This story is extremely violent and includes violent sexual acts. This story may not be made available to minors!

Prolog Part three

The titular heroine is a young Albanian woman who was brutally raped by her stepfather on her fourteenth birthday. Her father—a member of an Albanian criminal clan—wanted to mold her into a woman. Let us call the girl Altea; it was Altea who stabbed her stepfather to death while he was raping her. Under normal circumstances, the clan would have killed her for this. However, the clan leader recognized something special in the young girl and had her trained over the following years to become his personal "angel of death"—answerable only to him. The young girl soaked up every scrap of information like a dry sponge absorbing water, always hungry to learn more. Whether it was foreign languages, IT skills, or the art of lovemaking—she learned, and learned, and learned.

CHAPTER 3 – The Spanish Minister

Diego was a man in his fifties. He was the Minister of Shipping and Trade and had recently halted a shipping operation involving bananas, thereby disrupting a drug shipment. He had detected irregularities. She paid no heed to that. Yet he had no idea it would cost her a fortune. Bribery wouldn't impress him; he was already wealthy and led a simple life, tending to a vineyard. He loved wine and books. There was nothing he enjoyed more than a good meal, a book, and a glass of wine.

A delivery was due to arrive today. A truck pulled up in front of his house. Diego stepped out, wearing a bathrobe; his hair was gray. "You can unload the goods here, " he said. He had been expecting the burly man who usually came, but instead, a young woman with dark eyes and black hair stepped out. This time, the "Angel of Death" truck bore a blue stripe. She was wearing a denim jacket, jeans, and a crop top.

"I wasn't expecting this..."

"A woman driver, you mean, " she said with a warm smile. "That’s not what I meant, " he laughed. "Not my usual driver." "The regular driver didn't show up. He's sick, I'm afraid."

"A pity. I hope it all works out." She got the crate and a trolley ready to move the wine. "No problem. I'll help, " he said. "No need. I need to get the hang of things. My father wants me to do the job. He's one of the managers."

She smiled as she moved the crate.

She turned around, briefly revealing her black panties as she pushed the wine trolley. She moved quickly—faster than the old driver. They headed down into the cellar. “Wow, you’re quick. For such a young beauty... a young woman.” She smiled. She walked toward him and placed her hand on the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry, you can go ahead and call me beautiful. I’m not going to tip off the papers about a lecherous politician.” “You know I’m a politician, ” Diego said, impressed. “Most people don’t know who the Department of Commerce is.” “You might if your family is in the trade business. And you never forget a pretty face like that.” He blushed slightly.

“Oh, you’re a sweetie, ” she said, looking at the wine. “It’s really good. My favorite from the batch.” “Since you’re putting in so much effort, may I treat you to a glass of wine and something to eat? I’m a fantastic cook—and I’m not just good-looking.”

“All right... I’ll pour.” “I’m Diego.” “What’s your name?” “Grace, ” she said, flashing a dazzling white smile.

He cooked her pasta with chicken; it was divine. She poured him wine, and it was excellent. They talked and flirted. “That was fantastic, ” she said. “A special family recipe, ” he said.

“Well, I think I should thank my host, ” she said. “My dear, your presence alone is thanks enough.”

They were in his kitchen. It was beautifully lit and offered a magnificent view of the hills and the garden. She stood up and took off his shirt.

“Sure, there are other ways, ” she said. Her erect nipples were clearly visible. They looked like a young, wealthy heir. An angel of death sat on his lap.

“I really shouldn’t do this.” She slid her hand down and stroked his penis. “Are you sure?” He was a little tipsy. She pulled down his trousers and began to suck his penis. She took him deep into her mouth. Blood rushed to his penis as he groaned. Her lips enveloped his shaft, trailing thick strands of saliva. As his heart pounded, the poison she had mixed into his drink began to take effect—right at the moment he came.

“Oh, shit, oh, ” he said. She... She gazed at his shaft and rubbed it against her breasts. Her eyes were green now as she licked the head of his cock. A shiver ran through Diego; his body teetered on the brink of climax just as the first burning tendrils of the poison began to course through his veins. His orgasm erupted with a violent shudder—a burning wave where pleasure and agony mingled—as the poison flooded into him and instantly seized his heart. His body went motionless. He couldn't move. “What’s happening?”

Her expression turned cold, and she drank the rest of the wine from the bottle until it was empty. “Your meal was good.” She smashed the bottle against his head and used the jagged glass to carve into him. “Oh, shit. Stop.”

She kept writing, smiling wildly. “For the cooking, I’ll let you come one more time.”

The words “Don’t mess with the Black Circle” were written in blood. It was one of the names from Albana. She held up the mirror so he could read it.

“Damn it... it was just a transport. They can regroup.”

“But then the next one might try to stop them again. No. There have to be consequences, ” Grace said. She took out her contact lenses and stripped off the rest of her clothes. She moved toward him and rubbed her sex against his cock. It turned rock-hard. He could move neither his legs nor his arms. He was paralyzed as she enveloped him in her warm, wet heat.

“Mommy, that feels good.”

She moved up and down on his cock, wrapping her arms around him. His penis was stretched by her powerful muscles. Every forceful thrust was a brutal reminder of his helplessness, while his body—betrayed by both ecstasy and poison—succumbed to her relentless rhythm. “Does it feel good?” “Yes, ” he groaned in fear. “Are you scared?” she asked. “Yes... yes.”

“Maybe in your next life you’ll learn not to cross the line, ” she whispered, her voice an icy caress. With one final, devastating thrust, she drove him to another trembling, poisoned climax; his body convulsed. She stood up and slit his throat with the glass. Blood splattered onto her. She knelt down and sliced ​​off his testicles and penis. He screamed as she tore them away. Life drained from his body as she finished him off with a slash to the throat. His glans would become another addition to her necklace.

His eyes, wide with horror and a fading spark of consciousness, stared blankly at the ceiling. Grace—or rather, the Angel of Death—stepped away with fluid grace, her body glistening with sweat and his essence. The raw power of her movements was terrifyingly efficient. She wiped herself clean with a silk scarf pulled from a hidden pocket. Her gaze was cold and utterly devoid of emotion as she surveyed her handiwork. The message scrawled in blood across his chest stood out starkly against his pale skin—a grim testament to her brutal efficiency.

Then, she began meticulously erasing every trace of her presence. Every wine glass, every plate, every object she had touched was carefully wiped down, leaving behind no fingerprints for a forensics team to discover. Her movements were precise and practiced.

She carefully returned the shard of the broken bottle—still in her hand—to the cabinet. Its sharp edge, now stained with Diego’s blood, served as a silent, deadly warning. She retrieved her contact lenses and put them back in.

She quickly pulled her blue-streaked hair—a temporary disguise—into a severe bun and slipped a dark, nondescript jacket over her crop top. The transformation from "Grace" to the Angel of Death was complete—terrifyingly swift and absolute. She cut him open, removed his entrails, and placed them on a plate. She seated him in front of it and put a fork in his hand. Would anyone who walked in see this macabre spectacle?