Chapter 2

• MONIQUE
• Ten years later
• It felt good to be back out in the city that never sleeps—New York, a city that had swallowed me whole and, in return, spat me out stronger.
• I watched my childhood and innocence engulfed in flames just shy of a decade ago. The first few years of my life after the tragedy were like getting dragged through razor wire... nearly impossible even, especially in a world I now called mine.
• I could have been assassinated along with my parents that night, but I managed to manoeuvre the part where I was the victim and slip out of the tragedy of being the timid kid orphaned by bullets. I had to burn those memories of being bullied as a teenager, and you know what else I did? I became well-acquainted with the dangers that my family attracted, those dangers that lurked due to power and position.
• I drove myself to 'The Dark Pulse' nightclub. It was one of the newer clubs in town, and its reputation was spoken about by people who knew it. It was not just an advertised spectacle to get people to visit.
• I wasn't there for business tonight like my godfather would have wanted. I just wanted a few drinks to get a feel for the place and see if it lived up to its growing reputation. The place was a hotspot for powerful figures, especially those with ties to the underground, or so I heard. My godfather would have loved it here.
• But tonight, I was observing for me. Not The Don.
• I parked my car and stepped out, the cool New York air hitting me like a familiar wave. The night felt alive, the city's pulse reflected in the club's flashing lights, making it impossible to forget where you were. My stilettos clicked against the pavement as I made my way toward the entrance, the thrum of the music growing louder with each step. I straightened my blazer and lifted my aviators higher on my nose. It had been a few years since I was last out in public like this, and I needed to savor the feeling.
• Inside, the dim lighting punctuated the flashes of neon and cast fleeting shadows on the walls, making everyone and everything look slightly distorted, almost dangerous.
• I made my way to the bar, scanning the crowd as I did. The place was packed with the usual mix of partygoers and those lurking on the edges, people-watching and making deals in the dark corners.
• I ordered a drink, something strong, and leaned against the bar, letting the atmosphere wash over me. The bass vibrated through the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol, male cologne mixed with female perfume, cigarette smoke, and something more primal. I enjoyed it in a way.
• I sipped my drink slowly, my eyes following the exotic bartender as he skillfully crafted cocktails, effortlessly entertaining the small crowd gathered around the bar.
• At the other end of the long bar, there was a man watching me. A brief glance to the side confirmed his watchful gaze. He was tall, with a brooding intensity about him.
• He held a glass of scotch in one hand, with a cigar stick between his fingers. Every stitch of his tailored attire roared 'high society,' but it was his commanding presence that truly announced his aristocracy. He was definitely important. One of his companions was saying something to him, but he didn't seem to be listening.
• Even though I couldn't see his face properly due to the dark club lighting, I could feel his eyes flick over me, sizing me up. not the kind of stare that demanded attention, but the kind that took its time, calculated. I ignored him at first, sipping my drink and keeping my posture relaxed. But every now and then, I caught myself glancing back at him.
• He didn't approach right away, which I appreciated. It gave me time to observe him, too. His sharp features were partially hidden in the shadows, but what I could see hinted at a man who wasn't here for the usual thrill. He looked like one of the powerful figures that would usually come here for business.
• There was a danger in him, but not the reckless kind. It was measured and controlled.
• Finally, after what felt like a silent game of back-and-forth, he made his move. He flicked his wrist to gesture to his companions away, pushed away from the bar, and strode toward me with deliberate steps, stopping just close enough that I could feel his presence without it being overbearing.
• "You've been watching me," he said, his voice low, almost challenging.
• I tilted my head, a slight smile playing on my lips. "You've been watching me too."
• A flicker of amusement passed over his face. "Fair enough."
• He leaned on the bar beside me, close but not too close. There was a tension between us, something unspoken that buzzed in the air. He looked down at my nearly empty drink glass and signaled the bartender to get me a new drink.
• I accepted the glass and took a sip from the colorful cocktail. I could still feel his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he spoke.
• "Not many people come here alone," he said, his voice low and smooth. "You must like your own company."
• I glanced up from my glass, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "I find it's less complicated that way."
