Bloodlust is being PUBLISHED

Hi Friends! I’m so excited to announce that I am publishing Bloodlust, which will be the first book in a few series, titled, AGENTS OF SIN. The e-book is currently available to pre-order on Amazon. There is a link on my conversation board and bio! The book will also be available in paperback <3 

I’m gonna publish 5 sample chapters here so you can get a feel of the book ^.^ 

PS. Follow me on IG (ellewiswrites) for updates on my writing and chances to win a FREE paperback! 

Love you all!

Liza

1 | Untouchable

I have this entire city wrapped around my manicured finger.

I hear everything. I see everything. I control everything. Nothing happens in the gruel underworld of New York City without me knowing. Nothing. I’m in charge.

Me.

I was destined for this life. It was my birthright. In the last two months, I fought against every code, every rule, every fucking patriarchal, antiquated hurdle to get to where I am today. To be the queen. To have all the power. But I did it. I succeeded. I won. It’s mine.

The power is mine.

All of it.

And the best thing about power? Well, other than blinding riches and undying respect? It’s that absolute power comes with impenetrable protection. My entire fucking essence is made out of the finest Kevlar.

I’m bulletproof.

Everyone in this city knows that I’m untouchable.

Physically. Financially.

Legally .

You’d have to be a complete idiot to take me to court. Unfortunately, the great borough of Manhattan seems to be littered with opportunistic idiots.

Take this Karen-in-the-Making sitting adjacent to me. She’s a walking TV ad for personal injury lawyers. Pathetic really. She must be new to New York. Hell, based on her outdated haircut and bottom eyeliner, she must be new to this fucking decade.

I almost feel bad for the lady. If I were a nicer person, I’d take pity on her. I’d gladly toss her a few grand… and the number to my stylist (God knows she needs it). But that’s the thing about showing kindness, you can’t do it often. Why? Because that’s when the leeches come out. That’s when all these losers with nothing better to do try and sink their grimy little teeth into my perfect skin.

I wasn’t raised to be nice to leeches. To vermin. To bitches that try to smear my impeccable reputation. And I sure as hell wasn’t raised to be nice to people who make me wake up at the crack of fucking dawn and make a courtroom appearance.

So annoying.

The poor woman thinks she just won the jackpot. Little does she know, American dollars are worth zilch in hell. And that’s exactly where she’s going after I put a bullet between her stupid overplucked, overzealous, overexaggerated eyebrows.

God, I need another coffee.

“Your Honor, this is ridiculous. We are wasting your time, my time, and the court’s time with these outrageous accusations,” I state, suppressing a yawn as I make eye contact with Judge Keegan. He’s a fresh fish on the circuit. I don’t know too much about him. He looks harmless enough. For now. “I have not done anything to this woman—” I shoot daggers at the blonde idiot sitting next to her legal aid lawyer. “She’s clearly trying to take advantage of the situation.” I snort, rolling my eyes. “If we can even call it that.”

“Accusations?!” Karen screeches, pointing her short, tubby finger at the teensy little scar on her left eyebrow. “You did this!”

“Total hearsay!” I snap back, crossing my arms.

Some people are so sensitive.

“Miss Bianco,” Karen’s lawyer clears his throat, gesturing to the TV at the front of the courtroom. “Do we need to replay the CCTV footage from the Chanel Kiosk? We can all clearly see you throwing a perfume bottle at my client.”

“Objection,” I scoff looking around the room. I catch my assistant Zoey face-palming in the front row. “First of all, it was a compact, not a perfume bottle.” I glare at Karen’s lawyer. “Maybe a visit to the optometrist is needed, hey?” I point to the TV. “Or better yet, a consultation with a damn neurologist because I would hardly call that a throw!”

“Camilla,” my lawyer, an old fart that my father made me hire whispers beside me, “Perhaps let me do the talking.”

“Shut up,” I spit back, hating my geriatric parents for meddling in my affairs. Retirement means they butt out of my business. Every aspect of my business. I look up at the Judge who looks like he’s about to fall asleep. Maybe he needs a coffee too. I feign a sweet smile, sickening even myself. “Your Honor, there is no evidence of any wrongdoing. I think we should just drop all these charges. What do you say? Hmm?”

“She assaulted me!” Karen cries, her shrill voice causing my body to tense.

“Assualt?!” I jerk my head towards her, eyes narrowed. “That’s a bit of stretch, Karen.”

“For the fifth time, my name is Wendy!” she seethes through her teeth. “Not Karen!”

“Whatever, Karen,” I say flippantly, facing the judge. “Listen, all I did was toss her a little compact, that’s all.”

“I needed stitches!” Karen screams, face turning red. “Nine of them!”

“I don’t see how your sloth-like reflexes are my fault,” I state. At this point, I can hardly even remember what Karen did or said to piss me off at Nordstrom’s. I laugh internally. She probably just opened her mouth. A voice like that would make even the Pope go nuclear. “Your Honor, can we please dismiss these charges already? I’m a very busy woman. I don’t have the time or patience to entertain Miss Karen’s get-rich-quick scheme.”

“My name is Wendy!” the idiot yells again.

God, she needs to be locked up.

“Enough,” Judge Keegan sighs, shaking his head as his gaze skims both benches. “Miss Bianco, whether it was a throw as Mr. Julian claims, or a… toss as you so claim, the footage from the CCTV camera is irrefutable.”

“Hah!” Karen exclaims, a prideful grin on her face.

My jaw locks. Is she…laughing at me? That low life? That human scum? And is he… ruling in her favor? Oh, this fresh little fishy doesn’t know what he’s doing.

With a burning tingle in my fingertips that slowly spreads up my arm, I stare at Judge Keegan. This time I’m not smiling. This time I’m not acting. No. This time… I’m being real. Myself. I’m Camilla Bianco of The Bianco Crime Family. And this? This is unacceptable.

No one in my family has ever been charged with even a parking ticket. This can’t happen. Not now. Not this early. Not when I just clawed my way to the fucking top. I intend to stay here. This is where I belong. This is my rightful throne. And no one, I mean no one, will take this from me.

“Do you know who I am, Fred ?” I ask the Judge, gripping the edge of the table. “Does my name ring a bell?”

“Of course Miss Bianco,” he states, unflinching. Really? Another idiot. “But you are not above the law.”

Great, he’s a martyr. How inconvenient.

“With all due respect, Fred ,” I say, frustration bubbling in my blood. “But in New York City? I am the law.” I glance at Karen. “A fact that should make you feel very very afraid.”

Karen’s eyes widen with fear. Good. As it should be. “Are you threatening me?” she asks. “Your Honor, did you hear her? You heard her, right?!”

I hope he did. He should be scared too. My trigger finger is trembling at the thought of putting these two dogs down.

“Miss Bianco,” the Judge says, surprisingly keeping his composure. “If you could refrain from uttering threats in my courtroom that would be much appreciated.”

“She’s a fucking lunatic!” Karen yells. “She needs to be thrown in jail!”

“What did you just call me?” My hand finds the closest thing to grip. This energy needs to be transferred to something. I need to control myself. I need to ground this building rage.

Breathe, Camilla. Fucking Breathe.

“I said—” Karen, with a moronic burst of confidence, rounds the desk, stalking towards me. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”

My pulse quickens as I sense all eyes on me. They’re watching. Waiting. What will she do? No one would dare speak to my father like this. To my grandfather. To my cousins. They never had to deal with this. They’d never be dragged this far. The same blood runs through my veins. This blood demands respect. And yet, here we are. There’s only one difference between me and them. A difference I can’t change. A difference I was born with.

I don’t have a fucking cock dangling between my fucking thighs.

“A lunatic?” I ask, a small maniacal laugh slipping past my lips. “I’ll show you fucking lunatic!” I grab the stapler off the table, chucking it across the room. I have excellent aim so the thing flies just a dick hair away from her face before slamming into the far wall. “Is that lunatic enough for you, Karen?!”

“Miss Bianco!” Judge Keegan bangs his gavel, drawing the attention of the now almost weeping leech. The tingling sensation in my fingers dissipates slowly, my heart rate slowing down. “That is enough!” He glares at me, but I don’t care anymore. Over it. “I am hereby ordering you to pay Miss Graham for medical expenses incurred as a result of your thoughtless actions, as well as an additional fifty thousand dollars for infliction of emotional distress.”

