Bloodlust

1 | Untouchable

I have this entire city wrapped around my manicured finger.

I hear everything. I see everything. I control everything. Nothing happens in the gruel underworld of New York City without me knowing. Nothing. I'm in charge.

Me.

I was destined for this life. It was my birthright. In the last two months, I fought against every code, every rule, every fucking patriarchal, antiquated hurdle to get to where I am today. To be the queen. To have all the power. But I did it. I succeeded. I won. It's mine.

The power is mine.

All of it.

And the best thing about power? Well, other than blinding riches and undying respect? It's that absolute power comes with impenetrable protection. My entire fucking essence is made out of the finest Kevlar.

I'm bulletproof.

Everyone in this city knows that I'm untouchable.

Physically. Financially.

Legally.

You'd have to be a complete idiot to take me to court. Unfortunately, the great borough of Manhattan seems to be littered with opportunistic idiots.

Take this Karen-in-the-Making sitting adjacent to me. She's a walking TV ad for personal injury lawyers. Pathetic really. She must be new to New York. Hell, based on her outdated haircut and bottom eyeliner, she must be new to this fucking decade.

I almost feel bad for the lady. If I were a nicer person, I'd take pity on her. I'd gladly toss her a few grand... and the number to my stylist (God knows she needs it). But that's the thing about showing kindness, you can't do it often. Why? Because that's when the leeches come out. That's when all these losers with nothing better to do try and sink their grimy little teeth into my perfect skin.

I wasn't raised to be nice to leeches. To vermin. To bitches that try to smear my impeccable reputation. And I sure as hell wasn't raised to be nice to people who make me wake up at the crack of fucking dawn and make a courtroom appearance.

So annoying.

The poor woman thinks she just won the jackpot. Little does she know, American dollars are worth zilch in hell. And that's exactly where she's going after I put a bullet between her stupid overplucked, overzealous, overexaggerated eyebrows.

God, I need another coffee.

"Your Honor, this is ridiculous. We are wasting your time, my time, and the court's time with these outrageous accusations," I state, suppressing a yawn as I make eye contact with Judge Keegan. He's a fresh fish on the circuit. I don't know too much about him. He looks harmless enough. For now. "I have not done anything to this woman—" I shoot daggers at the blonde idiot sitting next to her legal aid lawyer. "She's clearly trying to take advantage of the situation." I snort, rolling my eyes. "If we can even call it that."

"Accusations?!" Karen screeches, pointing her short, tubby finger at the teensy little scar on her left eyebrow. "You did this!"

"Total hearsay!" I snap back, crossing my arms.

Some people are so sensitive.

"Miss Bianco," Karen's lawyer clears his throat, gesturing to the TV at the front of the courtroom. "Do we need to replay the CCTV footage from the Chanel Kiosk? We can all clearly see you throwing a perfume bottle at my client."

"Objection," I scoff looking around the room. I catch my assistant Zoey face-palming in the front row. "First of all, it was a compact, not a perfume bottle." I glare at Karen's lawyer. "Maybe a visit to the optometrist is needed, hey?" I point to the TV. "Or better yet, a consultation with a damn neurologist because I would hardly call that a throw!"