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PROLOGUE
CATRIONA
“Daughter!”
“Yes father?” I get up from the bed and run down the stairs. My father is at the door shaking his head at me and I know I must have forgotten to do something. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” I ask him, using my good daughter voice to soften whatever it is. I play with his tie, adjusting it for him, and kissing his cheek.
“Princess, why am I getting letters from colleges confirming you have declined to attend. Again?” Shoot. I thought I had taken care of that this time.
“Daddy...” The disappointment on his face is crushing me.
“Don’t daddy me, Catriona Elizabeth Scott. For four years I have let you wander. I have supported you while you took a break. Found your way after your mother died. That was the deal. Now it is your turn to follow-thru, daughter. It is time for you to get an education. Join the firm.” My father has been wanting me to join his law firm since I can remember. I have always been resistant. He represents criminals and I know for a fact he is the confidante/legal counsel for Salvatore DeSantis, head of the crime family here in Miami.
My father, God love him, believes that since I am best friends with Salvatore’s daughter Aurora, that means I consent. Far from it. But, at the same time, I respect his ability to see past what people do and do his job.
The truth is, I have no idea what I want to do with my life, but I have found enjoyment. I have been training. For what I am not sure, but there is this retired Navy Seal guy, who gives self-defense lessons to women. He teaches you how to survive, disable, maim and kill. Not sure what I am going to do with that knowledge, but it has been fun as hell learning it.
A light touch on my cheek reminds me that I am talking to my father. “I’m sorry, daddy. I will take it seriously.” I tell him, not sure what I am going to do.
“Good job, princess. Alright. I have to go.”
“Meeting Salvatore?” He merely nods before kissing me and walking out the door.
Three hours later I am sitting in the nail shop, checking out my nails when my phone rings. Smiling, I answer. “Aurora bora. What’s up girl?” I can hear yelling and what sounds like crying in the background, which isn’t shocking. She has little siblings.
“Cat, have you watched the news?” My antenna starts going up.
“No. Why?” She hiccups and sniffs, which gets me out of the chair I am sitting in. “Aurora. Talk to me.” I put her on speaker phone and text my father, frantically telling him to call me. “Aurora, for fuck’s sake tell me what is going on.”
“They're gone, Catriona. They killed all of them.” Why won’t my father answer me? I text him again and then pull up his GPS. His dot is somewhere downtown. “Cat, did you hear me? They are gone.” I start my car and do a U-turn driving toward his GPS.
“I heard you Aurora. I am so sorry about your father, but I need to go and find mine. He is not answering so no doubt he is talking to the cops.” I am in denial, and I know it, but there is no fucking way my father is dead.
“He’s dead, Cat. He was with my father when it happened. I am so sorry.” She hangs up and tears begin to fall down my face. I am still not admitting it, but the tears are proof I believe it. Two blocks from the restaurant they frequent, I see hundreds of cops cars. Pulling over to the side of the road I jump out and run toward the yellow tape and that is where I see it. His briefcase on the ground, lying next to a body with a pair of shoes I recognize because I bought them for his birthday.
“Oh God. No.” I fall to my knees and cry. It's right here, in this moment when my purpose surfaces. This is when my life begins and ends.
I lost my soul and gained vision.
ONE
CATRIONA
FIVE MONTHS LATER
I wishsomeone had told me revenge was exhausting and soul shredding. It would have changed nothing about what I am doing, but at least I would have been warned. It has been five months since my father was murdered, in broad daylight, in the middle of the street alongside Salvatore DeSantis and some of his men. Five months since everything I thought I knew shifted and I realized I knew nothing because I chose to.
I buried my father alone, surrounded by the DeSantis, but still alone because we were it. The last of the Scott bloodline. See, my father was not a made man, in mafia terms. He was the family attorney in Miami and a consigliere to Salvatore. His best friend, advisor and confidante. But he was not one of them. What does that mean? It means he was privy to information others were not, but he didn’t have their protection and neither did I. It also meant that when he was slaughtered, vengeance would not be sought in my father’s name. It would be sought for the Family.
Now, I know what you are thinking. It’s all the same, right? The same men killed all of them, so who cares whose name it is in? I fucking do. My father’s only crime was in being loyal to a man he grew up with and being at the wrong place at the wrong time. It matters because when his blood was shed, it ensured his legacy would die with me. Think about it, if I marry and trust me I have no plans on that, my name will no longer be Scott. Thus, nothing will be left of him. As crazy as it sounds, I would rather have the streets riddled with trails of bloodshed and death synonymous with his legacy, than, ‘he died by DeSantis.’
So, I have been silent. Ghost silent. Unseen and unheard from for the last four months. I have been underground. Not literally, but might as well be. My mind is dark. Black and blank. I no longer see pictures and possibilities. Now, I only see shades of red and glaring, flashing lights of the blank squares. What are the squares? They are where the pictures of my kills go.
“Ahhh. You crazy bitch!” Speaking of kills. “Stop. Fucking stop. I told you everything.” I am standing in a warehouse, in all black, from head to toe, a scorching hot samurai blade in my hand that has been heated over a coal fire which is currently burning in the next room. My prey, he is hanging from the ceiling, chained by his hands. He is naked, stripped of all his protection, all the coverings these cowards use to hide behind, dripping blood from each seared wound I have inflicted. The smell of burning flesh is prominent, intensely recognizable in this place with no windows and no ventilation, but it feeds me. It fucking fuels my starvation. Blood is my new sustenance. Their screams are my water.
“I know you did, Cret. What’s your point?” I swing the sword through the air and slice his dick off. His weenie pennie drops to the floor and his screams of agony fill the air. I know I got all of the information I needed from him, but sometimes, I like to play. Now, I am bored. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head, so I know I need to hurry if I really want this to be enjoyable. “Well vermin, our time has come to an end. It has been… toasty getting to know all you had to tell me.” I spray the gasoline on him as I talk. He coughs, some of it getting in his mouth. “But now, it’s time to light things up further and for this, I don’t need to be present.” I spray a trail of gas from the fire already stoking in the other room to where he is hanging and to the door. On my way, I pull my calling card, my signature, from my pocket and drop it on the concrete floor, followed by a match and then I am out. I watch from my rearview mirror as it explodes.
The problem is every time it is over the empty feeling intensifies.