• He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Complications can be interesting... if you know how to handle them."
• I leaned back on the stool, taking him in the way his confidence felt natural, unforced. "And I suppose you're an expert on handling... complications?"
• His lips curled into a slow smile. "You could say that. I prefer a challenge."
• "Is that what this is?" I asked, tilting my head slightly as I mustered a teasing edge in my voice. "A challenge?"
• He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "It is now."
• There was a current between us, something sharp and unspoken. It may have been the slow buzz of the alcohol, but I welcomed it. His hand brushed against mine, subtle but intentional.
• "I've been watching you from the moment you approached the bar," he admitted. "You don't seem like the type to just blend in."
• "And you don't seem like the type to miss much," I replied, trying to lower my voice to match his.
• "Maybe I'm just selective." His gaze darkened with intent, and the space between us felt smaller, charged.
• We both knew where this was headed. The flirtation was light on the surface but heavy with something deeper. No names were exchanged, and there was no need for introductions. We were strangers, but we were exactly what the other wanted at that moment.
• "You know," he said, leaning in just enough for me to feel the heat of his breath, "we could continue this somewhere a little more... private."
• I met his gaze, holding it for a beat before I nodded, a smile playing at the corner of my lips as I took a huge gulp of my cocktail. "Lead the way."
• Without another word, he extended his hand. I took it, letting him guide me away from the bar and out the back of the club. We left the crowd behind as we disappeared into the connecting building and into a sleek penthouse tucked behind the club. The air inside was crisp, and the space gleamed with modern elegance—pristine white walls offset by gray furniture that exuded luxury.
• But I barely had a moment to take it all in. The instant the door closed behind us, there was no hesitation. Our bodies and lips collided with an urgency that left no room for second thoughts, losing ourselves in the heat of the moment as we reached the bedroom.
• He was truly sexy, and he seemed to know his way around a woman's body.
• Our throes of passion had been the best I'd had in a long time. But sometime before dawn, I jolted awake from a nightmare, heart racing, the ghostly images of my past still lingering behind my eyelids and in my mind. I glanced over at his still-sleeping form, relief flooding me when I realized I hadn't woken him. His steady breathing filled the room, a contrast to the chaos swirling in my mind.
• Quietly, I slid out from under the covers, careful not to disturb him, and began to gather my things. What a failed attempt at what I really came for last night, but it was all worth it.
• As I moved toward the window, something caught my attention—a sliver of sunlight, creeping through the curtains, slowly illuminated his face. For the first time since he approached me at the bar, I could see him clearly.
• My breath hitched.
• There was something eerily familiar about the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his brow furrowed slightly even in sleep. I didn't want to believe it—no, it couldn't be. It had been over a decade, and people changed. But no amount of time could erase that face, not when it had been etched into my memory so deeply.
• A chill crept down my spine as I stood frozen, staring at this man who had charmed me into his bed. As the sunlight revealed more of his features, all I could think was, "What are the odds?"
• A gnawing suspicion clawed at me, growing stronger with each passing second. I glanced at his clothes, discarded haphazardly on the floor, his jacket lying closest. My breath quickened as I crouched down and rummaged through the pockets, hands trembling slightly.
• And then I found it—a sleek, black leather wallet. I flipped it open, heart pounding in my chest, and my gaze zeroed in on the small embossed card tucked neatly inside. There it was, printed in clean, precise letters: "L. Sterling."
• My blood ran cold.
• This was no coincidence. The man who had taken everything from me, the one who had orchestrated the murder of my parents, was lying right there—mere inches away from me. The same man I had sworn to find and destroy.
• I stood up slowly, my mind reeling, the card clutched tightly in my hand. My fingers brushed over the letters as if somehow confirming what I already knew deep down. It was him. After all these years, I'd found him.
• Killing him now would be too easy. I could reach for my pocket knife and slice his throat, but that would be too quick. He deserved worse. Much worse.
• I dropped the wallet back into his jacket, taking one last look at his sleeping form before turning toward the door. The vengeance I had carried for a decade burned hot inside me, stronger than ever.