“What—”

He’s kidding, right? She should be paying me!

“I am not finished,” he continues in a stern tone much to my dismay. “In addition to financial restitution, I am ordering that you complete forty-eight hours of mandatory anger management therapy with a doctor of your choice.”

“I’m sorry? What?” I choke, blinking. Am I hallucinating right now? “Anger management? Have you lost your goddamn mind?! You can’t do that!”

“But I can,” he says, closing the folder in front of him as he looks at Karen and her lawyer. “Court dismissed.”

“I told you to let me do the talking,” my lawyer grumbles under his breath before leaving me standing alone, bewildered. “Women.”

I stare off into the distance, attempting to process what just happened. Mandatory anger management? Mandatory? Hah. If Fred thinks he can force me to sit in a room with a fucking shrink three times a week, he’s more delusional than I thought. No one makes me do anything.

No one.

Luckily for me, wealth is like a get-out-of-jail-free card.

And I have millions of them.

“Cami!” Zoey’s melodic voice fills my ears as I feel a hand on my arm. “Hey, Cami? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, sucking in a sharp breath as I hold out my hand for my purse. She places my YSL clutch in my palm. I open the bag, pull out a pair of sunglasses, and slide them on my face. “I’m going to use the restroom.” I exit through the wooden gate and walk towards the doors, Zoey running behind me. “You have two minutes to find the closest psycho-whatever-the-fuck’s office and book me an appointment for 9 am.”

“But it’s almost 9 am now,” she says, pulling out her cell phone as my bodyguards discreetly follow us. “I don’t think—”

“Make it happen,” I state, stopping in front of the lady’s room. “And bring me my checkbook.”

“Okay,” she peeps. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t try,” I say, entering the restroom. “Just do.”

The lighting here is atrocious. I scan the bags under my eyes before pulling out under-eye cream and a tube of red lipstick, hoping it livens me up. It’s too fucking early to deal with all these Neanderthals. I shouldn’t have gone so hard last night at Suffer N’ Rage , but it’s a rarity for Javier and Kody to be working on the same night. I keep telling them I’m willing to make them full-time dancers but apparently getting A’s at NYU is more important to them than getting me off.

Warped priorities in my humble opinion. What can a degree give them that I can’t?

With a final glance in the mirror, I exit the restroom. “Cigarette,” I demand, holding out my hand to Frankie, my lifelong guard. He casts me a judgment frown. I shake my hand, reaffirming my decision. “I’m waiting.”

“Cami,” he sighs, pulling a pack out of the breast pocket of his jacket. “You’re too young to smoke, princess. Ain’t the patch working?”

“Clearly not,” I say, yanking the smoke from the pack as Zoey comes charging towards me. “So?”

“Okay, well—” She scrolls her phone. “I called a few offices and no one is available right now, but I did get the number to a practice that just opened up a couple of blocks from here and they have an opening at 10 am.” She narrows her eyes. “A Dr. Hayden Malcolm.”

“I’m not waiting until ten,” I say, walking out of the courthouse and lighting the smoke. God, so embarrassing that I’m in here. Never again. “They’ll make time for me now.” A warm breeze hits my skin as we step outside. “Well? Which way?”

“Left.” Zoey lets out a tiny sigh, pointing down the street. “Are you sure you want to barge in, Cam? I mean, after what happened today, shouldn’t you—”

I snap my head down at her, eyes cold. “I appreciate the concern, Zoe, I really do, but I can handle this, okay?”

“Fine,” she says with a shrug, biting her bottom lip. “I just don’t think you need more stress added to your day.”

“I’m not stressed,” I state, heels clicking against the sidewalk as we make our way to the head doctor’s office. I take a long drag of the smoke, relishing in the instant relief. “Frustrated, maybe, but not stressed. Can you believe that happened, Zoe? It’s like the people in this city have lost their minds. Truly.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown make-up at the counter lady,” Zoey mumbles.

I roll my eyes. “She said I had oily skin, her fault.”

“Right,” Zoey hums, her phone vibrating. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” I glance down, the message skewed by the sunlight. “What is it?”

“He’s back in town.” Zoey sheepishly looks up at me. “My brother’s back in New York.”

I stop walking. “Leonardo… is back?” My teeth slam against one another. I was a fool to think he wouldn’t return. It’s been five years and

he shows up now ? Sus. “What does he want?”

Zoey gives me a knowing head tilt. “What do you think?”

“New York is mine, Zoey,” I state, clenching my fist. “Your brother has no right.”

The bastard leaves the family to go gallivanting across Europe with his girlfriends, and now he wants back in?

Laughable.

“He just found out Tony retired,” she explains, reading the text. “Said if he knew earlier, he’d have been here months ago.”

“Tough shit for Leo,” I say, continuing to march towards the damn shrink’s office. “Maybe he should’ve stuck around instead of fucking off for half a decade.”

“Do you think he’s going to fight you for rule?” Zoe asks, gesturing for us to turn the corner. “He is the eldest son of the De Rossi family.”

“Your family lost to mine, Zoey,” I state matter-of-factly as we stop in front of a grey brick building. I read the sign for Hayden Malcolm, PhD. Fuck sakes. Worst Monday ever. “Your name means nothing anymore.” I look down at her, a slight tinge of guilt gripping my heart. “It’s a fact, Zoe. Don’t be upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she says, opening the door for me. “But the family might see it otherwise.” She nods up the stairs. “Let’s put out one fire at a time, okay? Go do your thing, Cami.”

I straighten out my shoulders. “Checkbook?”

“Here—” She hands me the book. “Good luck.”

I snort. “Good one.”

Today has been an utter shit show and it’s not even 9 am.

Javier and Kody better come back tonight.

I need my little toys.

I need control.

2 | Transaction

I wouldn’t say that I’m a particularly angry person. Sure, there are many things that piss me off. Poor internet connection. People who chew with their mouths open. Mansplaining. Traffic. People who don’t clean up after their dogs.

And waiting.

That’s the worst. Whether it’s to cross the damn street or stand in a fucking line, I thoroughly despise waiting.

It’s a waste of time.

And time is a precious commodity. It’s fleeting. Every second that passes is a second that’s lost forever. Time is the one thing money can’t buy. I’ve tried. I wasted thousands trying to buy time. It can’t be done.

Time is something to cherish, to hold sacred. And the longer I stand here, waiting for— I narrow my eyes at the name tag pinned into the peppy receptionist’s blouse— Heather to get off the damn phone, the more time I lose.

I’m tempted to remove the switchblade from my purse and slice through the telephone cord - also perhaps her throat - but my father’s repetitive warnings float through my mind.

Do not ever make a scene. Do not cause unnecessary trouble. Hold your head up high. You represent a century of influence. We have standards, Camilla.

Meet them

… or else.

I dig my nails into my upper thigh, the acrylics pushing through the faux leather fabric of my skirt, the pain soothing my spurting frustration. I dig in harder as the seconds pass and the receptionist continues to hold up a finger indicating she needs more time. Don’t we all. I push harder and harder and harder until—

“Sorry about that! Busy morning!” Heather exclaims, peering up at me as she lowers the receiver. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” I say, gradually pulling my nails away from my thigh, the indents in the fabric evident by touch. Control. I place my clutch on the counter, removing my sunglasses. “My assistant Zoey called earlier about an appointment. Name’s Camilla Bianco.”

“Ah, yes! Welcome Miss Bianco!” she says, smiling up at me. No one should be this cheery before noon. Must be drugs. “You’re a bit early though, I have you scheduled for 10 am.”

“I’m aware but this is an emergency,” I say through my teeth but ensure my tone is warm. Zoey always says you attract more bees with honey than vinegar. Then again, she says a lot of stupid shit. “I need to be seen right away.” I force a smile, my fingertips pulsing. “Please?”

“Dr. Malcolm just stepped into the office,” she explains, an apologetic gleam in her eyes. “He usually needs about an hour to settle in.” Heather leans down and opens a cabinet door under her desk, a familiar squeak filling the white walls of the minimally decorated practice. She pulls out a stack of paper, attaching the forms to a clipboard. “But you can fill out this document while you wait. It’s a standard new patient intake form. It’s a bit long so you can take a seat “

“Fine,” I swallow away the budding impatience as my gaze flicks to the open cabinet, the corner of a shitty chew toy poking out. “You have a dog?” I ask, taking the clipboard from her hands. If I were to stab her right now, there’d be no one to take care of Pinto. Can’t have that.

