"You can be a king,
Or a street sweeper,
But everyone dances,
With the Grim Reaper."
- Robert Alton Harris

"Bring the new recruits."

My clamoring voice resonated with demand, echoing through the ears of my workers as they rushed to meet my command.

Legs crossed, I sat with superiority on my throne-like chair, looking down at their distant, flinching faces.

I observed discreetly as a shadow begins to emerge from the blackened gloom surrounding us; dressed in leather as he begins to swagger confidently towards me. His dark clothes and pale skin clashing in perfect synchrony as he comes into view, still half cloaked in darkness.

Ruslan Ivanov, my personal consigliere.

Lighting a joint, he turns to stand beside me.

With the cigarette between his faint pink lips, the lit end glanced off his fair skin, illuminating against the dullness.

The pungent smell of toxicity beginning to itch my nose between every breath.
I always did hate the smell of those diseased substances.

The orange fire danced against the dark scenery as he inhaled the drug. Radiating ferociously, the only source of light showcasing his chiseled jaw and frowning slit brows.

"Pakhan is going to kill you." He muffled hoarsely after his long puff.

"For what, my dear?" I replied playfully. A hidden smile tugging on the corners of my mouth.

"You know what." Covering his face in a cloud of ashy smoke, he exhaled tiresomely.

"Hmm." I hummed, focusing on the dark silhouettes around me.
"We'll see about that."

Moments later, four scrawny bodies entered the safehouse.
Gingerly prowling further into the abandoned building as their curious eyes begin to wonder around the premises, absorbing the sight until they finally land on mine.

They all cower in fear, immediately allowing their wavering eyes to fall on the ground.

Silence filled the darkness, echoing their heavy panting and the thundering of their frantic hearts beating against their cages.

A smirk rippled across my face as I begin to inspect their quavering bodies. 

Their respected bowed heads met the floor as they stood in their martial posture.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."
I bellowed coherently as I uncrossed my legs, beginning to ascend from the darkness and into view.

"Look at me when I talk to you." My voice bawled into their ears, beckoning them to look me in my stoic eyes.

"Your leader is a girl?!"
A disembodied voice called out, breaking the fervid silence with his ludicrous ideology.

Snapping towards his direction, my gaze immediately falls on the culprit's face, scrutinizing his demeanor and studying his features.
He begins to shift uncomfortably, his widen eyes frantically searching for comfort amongst the other silenced bodies.

Men.

A heartily laughter erupted from my throat momentarily, filling the thick tension as I amuse myself with his discomforted appearance.

Now standing inches away from his panic-stricken face, I begin to inspect his feverish eyes and tense body.

"Light him up." I decided, nodding towards the men working by my side.

"W-what?" The nonentity warbled apprehensively. His muted expression warped into trepidation as his jaded eyes pool in fear.

"Are you sure, Bina?" Ruslan hissed through his gritted teeth, immediately dropping the damned stick from his mouth as the men await for confirmation.

I turned my head towards him. A stern guise stamped on my face, devoid of any humor as I repeat the words.

"Light. Him. Up. And don't make me repeat myself Ruslan."
I spat out my words, staring at him cautiously.

Tentatively, he waves two fingers in the air with a scoff, mumbling under his breath words sounding a bit like I knew you would do this.

The dupe's hands were tied behind him, immediately. Shrieks of protests ruptured out of his throat as one of my men kicked the back of his knee.

Faltering shamefully, he drops onto his knees.

Looking down at him, his eyes quivered in fear. Defeat etched on his face as his heaving chest cries in terror.

Bringing my right foot up to his face, I pressed his face down onto the filthy floor; squashing him under my black, stiletto heels.

Groans of agony growled from his throat, adding more pressure until I finally put my foot back down onto the floor.

"Kiss my feet. And I'll let you live." I smirked.

The victim lifts his dirty head, his widen eyes suddenly filled with hope as they twinkled ambitiously.

Looking back down, he begins inching forward. His dry lips plummeting out, ready to kiss the tip of my shoe.

Lifting my feet, I forcefully struck his face, causing him to buckle backwards.

Fear overtook his eyes, dissolving any traces of optimism as he laid on the ground hopelessly; a dark trickle of crimson blood beginning to flow down from his nose.

"Get the gasoline." I demanded, facing the men surrounding. "Or you're next." I warned.

Turning back round, I strut proudly towards Ruslan, listening to the knocking of my heels against the hardened floor.

Elegantly sitting back down on my seat of statue as I watch the nuisance drown in petrol.

Choking violently, his eyes pleaded those around him for help, gasping as he rolled around the floor feebly.

A single nod, and the body sparked into flames.

»»»»»»»»

My name, is Sabina. Sabina Pavlova.

Daughter of Vladimir Pavlova, Pakhan* of the Russian Mob- the Bratva*, the most feared gang in the world.

*Pakhan is the Russian word for Mafia leader.

*Bratva is the Russian Mafia organisation

I am the original heir to the Russian Mafia, born and raised in the world of criminals, mobsters, gangsters and thieves.

I didn't choose this life. It chose me.

Not that I'm complaining. I find it, exhilarating.

The blood rush and adrenaline giving me a profound sense of comfort, igniting the burning wreckage within the darkness that surrounded my essence.

Watching myself holding the lives of those around me in the tip of my fingers, only to have it melt away at my will.

The begging pools of defeat, imploring me to let them live as I give them a taste of death.

Grasping onto dear life as I held their dying souls, controlling their fate.

How pitiful.

A lifestyle feared by other. I guess that's why they call me the Reaper.

Because I am Death Incarnate.

And trust me when I say, no one messes with the Reaper and lives to tell the story.