Page 1 of Vengeful Princess

Prologue

Thea

Two years ago

My head itched under the blond wig that hid my black hair. Long bangs hung heavy on my damp forehead, brushing my lashes, but I ignored the discomfort. In the grand scheme of things, a sweaty head was the least of my worries.

Once in the elevator, I added a fresh coat of coral lipstick and popped another button on my white shirt. My reflection told me I looked like every man’s schoolgirl fantasy.

Moretti’s guard jumped up with a scowl when I approached him. “Where’s the usual girl?”

The bulge of a gun beneath his black jacket was hard to miss, but I kept my game face firmly in place. This guy was mostly here for show - Moretti seemed to think he was bulletproof.

“Delilah’s sick,” I replied with a bored shrug. “She didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Moretti, so she sent me.” I held out an espresso from the coffee shop two streets away. “She told me you liked it black with a shot of vanilla.”

The guard’s grumpy expression softened almost immediately. “Delilah is a good girl. Fine. Go in. He’s waiting for you.” The lovely Delilah had been more than happy to quit her gig as Moretti’s whore.

In her words, Moretti was a “gross pig”, but his regular guard, Julius, was a decent guy with a sick wife at home. She made me promise I wouldn’t hurt him.

As I stepped past Julius, he sank back down onto a chair, pulled some ear buds out of his pocket, and took a sip of coffee, smiling in appreciation.

I hid a smirk and walked into the suite.

Carlos Moretti liked his hookers young, which was why I’d dressed up in a short plaid skirt, knee-high socks, and a tight shirt. I figured he’d love the slutty schoolgirl aesthetic.

Judging by his lustful ogling, he thought he’d scored a jackpot.

“You’re not Delilah,” he observed after spending several interminable seconds leering at me. A brief flicker of suspicion flared in his eyes.

I repeated the same story I’d given the guard. Moretti’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled.

“I think I like you better, baby girl.” He moistened his lips and beckoned me closer while untying his silk robe. Just as the robe hit the floor, revealing his disgustingly paunchy body, I pulled out my gun and pointed it at his head.

“Francesco di Luca sends his regards.”

Moretti blanched at the sound of my father’s name, but before he had time to open his mouth and yell for help, I blew his brains out.

Blood and gray matter painted the pale blue wall next to the fireplace in a scarlet arc of gore. I stared at the unholy mess, feeling nothing at all.

Was I broken? Probably.

No doubt a therapist would tell me that zero emotional response to a deeply traumatic event was a sign of trauma. Either that or I was a sociopath like my father and Torrance.

Julius sat slumped in his chair, snoring softly, when I walked back out. I let the door click shut behind me. By the time he woke up, I’d be long gone.

1

Thea

Dad sat behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a cigar in the other. He took in the visible bruises on my cheek but said nothing while I stared at the floor respectfully, focusing on a small reddish stain on the polished hardwood. Blood, most likely. It was a bitch to get out of timber floors.

My spine prickled with cold sweat under his heavy gaze. The urge to clear my throat was almost overpowering.

Something felt off.

"Torrence tells me you let one of the scum escape." His voice was calm and measured, but the icy rage in his eyes skewered me to the floor. He was furious. I wasn't supposed to leave any witnesses after last night’s raid on a rival gang’s warehouse.

The boy had been barely 16. Hardened criminals I could kill. But kids? No.

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