Saved by a canine. Count your blessings, Heather.

“Oh my God!” Heather’s eyes light up. “I do! How did you know?”

“I’m psychic,” I joke flatly, eliciting an almost frightening expression from poor Heather. I sigh, rolling my eyes as I nod towards the cabinet. “The toy.”

“Oh!” she laughs, pulling out a purple alien chew toy. Christ. Another uneducated dog owner. “Isn’t it adorable? My little bubs is going to love it!”

“Adorable and toxic ,” I state, shaking my head in disgust. “I would research brands prior to purchase if I were you, Heather. Unless you hate your pet, that is.”

Heather blinks, examining the plushy. “Toxic?!”

“Mhm. Look it up,” I hum, grabbing a pen and flipping through the intake form.

Fuck sakes, so many pages.

Name . Real. Birthday . Real. Address . Lie. Contact information . Lie. Employment history. Lie. Academic history . Real. Reason for your visit . Real.

Psychiatric and medical history . ​​I snort, circling 1 under “How intense is your emotional distress?” Lie. Please list all the mental and physical problems you’ve been diagnosed with. Lie. Name of family doctor. Lie. Have you ever been hospitalized? Lie.

Current habits.

Smoking . Lie. Gambling . Lie. Drinking . Lie. Drug use . Lie. Caffeine intake . Lie. Exercise . Lie. Eating . Lie. Sleeping . Lie. Fun and relaxation. Lie.

All lies. It’s better this way

“Oh my God,” Heather mumbles, clacking away on her keyboard as I reach the bottom of the form. “This is horrible.”

“Here—” I hand her back the clipboard. “I’m done.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, distraught in her tone. Yeah, I’d be freaked out too if I were slowly killing my dog. She scans the form, eyebrow perking up. “Oh, you forgot to write down an emergency contact.”

“I know,” I state, eyes hardening. “It says it’s optional.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to jot down a name?” Heather asks innocently. “Maybe a relative? A parent?”

“My parents live abroad,” I explain, a bitter taste in my mouth. Deserters. “And everyone else is dead.”

“Oh, okay,” she hums awkwardly, nodding. “What about umm… a close friend? Just someone we can call in case anything happens.”

My jaw tenses. Enough niceties.

“I’m done,” I say, grabbing my clutch off of the counter. Turning on my heel, I head towards the closed office doors. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Oh! Miss Bian— Shoot!” Heather begins to call out but the phone rings. “Thank you for calling Dr. Malcolm’s office, how may I help you?”

I tried to do this Zoey’s way. I really did. But it’s not my style. At all. My way is much more efficient. My way gets shit done. This was supposed to be a simple in and out. No more playing ball. I came here for one thing, and one thing only.

My fingers curl around the handle and I open the door to the office, mind blanking as my eyes land on the scarred sculpted back of Dr. Hayden Malcolm.

Oh, fuck me.

My gaze floats down the curve of his spine as he slides his arms slowly through a white dress shirt, the spring sun casting a glow around his deliciously lean body.

Maybe I came here for two things.

I bite my lip, leaning against the door frame as I watch him pop his collar, the flexing movements of his muscles making me envy the piece of cotton stretching across his arms. My eyes flit down to his firm, round ass. Mmm. What a treat indeed. My pussy clenches in anticipation . But is the front as good as the back? As if reading my mind, his body rotates, my mouth drying as I soak in the outline of his impressive cock.

Well, hello daddy.

“Apologies—” His low, gritty voice fills my ears. “I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“I didn’t knock,” I whisper, lifting my head after one more second of viewing pleasure. He’d make a killing at Suffer N’ Rage. “Sorry,” I smirk when I meet his green eyes, my insides burning as I scan his symmetrical features. Three for three. Triple threat. “Well—” I lick my lips, stealing one more glance at my new potential toy. “Not that sorry.”

“Hmm,” he hums, adjusting his cuffs before reaching for the blazer draped over the back of his chair. He strides towards me, putting on his jacket, a dark glow in his eyes as he adds, “Do you often have the need to disregard societal norms, Miss—” He pauses, cocking his head. “Miss Bianco, I presume?”

“Correct,” I say, concealing a grin as I hold out my hand. I wonder if his grip is tight. The tighter the better. “And you must be Dr. Malcolm. A pleasure to meet you.” He eyes my hand for several long beats but doesn’t shake it. Interesting. “Are you upset I didn’t knock, doctor ?”

“Upset?” he asks, giving me an attentive once over. “No, I am not.”

“Good because I—”

“However,” he continues, rudely cutting me off. “It is incredibly disrespectful to barge into someone’s office without knocking. I could have been with a patient.”

“But you weren’t,” I snap back, tilting my head. “Were you?”

“Not the point,” he states sternly. “This type of impertinent behavior is not tolerated in this office, understood?”

“Wow, it’s only been thirty seconds and you’re already lying to me,” I note, meeting his clinical eyes. They’re so fucking green. Like a forest that has yet to be clear cut. Untapped. Unexplorable. Untainted. “Must be a record.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asks.

I smirk. “No need to beg, doctor. I’m more than willing to pardon you.”

“Next time you knock.” His tone is demanding, authoritative, somewhat arousing. “Yes?”

“I could’ve sworn I knocked but—” I pause, stepping into the office and closing the door behind me. Privacy is so important these days. “It might have… slipped my mind.” My gaze flicks down the length of his tall frame. “I must have been a tad distracted.”

“Interesting,” he says, tone professional as he stops just a few feet away from me, the scent of cedarwood, lavender, and orange blossom permeating the space between our bodies. “In some cases, distractibility is a common side effect of persistently elevated stress.” His brow quirks up as he drags his thumb across his chin, my eyes darting to his mouth. “Are you stressed, Miss Bianco?”

“Do I look stressed, doctor?” I ask in a breathy tone, my chest rising at thought of all the deranged acts those lips could do to my body. The things he could make me feel. Oh, the things I could make him feel. “Mmm.”

“Is it too warm in here for you?” he asks, drawing my attention, an edgy hint of amusement in his tone. “You look somewhat flushed.”

I blink, composing myself. He’s observant. I’m not sure if I like that. “I’ve had a chaotic morning,” I state, crossing my arms defensively against my chest. “You might have heard.”

“Yes, my secretary informed me of your ordeal,” he says, glancing at his G-Shock watch. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a diver. “Unfortunately, you are quite early for our session so I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside until I’m ready to see you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I say, remembering the real reason I’m actually here. Priorities, Camilla. I reach into my purse and pull out the checkbook. “I’m not here for a session.”

“Really?” he hums, almost mockingly. “Do you plan on completing your forty-eight hours at another practice then?”

“I don’t plan on completing those hours at all,” I say. His salty tone is quickly taking away his sexual appeal. Dries me right up. “Name your price, doc.” I tap the checkbook. “And don’t lowball yourself.”

“My price?”

“Yes, your price,” I say, taking a step forward as I cast him a sly smile. “How much will your cooperation cost me?” I twist my lips in thought. “I think one hundred thousand should be enough, right? I mean, all you need to do is report my hours to the Judge. Pretty simple, I’d think.”

“You expect me to lie to the State, Miss Bianco?” he asks, crossing his arms. “What kind of establishment do you think this is? Your money’s no good here, believe me.”

I roll my eyes. “Two hundred thousand then.”

“I am not that easily bought, Miss Bianco.” A minuscule incredulous chuckle tumbles from his lips. “Perhaps you should seek cooperation from a different doctor. One that has… equally loose morals.”

“Let’s not bring morals into business, doctor,” I sigh. God, this is getting annoying. “And that’s what this is…a business transaction.”

“This is not Wall Street, Miss Bianco,” Dr. Malcolm states. “And my integrity is not for sale.” He gestures to the door. “Please see yourself out.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, scoffing. “You can’t be serious.” I fish a pen out of my purse and open the checkbook. “Okay, fine, three hundred thousand! Final offer.”

“Did you not hear me?” Dr. Malcolm asks, voice rising as he reaches forward, snatching the pen from my hands. “I said leave .”

I blink, glaring up at him. The disrespect. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“No?” A devious ghost of a smile spreads on his face. “Why not?” He holds up my gold pen. “Are you angry now?”

I grind my teeth together, ears burning. “Give me back my pen.”

