Chapter 3

MONIQUE

My therapist once told me about the four stages of rage. Annoyance, frustration, hostility—and then fury. I didn't think I had felt the first three, not really. But that final stage? The white-hot, blinding intensity of fury? I felt it now, burning through me like a fire I couldn't control.

I didn't cry when I watched my parents get murdered. I didn't cry at their funeral when they were lowered into the ground, the weight of grief suffocating me. But seeing the face of their killer? Discovering I had unknowingly spent the night with him, sharing an unforgettable, passionate encounter? That broke me in a way nothing else had.

The tears came before I could stop them, hot and bitter. The anger surged inside me, unstoppable, until I was shaking with the force of it. I locked myself in my bedroom all morning, burying my face in the pillows, letting the rage consume me until I had nothing left but exhaustion.

But I couldn't stay in that place. Not now. Not with so much at stake.

A soft knock on the door broke the silence. "Monique?" Richardson's voice was gentle but firm. "There's something you need to know."

I wiped my face quickly and sat up, trying to compose myself. "Come in."

He entered, his usual composed expression tinged with concern. "There's a high-stakes poker game happening tonight. All the big players in the New York scene are going to be there."

I arched an eyebrow, trying to shake off the weight of my emotions. "So?"

"This is your chance," he said, his voice steady. "Your chance to be properly introduced. To make connections with the real players. If you want to move forward, you need to be there. The Don would want you to be there."

I took a deep breath, letting the words sink in. He was right. As much as I wanted to drown in my anger and let it fester, I couldn't afford that luxury. Not now. Not when I was so close to what I needed—power, control, revenge.

"Secure me a spot," I said quietly, clearing my throat to conceal my hoarse voice. I'll be there." I looked up at Richardson, my trusted assistant. I could tell from his expression that he was itching to know why I was crying, but he knew not to ask.

He gave a firm nod, already reaching for his phone to start making arrangements.

But before he could leave, I stopped him, my mind racing with a new thought. "Richardson," I called after him, my voice low but sharp.

He paused at the door, turning back to me.

"Find out if someone named Liam Sterling will be in attendance," I said, narrowing my eyes as I spoke the name that now haunted my every thought. "I need to know if he's going to be there."

Richardson didn't ask questions, his face unreadable as he gave a small nod. "I'll find out."

Now that I knew he was out there, I needed to be strategic. I felt a small sense of relief knowing I could finally have a wine date with Vengeance.

---

Hours later, I sat across from Don Antonio at the long dining table, trying to focus on the beautiful spread of food in front of me. His estate was as peaceful as ever, with the sun filtering through the windows and a breeze from the garden carrying the smell of fresh flowers. It should've made me feel calm, but my mind was anything but.

"How are your plans coming along, niña?" Antonio asked as he poured himself another glass of wine.

"Slow but steady," I replied, cutting into my food with more care than was necessary. "I'm making the right connections. Step by step."

He nodded thoughtfully, watching me in that way he always did, like he saw more than I said. "Good. Your parents would be proud of what you're doing."

I froze for a moment, my fork hovering just above the plate. The mention of my parents always did that. It cut deeper than I ever let on. I swallowed hard, forcing a smile as I fought back the flood of emotions. He had no idea what I knew. No idea that I kept the face of the man who murdered my parents in my mind. And that was how it needed to stay.

"I hope so," I said quietly, pushing my food around. "But I'm doing this for me, too. To build something on my own."

Antonio's lips curled into a small smile, the kind that told me he saw right through me but wasn't going to press. "You've come a long way, Monique. And you're doing well. But remember, you don't have to do it all alone. If you ever need my help—"

"I know," I cut in quickly, meeting his gaze with a thankful smile, flashing one to the maid that came with a bowl of bread. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

I appreciated his offer, really. He'd been there for me when no one else had, guiding me into this world when I had no direction. And when it came to growing in the business, I'd be a fool not to lean on his wisdom. But this? What I planned for Liam Sterling? That was something I couldn't share. Not even with him.

If he knew I was going after the man who killed my parents, it would change everything. Antonio might try to protect me or, worse, stop me. This revenge was personal. It was mine, and I'd handle it my way. Alone.

He leaned back in his chair, seemingly content with my progress, and shifted the conversation to upcoming deals. I nodded along, pretending to be fully engaged, but my mind was elsewhere. The poker game was my next move, the door into the underground that I needed.

My phone buzzed lightly on the table, the screen lighting up with a message. I glanced at it casually, pretending not to care, but when I saw Richardson's name, my pulse quickened.

Richardson: Liam Sterling will be in attendance tonight.

I felt a strange rush, a mix of anxiety and excitement like everything was beginning to fall into place. So he would be there.

Later at night, I sat in the back of the car, staring out through the tinted windows at the entrance of the casino, my fingers absentmindedly tapping the armrest. The night was alive, the neon lights casting a hazy glow on the figures moving in and out of the building. It was almost poetic—this mix of elegance, power and corruption. Tonight, I was here to make my presence known among them. But first, I needed to play my cards right.

Richardson sat next to me, scrolling through his tablet, a deep frown on his face as he read through the names of people confirmed to attend. "I've got a solid list of players inside," he said, his voice low but clear. "David Torres—one of the major distributors from South America, notorious for cutting deals with the Russians. He'll be key in securing some international supply lines."

I nodded, eyes still locked on the casino doors. "Go on."

"And then there's Theodore Davalos, a club owner who runs some of the major fronts in New York. He's well acquainted with some of the other distributors; getting him on your side could mean locking down the city's drug nightlife."

The names didn't particularly interest me, but I knew their importance, I must have even heard my godfather mention them before. These were the people I needed to know, the people whose circles I had to aclimatise myself with. Yet, my focus wasn't on them tonight. Not really.

I leaned forward slightly, my gaze sharpening as a familiar figure emerged at the entrance of the casino. Liam Sterling. He stood there, casually talking to a few men—his posture relaxed, confident. That same air of control he had last night, the one that had drawn me in, now made my stomach churn with disgust. How could I not have known? The man who had killed my parents, standing there, smiling, oblivious to the fact that I was watching him, planning how I'd tear him apart.

"There he is," Richardson murmured, following my line of sight. "Liam Sterling. Dangerous man, though you already know that. If he's here, it means the stakes are high tonight."

I stayed silent, studying Liam's every movement. He was charismatic, blending seamlessly with the people around him, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries. It was strange, seeing him in this context—knowing what I knew. How many others had fallen for his charm, just like I had? How many people had no idea what kind of monster he really was?

"Are you not going in yet?" Richardson asked, breaking through my thoughts.

I shook my head slowly, tearing my gaze away from Liam. "Not yet."

Richardson looked at me, curious but respectful. "Waiting for something?"

I smirked, the cold edge of my plan sharpening in my mind. "Waiting for the perfect moment."

Timing was everything. I wasn't here just to make an entrance. I was here to make an impact, to catch Liam off guard. The element of surprise was my greatest weapon tonight.

I settled back in my seat, crossing my legs, and kept my eyes on the entrance. The night was young, and the game had just begun.