut off the head of the snake. A symbolic action that would help solidify her leadership as the new Queen of Miami's mafia.

Looking dispassionately at her dead husband's body, she felt strong, she felt powerful… she felt relieved. Her legs folded underneath her and she collapsed to the floor, one hand still clutching the gun while the other gripped the edge of the desk. She folded in on herself, allowing herself this one single moment to just feel. To finally feel.