“And if I don’t?” he asks, holding the pen in the air. “What will you do?”

“I’ll kill you,” I state, my heart racing. Fucking breathe. “I will kill you.”

“For taking your pen?” Dr. Malcom clicks his tongue as he gives me back my father’s pen. “You don’t find that reaction somewhat… problematic ?”

“Fuck off,” I state, glowering at him as I shove the pen back in my purse. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“That’s my job, Miss Bianco,” he says, skimming my face. “And I believe you are in desperate need of my expertise.”

“I don’t need your help, Dr . Malcolm,” I grunt, digging my nails into my palm. “I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, turning away from me and heading to his desk. “By the way—” He cranes his neck over his shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” I look down, opening my hand, a pool of blood sitting in my palm.

“I can help you, Miss Bianco,” he says, sitting down in his office chair and sliding a pair of thick-framed glasses over his face. “If you’d let me.”

“You don’t know me,” I say, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. “You can’t help me. No one has been able to help me”

“I disagree.” Dr. Malcolm leans back, linking his fingers together and resting his hands on his chest. His frosty eyes heat my flesh as he adds, “I think you’d be surprised by how… effective my methods can be.”

“Save it,” I state, heading to the door. “Not interested.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Bianco,” he calls out confidently as I twist the door handle. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Not fucking likely,” I grumble, almost running out of the office.

What the fuck was that? Who does he think he is? I don’t need this. I don’t need to be fixed. I’m fucking fine. I’m perfect. Everything is fine.

“Cami!” Zoey yells, running behind me as I storm past her. “Cami, stop! What happened?!”

“Find a new doctor,” I demand, pulling out my cell phone. TJ better be awake and working. I text him. Meet me at the club. Two grams. Ten minutes. “I’m going to S&R.”

“It’s 9 am, Cami,” Zoey points out, a frown marring her brows. “A bit early, don’t you think?”

“Find a new fucking doctor!” I yell, nodding at Frankie who’s standing beside the Lexus. “Take me to my club,” I tell him, hopping into the backseat. I slam the door shut and roll down a window. “Go feed Pinto,” I tell Zoey who’s lingering outside the car. “I won’t be home till late.”

“How late?” she asks.

“Late.”

Until I can’t think anymore.

Or feel.

Until I’m numb.

3 | Problems

Sometimes I wish I could turn it off.

The noise.

The static.

The ambient melody of perpetual weakness.

That’s what it is…weakness. I wish I could drown it. Smoother it. Choke it until it dies. And I try. So fucking hard. But I can’t. No substance has ever vanished the noise permanently.

It’s always temporary.

Always.

A few hours here. Maybe a day if I’m lucky. But just as the sun rises in the East and brings with it warmth, the noise always returns, bringing with it nothing but demons.

Faded memories of the past. Blurry uncertainty of the present. Opaque darkness of the future.

It’s all here.

Inside of me.

Stewing. Lurking. Hiding in the far corners of my mind.

These corners are new. I wasn’t born with them. No one is.

They were created from chaos. Forged from fear. Sired by sin.

But these corners are a rite of passage for someone like me. They’re mandatory for this life. This world. This destiny. These corners are my burden to bear. My cross to carry.

My noise to drown.

And I drown them.

Every day.

Until they’re resuscitated and brought back to life by reality.

By a fuck ton of water.

And a handful of Advil.

“Careful, princess,” Frankie instructs, one arm looped around my torso as he keeps me upright. Not that I need it. I’m present again. Of sound body and mind. Unfortunately. “We’re almost there, a few more steps.”

“Frankie, I’m fine,” I say, trying to detach myself from his fatherly grip. He doesn’t let go. Overbearing as always. “I said I’m fine Frankie, Jesus!” I wiggle out of his arms, straightening out my dress as we stop in front of the elevators of my condo building. I glance over at the doorman whom I pay handsomely to keep his yap shut. “You’re making a scene.”

“Me?” Frankie blinks, crossing his burly arms. “I wasn’t the one smashing shot glasses at a nightclub, was I?”

“It’s my club, I can do whatever I want.” I roll my eyes, calling the elevator. “Plus, it was a game, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” he scowls, shaking his head. “And what was this game called? Going viral on TicTac? Having your face plastered all over the internet?”

“ TicTac ?“ I ask, stifling a grin. “God, you’re fucking old.” I tilt my head. “Would you prefer walnut or mahogany for your casket?”

“Camilla,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “I told your father that I’d keep you in check, okay? That I’d make sure The Council doesn’t overturn their decision, but you’re making it real hard to do right now. Do you hear what I’m sayin’?”

“The Council can suck my fucking dick,” I state, aggressively pushing the call button. Where the fuck is it? “I’m not scared of a bunch of boomers with bald spots and viagra Pez dispensers.”

“The vote was too close, Cami,” he says as the elevator doors finally ping open. “You need The Council. You need to keep them happy.”

“They’re wiping their wrinkly asses with the face of our Founding Fathers, okay?” I sneer, stepping into the elevator. I scan my fob, hitting the penthouse button. “I think they’re happy.”

“Cam—”

“Night, Frankie,” I mutter as the elevator doors close before he can continue his lecture.

Everything he’s saying I already know. I know that I’m skating on thin ice with the fuckers on The Council. I know that only fifty-five percent of them have any confidence in me. I know that I royally fucked up by losing my shit on Chanel Counter Karen.

I know all of this.

But I also know that there is no one else qualified enough to take this role. My father made sure of that. He kept the minute details of our business dealings secret for this reason. Suppliers. Dealers. Numbers. Locations. Payroll. Enforcers. Everything. I know it all. I know this organization better than any of those denture-wearing bastards. They might not like me, but they sure as fuck need to respect me. I fund their hookers, their vacations, and their livelihoods. I give them millions. The elevator doors open into my apartment and I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of corruption and wealth. They get millions, but I get so much more.

“Pinto?” I call out, kicking off my chunky black heels. I place my clutch on the console table before heading down the star-lit hall. “Pinto?”

The lethargic pitter-patter of claws on hardwood sounds around me and I smile as Pinto slowly walks towards me. I drop down to my knees, wrapping my arms around my blue-eyed babe and kissing his patchy light grey fur.

“How are you feeling, my little bean? Did you have a good day?” I scratch behind his ears. Pinto wags his tail back and forth. He’s energetic today. That’s good. I hope it lasts. “Did you miss me?” Pinto licks my face. “Oh, you did! I missed you too—” A distant clatter echoes and I snap my head up, my body tensing as I hold up a finger. Pinto sits still, following my command. I slowly rise up, my hand reaching for the gun strapped to the garter on my thigh. “Stay,” I whisper, tiptoeing further into my apartment as I grip the Rueger, all my senses on high alert. Someone’s here. I can feel it. I take a few more steps into my living room, sucking in a quiet breath.

I can smell it.

With both hands firmly planted on the pistol, I whip around the corner and point the gun into my kitchen, narrowing my eyes at the opened refrigerator door, the silhouette of a man standing behind it.

“Move and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” I shout. “Who sent you?”

“These chicken nuggets taste like ass,” the man mumbles, turning around with a container of food in his hands. “Seriously, it tastes like blended cardboard.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Is this a joke?

I lower my gun, irritation spiking as Leo closes the fridge and flicks on the lights. He takes another bite of my nuggets, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his suit. Typical. He left New York with no respect for designers, and he’s come back with no respect for designers.

“You broke into my house?” I ask, examining his smug face. He might be five years older but he looks exactly the same. A snake draped in couture and covered in tough-guy tats. Fake-ass little bitch. “What are you doing here?”

“Aw, come on, Mils,” he says with a cocky smirk, striding towards me. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” He looks down at me, dark eyes scanning my face. He’s not going to find what he’s looking for. He’s not going to find a friend. He squints at me, adding, “Christ, you’re lookin’ a bit rough, kid.” He reaches into his breast pocket and hands me a handkerchief. “Wild night out, huh?”

“Get out,” I sneer, smacking his hand away as Pinto runs up to us. I glare at my dog. He still remembers Leo’s scent. I can’t blame him. I do too. “Right now.”

“No,” he says, a playful grin on his face.

“You either leave on your own accord,” I say, regripping my gun and pointing it at his chest. “Or in a body bag. You decide.”

