Page 1 of The Fox

PROLOGUE

Bullets and fists are just archaic. I much prefer the simplicity of blades. There is an honesty to them, an unforgiving nature which you can’t outrun. I love the beauty of caressing—of rubbing a blade against skin while I decide just how deeply to cut. Blades scare men and I’d shut that piece of me off a long time ago. I hid the little girl who was scared of men. Of violence. Of disappointing her father. No longer do I cower in the presence of someone larger than me. Which is why the only thing that scares men more than a blade, is me.

I turn myself to the unconscious man placed in front of me. Duncan, my go-to choice for this particular form of pain, has been working on teasing information out of him. Methodical, measured, the patience of a monk. Dark and unruly hair giving way to bold brows, his stature solidly built but dangerous. He has a way of getting what I want out of someone.

And if he can’t? That’s when I step in.

A glint of gold catches my eye, the ring on his third finger taunting me. Duncan being married to my best friend is a stark reminder of what I cannot have. I tear my gaze from his hand, a heavy sigh falling from my lips. I hated having to cancel on Parker. Ever since taking over for my father, we’ve had a standing dinner date. Neither of us are fancy; dinner is usually a collection of our favorite foods paired with cheap wine, us in our sweats while laughing or crying—on occasion, both. When I’d called her earlier, telling her that something came up that I had to attend to, she’d gotten that determined edge to her voice. I know that when I get back to my house, I will find her there with a mixture of our favorite takeout on my kitchen island. She knows me better than anyone. Parker knows the toll what I am about to do takes on me.

I crave normalcy. I miss my life before this—I yearn for the simple moments with my best friend.

Duncan looks my way as I weigh my blade in my palm, his eyes trying to determine my next course of action. This knife is my favorite among my collection. It is lightweight, flexible, and incredibly sharp; plus the handle is crafted in a gorgeous gunmetal color. I may be the leader of the Mafia, but I still enjoy pretty things.

“He hasn’t talked?” I murmur, not taking my focus off the chained man.

“No. Not a peep. I found him in the alley, attempting to contact Medina. When I pushed for information, he pushed back.”

I sigh. I am growing tired of the other Families thinking they can encroach onto my territory. I am frustrated that my Outfit is being perceived as weak simply because I am at the helm. Rubbing my thumb across the blade, I stalk towards him—my heeled boots clacking against the tile floor and echoing off the empty walls. I love torture while someone is conscious, but if he doesn’t wake up while I do what I do best? I’ll enjoy that too. I am two halves of a whole; when I am Amelia Conte, The Fox, I crave the feeling of my blade creating crimson smiles. But when the lights dim and I am alone? The weight of my knives is suffocating.

I kick the leg of the chair, hoping for some sort of reaction. He groans, causing me to tilt my head. Pity. I half hoped he’d wake up mid-slice, but there is always next time.

I squat down, the denim a tight fit along my curves, resting my leather-clad forearms on my knees. I wait, watching for a fluttering of eyelids as he comes to.

“Ah, there he is.” His eyes open just as Duncan moves to stand behind me, ever my protector. “Do you know who I am?” I ask, cocking my head to the left.

The man opens his mouth and I spot the missing teeth, evidence of Duncan’s handiwork. My eyes roam along his limbs and torso, noting the patches of flayed flesh, the smell of urine becoming increasingly potent. He’d pissed himself before I’d even said a word.

“Yes,” the man slurs. “You’re Amelia Conte.”

“And why am I in front of you right now?” I tilt my head the other direction, waiting for an answer that I likely won’t get. Men in this life don’t respond well to me. It’s fine. He’ll learn or he’ll die. “I asked you a question and I don’t like repeating myself.”

The man stares at me and then flicks his attention to Duncan. I feel Duncan shift behind me. He doesn’t do well with disrespect and I am thankful to have him at my back. He isn’t the one calling the shots though.

“No,” I tsk, “eyes on me. He isn’t the one you have to answer to.”

“Because I fucked up.”

“Mmmhmm. You did. Why are you calling Medina while you’re inmycity? I don’t take well to rats, but I especially don’t do well with men thinking they own my streets.”

“I had a job. I was just doing a job,” the man rambles, his panic beginning to take hold.

“A job? Rats and hares pay the price of straying too far into my den.” I move closer, running my blade across my hand. “What am I supposed to do with someone who thinks they’re entitled to what is mine?” I lean forward, my nose nearly touching his, a grin itching to break out across my face.

“Just shoot me. I’m a dead man when I go back anyway.”

I scoff. No, he doesn’t get the easy way out. I lean into him, our knees touching as his blood seeps into the fabric covering mine and our noses fully brush against each other.

“I don’t think I will.” The words fall like whispers in a silent room. I hear a chuckle escape Duncan. “I prefer to slice you alive instead. Much more effective, don’t you think Duncan?”

I see the moment any remaining confidence leaves the man’s eyes and I grin.

That’s right, fucker. I am Amelia Conte, and I am The Fox.

CHAPTER 1

Amelia--Birthdays

Saturdays are for baking, comfy sweatpants, and grocery runs.

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