“Still dramatic as always,” Leo sighs, cocking his head to the side as he peers down at my clocked pistol. “At least you’re holding it properly.” He looks up, tossing me a wink. “Guess you learned a few things while I was away.”

“Leo, I’m serious,” I state, grinding my teeth. “Get out of my house.”

“Come on, you can’t still be mad at me, Mils,” he says, pinching his brown brows into a frown. As if he actually cares. So fake. Always so fucking fake. “Let me take you to dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” I grunt, lowering the gun, exhaustion washing over me. The past twenty-four hours have drained all my energy. There’s nothing left. No will to argue. Fight. I point to the front door. “Leave, Leo.”

“I think I’m in the mood for Greek,” Leo muses, ignoring me as he plops down on an armchair and hikes his ankle over his thigh. Fuck. He pulls out his cellphone, tapping away. “I hear Kaliopi’s has impeccable lamb.” He looks up. “You in?”

I close my eyes, calming myself down. He’s the same. Still insufferable. Still obnoxious. Still arrogant beyond belief.

“I don’t eat meat, remember?” I mutter, walking to the bar and pouring myself a glass of whiskey. I down it in one shot, the amber liquid burning my throat, sedating me, just for a moment so I can calmly ask, “What are you doing here, Leo? The truth.”

I already know the truth. The reason he’s here. The reason he came back to New York.

He wants my throne.

But I need to hear him say it.

“Right!” he exclaims, clicking his tongue. “I forgot about that. My bad. Okay, well they have vegetarian options too. Let’s see—” His forehead creases in concentration as he scrolls through his phone. “Mmm… Oh! Spanakopita is meat-free! Perfect for—”

“Leo, stop!” I march over to him, yanking the phone from his hands. Enough. “You can’t just leave for five fucking years and come back into my life acting as if nothing happened! Why are you here? Tell me!”

“I called you.” Leo tenses, slowly standing up and towering over me. He reaches out, hand hovering for a second before cupping my cheek, his thumb grazing my burning skin. “I called you every week for a year but you didn’t answer. You have no right to be upset with me, Mils. You’re the one who cut me off.”

My jaw sets. “You left me when I needed you the most.”

And now you’re back.

Ready to take the only thing I have left that means anything.

“I had to leave,” he whispers, a pained gleam in his eyes as I pull away from his touch. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t watch—” He sucks in a sharp breath. “I had to leave.”

“Right,” I scoff. “Because traveling the world was more important to you than I was.” I shake my head, disgusted at myself for ever thinking he’d always be by my side. “You were like a brother to me, Leo, and you left me.”

“That was the problem,” Leo whispers, running a hand over his suddenly tired eyes. “Listen, Mils, I didn’t come here to upset you, okay? I came here to make amends.”

“Lies,” I state with utter certainty. “We both know why you’re here.”

Leo sighs. “I don’t want New York, Mils.”

“Mhmm,” I hum, not believing him for a second. “So you just happen to return two months after my dad retires, and that’s just what? An unfortunate coincidence?”

“A lucky one in my eyes,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. Unsuccessfully. He clicks his tongue. “I was in Latin America, okay? I had no service for six months, Mils. I didn’t know Tony retired until two days ago when I saw the text from my dad.” He shrugs. “He said you won over The Council, congrats by the way, but I guess I wanted to see it for myself.” His gaze skims my face. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

I’m not some naive little girl anymore. Five years ago I might have believed him. I would’ve eaten up every word. I would’ve forgotten and forgiven and focused on the fact that he’s here. But I’m not twenty-two anymore. I’m not the same girl he left standing in that field.

I’ve changed. I’ve learned. And I’ve grown the fuck up. I used to trust him like he was my diary, but I can’t anymore.

He broke the lock. Shattered the key. And tore out the pages of my heart.

“Everything’s fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “Better than ever.”

“Zoella told me about the lawsuit,” he notes. “I wouldn’t say that everything is fine.”

My eyes harden. “Zoey’s taking care of it.”

“Is she?” he asks, judgment oozing from his pores. “Well, that’s good. My sister has always had a knack for cleaning up other people’s messes.”

“That’s her job, Leonardo,” I state. “That’s what I pay her to do.”

“Wow,” he hums, meeting my cold glare. “Tony did a great job. It’s almost uncanny.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, checking his vibrating phone. “I got to go, my father wants to see me.”

“Aw, leaving so soon?” I jeer, gesturing to the elevators. “Give my regards to The Council.”

“I will,” Leo says as the elevator doors open. He pauses for a second, collecting his thoughts. “If this is what you really want, Mils, you should be more careful.”

“I don’t need advice from an outsider.”

“I’m just saying…” Leo steps into the elevator, giving me a shrug as the doors close, his voice a fading whisper as he adds, “It would be a shame for your new crown to break so quickly.”

Broken gold is still gold.

No matter how cracked.

It’s stolen gold that causes problems.

You can’t fix something if it’s no longer yours.

4 | Predator

The world is bigger than this city, Cami.

You just need to open your eyes.

You’re looking, Cami, but you’re not seeing.

Open your eyes.

Open them.

I wrap my hands around my coffee mug as I stare out into the city, early morning mist sitting heavy in the air. The view from the thirtieth floor is spectacular. Unobstructed. Clouds and skylines. It’s mesmerizing. Quiet, peaceful, like nothing is moving. Everything is still, calm, serene.

I crave these moments. They’re rare. Fewer and fewer each year. Like his voice. It’s fading. Slowly, but it’s fading.

And one day I won’t hear it at all.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe his voice is a poison. And maybe when it’s gone, when it’s left my system, I’ll be cured.

Maybe.

God, what a horrible word. Maybe . At least no is concrete. Solid. Finite. I hate the mystery of maybes. They’re like advent calendars for optimists. That’s not me. Not anymore.

I glance down at the city blocks, tiny dots of human existence filling the streets like worker ants.

Go. Go. Go.

Always somewhere to go. Some goal to accomplish. Some dream to chase. The people down there… they’re made out of maybes.

That’s their fuel.

Maybe if I work hard enough I’ll get that promotion. Maybe this new treatment will work. Maybe she’ll say yes. Maybe there’s another way.

Idiots.

It’s like they don’t know there are two sides to maybe. Like they refuse to acknowledge reality, the hard truth. Such ignorance. But what’s to be expected? Society favors beauty, and the truth isn’t always pretty. It’s harsh and ugly and downright depressing. I’ve seen the truth first hand. I know that the other side of maybe only brings misery, misfortune, and mistrust.

Sooner or later, everyone learns about the pitfalls of maybes. I did. And I’ll never forget. It’s ingrained in my memory. That was the point. To make sure I never forget. Never waver. Never think about the possibility of maybe ever again.

It worked.

Never again.

I take a comforting sip of coffee, closing my eyes, the liquid warming my chest. The warmth doesn’t last. It passes in the blink of an eye, and I’m cold again. It’s odd. I was expecting to feel something by now. A sense of relief. A smidgen of pride, perhaps. But it’s been two months.

Where is it? Why am I still cold?

“Cami.”

“Yes?” I sigh, turning around as Zoey enters my living room, iPad in hand. This should be interesting. “Did you find someone?”

“I did,” she replies, pulling up a profile on the tablet. “Name’s Dr. Wick. He’ll send reports to the judge.”

“Hmm…” I purse my lips, examining the old man’s aging features. Money can’t buy time, and this man doesn’t look like he has tons left. “Good enough.”

“My father knows him from poker,” she adds. “He says we can trust him.”

I suppress a snort. “But can we trust Enzo not to fuck me over?”

“My father voted for you,” Zoey says. “All the De Rossi’s did.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” I state, walking to the kitchen. “Your family could be lying.”

Zoey’s young, naive, she doesn’t understand. It’s unprecedented. To have a woman head the family. But the Bianco’s and De Rossi’s made a truce decades ago.

No more slaughter. No more blood.

But a truce is only as strong as the family who keeps it. And the De Rossi’s are weaker than us.

Weakness breeds contempt.

And with Leo back?

Contempt and opportunity collide.

“They’re not!” Zoey insists, frustrated as she sits down by the island. “Cami, you need to have some faith in us. We’re in your corner, I promise.”

Promises. Another lesson I learned. Don’t make them. Don’t believe them. Don’t chase them.

A promise is a nightmare masquerading as a dream.

I don’t dream anymore. Haven’t for years. He wanted me to keep my eyes open. And I have. For 1825 days. My eyes never close.

They can’t.

“Really?” I take a second mug out from the cabinet and place it on the wooden counter. “What about your brother?” I pour Zoey a cup of coffee from my French press, peering up at her as I add, “He broke into my house last night.”

“What?” Zoey blinks. “Leo was here? How did he get in? How did he—”

Silly girl.

“Good question,” I say, scanning her flustered face as I slide over the mug. “How did he get in?”

Zoey bites her lip, tapping her short nails on the counter. “Maybe he paid off Benny?”

“My doorman doesn’t have a death wish, Zoella,” I state, running through the CCTV footage again in my mind. Trust is so hard to come by these days. “Try again.”

“Umm…” Zoey’s breathing quickens. “Maybe he uh— Maybe followed someone else inside and umm… broke the lock?”

“He had a key,” I say, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket. I set it down on the counter, pulling a chef’s knife from a drawer. I stare at my assistant, her face pale. “Where would he get a key?”

“I don’t know,” Zoey whispers, her voice trembling. “Maybe—”

“Only two people have a key to my apartment,” I note, slicing the Granny Smith in half. “Frankie, who was with me all night…” I pause, regripping the knife as I meet Zoey’s glossy eyes. “And you .” I tilt my head. “Where were you last night?”

“I was with…” Her voice fades into nothing.

“With?” I prompt. “Go on.”

“I was with Leo,” she breathes. “We had dinner but—” She shakes her head fervently. “Cami, I didn’t—” Her scream pierces the charged air as I raise the knife, slamming the blade on the counter, the tip slicing into the wood between her fingers. “Oh my God,” she wails, hand trembling. “Cami, I—”

“If you ever go behind my back again, Zoella, it’s going to be your heart on the other side of that blade,” I state. “Is that clear?”

“I didn’t give it to him,” she cries, rubbing her hand. “I’m sorry, Cami. I was so stupid. I— I left to go to the bathroom, and he must have looked through my purse or something. I don’t know, I didn’t—”

“Think! You didn’t think, Zoey!” I yank the knife from the counter, tossing it into the sink. “I know he’s your brother but he is not to be trusted!” Zoey buries her face into her hands, shoulders hitching as she cries. It must be nice. The ability to cry. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She glances up, eyes red. “Leonardo left. He is not family, Zoella. I am!”

Zoey stops crying. She remembers. Of course, she remembers. It’s not something you forget.

Family protects family. Family dies for family. Family kills for family.

Blood stains not only the hands but the heart as well. My heart is crimson, drenched in the lives of monsters. But it doesn’t bother me. I’ve made my peace. When the time comes to plead my case, I’ll proudly hold up my bleeding heart and take whatever fate becomes me.

My soul died five years ago. Along with the girl I once was.

“I’m sorry,” Zoey says, wiping her eyes. “I shouldn’t have met him but I wanted to see if he’d tell me why he was back in the city.”

“You’re allowed to see your brother,” I say. “But you’re not allowed to hide it from me.”

“It won’t happen again,” she says, nodding. “Please believe me.” She holds out her shaky hand, pleading with me to hold it. “You have my loyalty, Cami. You know that.”

“You’ve disappointed me, Zoe,” I say, eyeing her hand, not touching it. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“It won’t,” she says. “I promise.”

“Very well,” I sigh. Only time will tell. “So? What did he tell you?”

“Well, apparently it’s just a visit,” she says. “He said he wanted to check in on you.”

“He told me the same thing,” I say. “You believe him?”

Zoey shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s hard to tell with Leo.”

“He met with your father last night,” I note. “Do you know why?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I can try and find out.”

“Don’t,” I say, popping a slice of apple into my mouth. “There’s a Council meeting in a few days, I’ll find out for myself.”

“Speaking of the council,” Zoey says, turning the iPad towards me. “They’re all back in the city.”

My lip twitches. “ All of them?“

“Yeah…” Zoey bites her lip. “Apparently they’re worried about Judge Keegan. That he’ll start poking around.” She pauses. “The deal happens in a couple of weeks, Cami. It needs to be clean.”

“Right,” I say, taking a steadying breath. “It’s fine. I’ll put their worries to rest.”

“How?” Zoey asks.

“I’m going to make sure he knows exactly who he’s dealing with,” I say, nodding at the iPad. “Find out everything you can about Judge Keegan. Family, friends, where he gets his dick wet. I want to know every detail about the man. I’m sure he’s got a few skeletons in his closet.”

“You’re not gonna kill him, are you?” she whispers.

I chuckle. “And draw unwanted attention? Seriously, Zoey? Use your head.”

“So what’re you going to do then?”

I smile down at her. She’s still so pure. I miss being twenty. She still dreams. “Depends on what you find.” I check the clock. They’re open now. “You have until tomorrow, okay? I want to get this over and done with before the meeting.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, you’ll contract out, right?” she asks. I shrug, Zoey’s eyes widening. “Cami, contract it out!”

“Why? My father never did,” I state. “Plus, I need the confidence of The Council. This should help.”

Zoey twists her lips up in concern. “You’ll be careful?”

“No, but I’ll get it done,” I state, dumping my coffee into the sink, the creamy liquid circling the drain before disappearing down the black hole. “Get to work Zoey, I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Zoey says. “Where are you going?”

“To visit with an old friend,” I say, heading to my room to change my mask from pawn to queen.

From prey to predator.

This has become a ritual of sorts. More common in the last two months. I didn’t visit her often before but now it’s almost every week. I’m not sure what this means. But I’m drawn here. Called to this very spot.

Sometimes hours pass and I don’t move.

I watch. I study. I learn.

Predators seldom befriend their prey.

It doesn’t happen. It’s not natural.

And I’m her biggest threat. I have the potential to wipe her out of existence.

But as I stand in the tunnel, hues of blue water and earthy-colored sea urchins surrounding me, I know that logic and circumstance don’t always align.

She’s the predator of her world.

Me of mine.

My gaze follows Maeve, my idol, my inspiration, as she swims confidently knowing that she’s the king. That nothing, and no one, can tear her apart.

A part of me thinks we understand each other. An unspoken bond of mutual respect.

Maeve probably has the same amount of blood on her hands - well, fins, I suppose - as I do. But that’s just the way it is. No one judges Maeve. It’s in her nature.

She was born to be a predator. It’s in her DNA. And I doubt she feels remorse. Why would she? She does what she needs to do to survive. To stay alive. It’s the hierarchy of the animal kingdom.

She’s on top.

And so am I.

The only difference is that I’m human.

My blood is warm.

And as much as I crave the warmth, I can’t help but wonder that if my blood was cold, this would all be easier.

“How do you do it?” I whisper, scanning Maeve’s large beady eye. “Tell me.”

“Interesting…” A husky voice hums from behind me. “The parallel.”

Predator or prey? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

“Dr. Malcolm,” I say, turning around. “Are you stalking me?”

“How can I?” he asks, slipping one hand into his jacket pocket, the vibrant colors of the aquarium reflecting off of his glasses. “Based on the information you wrote on the intake form, you don’t exist.”

“You looked me up?” I ask, studying his sharp features cautiously.

“A fruitless attempt, I’ve surmised,” he replies, glancing at me. “Did you know that sharks are silent creatures? They don’t have vocal cords.”

“Is that so?” I tilt my head, giving him a defiant look. “How fascinating.”

His expression darkens momentarily. “It is,” he says, gaze flickering around my face. “Due to their inability to use audible sounds to communicate anger—” He pauses, a slight smirk. “Or other emotions, they solely express themselves physically.”

“It would seem to me that expressing emotions verbally is useless then,” I muse, raising a challenging brow. “Seeing as they’re at the top of the food chain.”

“I’ve swum with sharks, Miss Bianco.” Dr. Malcolm smiles, letting out a soft laugh. “And you are not a shark.”

“You don’t know me well enough to make that assertion,” I state, taking a step closer to him, fist clenched. “I could make your sharks look like fucking coy fish.”

“Careful now,” he says, a smug timbre to his tone as he turns on his heel to walk away. “You’ll make yourself bleed again.” He stops, craning his head over his shoulder as he adds, “Sharks smell blood, remember?”

My jaw clenches. “Are you threatening me, Dr. Malcolm?”

“It’s not a threat, Miss Bianco,” he says. “It’s an opportunity.”

I narrow my eyes. “An opportunity?”

“You know where to find me, Miss Bianco.” He shrugs. “If you ever wish to become a real shark.”

My curiosity gets the better of me as I ask, “And what’s in for you? Why do you care?”

Dr. Malcolm smirks. “Only one way to find out.”

“I think I’ll pass,” I state, intrigued by his game but not enough to press for more information. I don’t have time to play head doctor. “But thanks for the offer.”

“If you change your mind, my door is open,” he states. “Figuratively speaking of course.” He tosses me a grin. “You still need to knock.”

Like Maeve, I too have a sixth sense.

I can sense trouble.

I can sense danger.

And this mystery of a man is bound to be dangerous.

One way or another.

5 | Arctic

The devil works hard but Zoella De Rossi works harder.

I got to hand it to the girl, she sure knows how to make herself invaluable. Having a hacker at my disposal is highly beneficial but sometimes I think it’s a waste of natural talent. She shouldn’t have dropped out of MIT but I get why she did it. And honestly? I can’t blame her.

Once a place is tainted with betrayal and pain, it’s hard to go back. She couldn’t walk those halls anymore. Be in that place. Too many memories. Too many whispers. Too many triggers.

Even though I took care of it, she couldn’t go back. The damage was done. It’s a shame though. She could’ve been somebody. She could’ve done something important. Something that she was passionate about. Maybe she still can. Her scars might fade completely and she’ll forget. She could be one of the lucky ones.

Someone has to be.

I’m lucky in a different way… I get to reap the benefits of her suffering. I don’t like it but it is what it is. That’s what I tell myself.

That’s what my father told me.

People are like rags, Camilla. Use them to keep your house clean, and when the rag becomes dirty and full of holes, throw it out.

My father threw out a lot of rags. Too many to count.

But his house was always clean.

At least on the surface.

Everyone has a junk drawer.

“Let’s find yours,” I hum to myself, taking a sip of straight vodka as I flip through the dossier Zoey compiled on Judge Keegan.

From the looks of it, Fred Keegan is a stand up citizen turned public servant. Grew up in the suburbs of Maine. Finished highschool with a clean record. Went to law school. Worked for an NGO before applying for a judgeship. Married a rather plain looking first grade teacher. Has a kid that’s three years old and one still being cooked.

Bo-ring.

This is all shit I’d be able to find by doing a Google search. I purse my lips, frowning as I flip to my favorite section: financials.

Show me your junk, Fred.

I scan pages upon pages of financial records, hoping to find something I can use against him. Something that will give me leverage in case he decides to try and make a name for himself.

So far… nothing.

A hefty mortgage. Few lines of credit. Bank accounts look clean. Groceries, bills, random stores. Nothing special. He’s clean. Too clean. I slam the rest of my drink. Something’s not sitting right with me. I rummage through the papers, looking at monthly debit card transactions. Hmm. This might be something. I pull out my cell phone and call Zoey.

“Hi, Cami, what’s up?”

“I’m going through Keegan’s financials right now and on the last Wednesday of every month there’s an ATM withdrawal of around six hundred dollars,” I say, chewing my lip as I double-check each monthly statement. “What’s he doing with all that cash?”

“Hmm… I don’t know,” Zoey says, the sound of a keyboard clacking in the background. “But—” She pauses for a moment. “All those withdrawals came from the same ATM.”

“Really?” I ask, accidentally waking up Pinto as I shift my position on the couch. Shit. I pout, petting between his ears as I mouth ‘sorry baby’. “Where’s the ATM located?”

“One sec,” she says as I play with Pinto’s floppy ears, impatiently waiting for an answer. “Okay, so that particular ATM is on Grand, just off of Essex.” She pauses. “Also, it seems that the withdrawals are usually done around the same time. Between 10 pm and 11 pm.”

I frown. “What’s a family man who lives an hour outside Manhattan doing hanging around the Lower East Side that late at night?”

“Nothing good I’m guessing,” Zoey says. “But you can find out.”

“How?” I ask, raising a brow.

“It’s the last Wednesday of the month, Cami,” she says. Is it? I check the time and date on my computer. Oh shit. “And it’s almost 10 pm.”

“I knew that,” I say, pushing myself off the couch. “Guess I’m going on a little trip.” I glance back at the documents on the coffee table. “While I’m out…” I bite my lip, unsure as to why the desire to know more about the man is settling in my gut. “I need you to compile another brief for me.”

“On who?”

I shouldn’t care. I know that. But I can’t shake the feeling of pure curiosity.

“On Dr. Hayden Malcolm,” I say, heading to my room to change. “Everything you can find.”

“Dr. Malcolm?” Zoey asks, confused. “The therapist? Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” I snap.

“I’m just wondering—”

“I don’t pay you to wonder, Zoella,” I say. “I pay you to work.”

“Okay,” Zoey whispers, clearly upset as I end the call.

She’s so sensitive. It’s a liability in our world. The blood running through her veins is kind, soft, innocent. But one day, it’ll turn to stone. Ice. It’ll be glacial. She’ll cry for a few days or months — I did — but then she’ll embrace the cold. She’ll finally stop crying.

You can’t cry if your tears are frozen. I haven’t in years. And I won’t. There is nothing that could thaw me. Nothing to reverse the transition. My father was smart like that. He knew what he was doing. He made me a native of the arctic. It’s my home now.

My kingdom.

I grab my purse from the hook near the elevator, looping it over my arm as I check the time. 9:33 pm. Time to protect my kingdom. If Judge Keegan thinks he can bring down my empire, he’s in for a rude awakening.

---

With a long drag from my cigarette, I lean against the faded brick wall of the alley, my gaze glued to the ATM across the street. Swarms of people pass by, ignoring me, not giving me the time of day. It’s a skill I’m trying to learn.

Invisibility.

My father taught me that fear is shaped by shadows. By whispers in the wind. By cloaked secrecy of strength. When a lion roars, they’ve already lost. They’ve given themselves away. That’s why I like sharks. No sounds. Just an ominous presence.

I scoff internally, remembering Hayden’s idiotic remark. You’re not a shark . Fucker. He doesn’t even know me. He doesn’t have a clue of what I can do. What I’ve seen. What I’ve experienced.

I grind my teeth. No. Don’t do it. Don’t let him get to you . I’m a motherfucking shark. With skin that is six inches thick. Not even a bullet can hurt me which means a psycho babbling, tweed-wearing, head doctor, sure as hell can’t cause any damage.

Instinctually, my head snaps towards the ATM as Judge Keegan approaches, looking side to side before inserting his card. See? A shark. I flick my smoke down the dark alley, studying Fred carefully as he withdraws six hundreds. My lips twist up as I scan his outfit. He’s dressed… nice. Trench coat. Loafers. His watch glistens under the street light. He pockets the cash quickly and runs across the street.

Keeping a safe distance, I follow Fred as he slithers through the streets, keeping his head down. Oh, he is definitely up to something shady. I grin, knowing that in a matter of minutes, he won’t be a thorn in my ass any longer. It’s always wise to pull out a weed before it starts causing real problems. I’m just hoping that I’ll rip him out at the root.

I pause at the end of the block. Fred looks over his shoulder before entering a Chinese restaurant. Huh. That’s one pricey chow mein, Freddie. He disappears through the doors, and I jog up to the restaurant.

Where the fuck is he going?

“Dine in or take out?” the hostess asks as I step inside, my body instantly overheating from the stuffy air. I look around the room, scanning all the tables. Not here. In the corner of my eye, I get a glimpse of a brown loafer turning down the hall. “Excuse me? Miss?”

“The man that just came inside.” I nod to the far side of the restaurant. “Where is he going?”

The hostess blinks, face paling. “Who?”

“Jesus.” I roll my eyes, fetching my wallet from my purse. I pull out five hundred dollars, folding them in half before holding the cash in front of the skittish woman. “Let’s try this again. Where is he going?”

The hostess presses her lips into a thin line, hesitantly looking at the wad of bills. “Password?” she finally asks. “Do you have the password?”

Password? The pieces suddenly fall into place. Oh my. I’m sorry Judge but I seem to have uncovered your junk drawer. It’s messier than I thought. How exciting.

I retrieve a few more hundreds from my open wallet. I hold the bills between two fingers and tilt my head to the side. I don’t need to say anything. Words won’t work here. Only money talks. And the cash in my hand is fucking screaming right now.

“This way,” the hostess says, taking the money from my hands.

“Thought so,” I mutter, following the short woman as she weaves us between the tables, down the hall, and through the kitchen to a back door. I wonder how long this place has been operational. Last I heard, the Red Dragon’s pulled out of New York. Guess they’re back.

“Cricket,” she says, opening the black door for me. I narrow my eyes. “If they ask, the password is cricket.”

“Right,” I say, nodding as she waves her hand, ushering me through the door.

“Good luck,” she says before the door closes behind me.

I suck in a small breath, following the lit-up carpet towards a staircase. Honestly, I probably shouldn’t be here right now. We’ve always been friendly with the Dragon’s— cards and heroin aren’t really our cup of tea— but still… I pat my pocket, checking that I have my gun. The last thing I need is inter-city drama but it’s good to be prepared.

A tall bald man with crater-like scars on his face glares at me at the bottom of the stairs, his posture alert, ready for battle. “You’re new.”

“I am,” I coo, smiling coyly at the gross beast. The things I must do. “Hoping for some of that beginner’s luck.”

“Hmm.” He eyes me warily, not giving a lot away. A fine soldier in my books. With a huff, he asks, “Password?”

“Cricket,” I say innocently, biting my lip. “Did I pass… sir ?”

He can’t help but grin. Too easy. It’s always so fucking easy. Men are simple like that. If you can’t stroke their cocks, stroke their egos.

“Enjoy,” he says, opening the door for me, soft music and the sound of cards ruffling filling my ears.

“Oh, I will,” I say, tossing him a wink before striding inside the underground casino.

The Dragon’s did an impressive job with this place; I wouldn’t guess that this was a rundown basement before. I take in the eggshell wallpaper, clean gray carpets, and prim servers floating around the room. Not bad. Mine would be better… but not bad. I shake my head. Focus. The scent of booze, smoke, and sweat permeate around me as I scan the roulette, craps, and poker tables looking for Fred. On the left side of the long rectangular room, I spot the red curls of one Fred Keegan. Busted my little public servant. Before I can take a step forward towards the poker table, an all too familiar face sits down next to Fred.

What in the actual fuck?!

I glare as Leo unbuttons his suit jacket and places his drink on the table. He smirks, tossing a few chips on the green velvet before glancing at Fred and saying something.

Do they know each other? Why is he here? Are they working together? Is Leo a fucking snitch?! Is that why he came back?

“A drink, Miss?” A passing server asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Vodka,” I state, keeping my raging gaze on the poker table. Unanswered questions are the downfall of any queen. I refuse to fall. I point to where Leo and Fred are sitting. “I’ll be at the table.”

Straightening out my posture, I prowl towards the empty seat next to Leo at the poker table. “May I?” I ask, slamming my purse down as I give Leo a glowering stare before I look at Fred Keegan whose eyes are wide as a doe. “Judge? What…” I blink sarcastically. “What’re you doing here?”

Judge Keegan clears his throat, gaze bouncing between me and Leo. “Miss…Miss Bianco—” He takes a sip of his drink, shrinking before my very eyes. “Hello.”

“Hi,” I say, taking a seat. I place a few bills on the table. The dealer passes me chips. I take one in my hand, twirling it between my fingers. “How’s the table? Hmm? Hot?” I side-eye Leo. He’s not nervous. At all. If anything… he’s amused. “Or cold?”

“Certainly hotter now that you’re here,” Leo grins at me, turning to the Judge. “What do you think, Keegan? Hot or cold?”

“Not sure yet,” Judge Keegan swallows as the dealer passes around cards. I don’t bother looking at mine as I toss a few chips in the center of the table. “Just got here.”

“Do you like it here, Keegan? Hmm?” Leo asks, peeking at his two cards before looking up at the Judge. “Does this place… bring you joy?” His voice is laced with threatening undertones. I frown. What’s his game? The Judge doesn’t reply, keeping his head down. “Oh, come on now Judge, don’t be scared. Answer the question. Do you like it here?”

“I do,” Keegan whispers, the color from his face draining.

“Well, that’s good,” Leo hums as a server passes me a drink. I hold the glass against my lips, watching Leo intently. He’s got a mask on tonight. A mask that I haven’t seen before. A mask that my father and his father have permanently glued to their faces. “I’m sure you can stay here for as long as you want.” Leo downs his whiskey. “As long as you behave, that is.” He meets Keegan’s defeated eyes. “Are you going to behave, Keegan?”

“Yes,” the Judge mumbles as the dealer flips over three cards. I mindlessly call. “I’ll behave.”

“Excellent!” Leo exclaims, standing up. “Play my hand, Mils. I need another drink.”

“Wha—” I stand up abruptly, following Leo as he strolls casually towards the bar. “Leo!”

“Mils!” He mimics me, a shit-eating grin clipping the side of his mouth as he stops walking. I cross my arms and he sighs. “Always so pouty. Cheer up, bella, you’re making me sad.”

“Why are you here?” I ask, irritation searing my skin. “What was that?”

“That?” Leo points to the rattled Judge. “Just obeying orders.”

“Orders?” My jaw sets. “Whose orders?”

Leo sighs. “The Council.”

I narrow my eyes. “The Council?”

“Yes,” he says, running a tired hand through his hair like I just killed his buzz. “They asked me to take care of your little problem.”

“I could’ve taken care of it myself,” I grunt. Those fucking bastards. They went to Leo? This isn’t good. “I don’t need your help.”

Leo smiles, scanning my face. “Your hands need to stay clean, Mils.”

I snort. “Is that what they told you?”

Leo shrugs. “It makes sense.”

“Sure.” My father’s house might have been squeaky clean but his hands? They were filthy. Covered in dirt and grim and death. But my hands need to be clean? Fucking ridiculous. “How did you know he’d be here? Did Zoey tell you? If she did, I swear to God—”

“Jesus, Mils, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm. Zoey didn’t tell me shit, okay? I just followed him all day.” Leo laughs. “Must say, I get why he gambles. The poor man’s life is boring as fuck.”

“You followed him?” I ask. “Really?”

Leo cocks his head. “Sometimes you gotta work smarter, not harder.”

“Right, because blindly following someone for an entire day versus doing extensive research is smart. My mistake.”

Leo sighs. “Why are you mad? I took care of it, okay? We don’t need to worry about Keegan anymore. There are no losers here.”

“ We ?“ I ask. He’s lost his mind. “Since when is it we ?”

“ Angeli Della Morte is still my home, Camilla,“ Leo says, voice low. “It’s always been we .”

“You left,” I state. “You severed those ties.”

“The Council disagrees,” Leo says, expelling a labored breath. “If you have an issue with my return, take it up with them tomorrow.”

“Oh, I will,” I say, my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out.

Zoella: Emailed you some docs on the doc. Lol. Will send more later.

Leo leans over me. “Who’s the doc?”

I shove him away. “None of your business.”

“But I want it to be,” he smirks, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “You can trust me, Mils. You know that.”

“You’re delusional,” I say, shaking him off of me. “You want me to trust you? How? I don’t even know you.”

Leo frowns. “I haven’t changed, Camilla.”

“But I have,” I state.

“I can tell,” he whispers, a hint of guilt in his voice. “I’m sure she’s in there though. The girl I once knew.”

“That girl died,” I say, memories from that cold winter night infiltrating my thoughts. I close my eyes, attempting to banish the flashes of blood and diamonds. No. Go away. Leave me alone.

It doesn’t matter. It never mattered. That was another life. Another reality. Another person. It’s not me . I open my eyes. “She died so that I could be born.”

Pain captures Leo’s features. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“And you shouldn’t have left when it did,” I state, turning on my heel. I take out my cell phone and call Yelena, the club manager of S&R as I exit the poker room. “Are Javi and Kody working tonight?”

“Yeah, they’re on stage now,” she says.

“Send them to my office after they’re done,” I say. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Both of them?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say. “The more the merrier, right?”

“Okay,” Yelena says. “Whatever you want.”

Whatever I want.

I always get whatever I fucking want. And do you know why?

Because the girl that died… she never did.

Bloodlust is PUBLISHED ❤️

Hi friends!

Bloodlust is now available to read on kindle unlimited for FREE! It’s also available in ebook and paperback format! You can find links in my bio!

Love you alll!!

xx Liza