A week later, the sky over Queens was a sheet of gray, weeping a cold, steady rain.
Amelie stood before her mother's grave. The headstone was new, the earth freshly turned. She wore a cheap black dress, the only thing she owned.
She didn't cry. Her cheeks were hollowed, her lake-blue eyes holding nothing but a dead, quiet hatred.
The dogs hadn't touched her. A passing car had called the police, and she'd been taken to a shelter like a piece of refuse. It was the old family butler, contacted from a payphone, who had told her about the funeral.
She placed a small bouquet of cheap, white daisies on the grave. Her fingers traced the cold, carved letters of her mother's name.
"I'm sorry, Mom," she whispered.
"But I swear to you," she continued, her voice a low, venomous promise, "Jonas Slater, Corie Reeves, and everyone who hurt us... I will make them pay in blood."
She stood there for a long time, until the rain soaked her to the bone. Then she turned and walked away, her steps unnaturally firm.
She went to a pawn shop in the city and sold the last thing her mother had ever given her-a small, but meaningful, sapphire ring.
The few hundred dollars she got wasn't for food or shelter. It was for a weapon. She walked into an outdoor supply store.
She bought a small, sharp survival knife. The cold steel of the handle felt right in her palm.
Night fell. Amelie moved like a ghost, returning to the Slater estate. She knew Jonas's routine. He finished work late and always used the side entrance.
She hid in the dense shrubbery, the cold rain and the knife in her hand keeping her mind razor-sharp.
At ten o'clock, a Maybach pulled up to the side gate. Jonas got out. He didn't use an umbrella, letting the rain plaster his expensive suit to his powerful frame.
He loosened his tie, a flicker of exhaustion and irritation on his face. Even through the downpour, Amelie could feel the suffocating aura of power that clung to him.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. It was a rhythm of hatred and fear. She tightened her grip on the knife.
Just as Jonas reached for the gate, Amelie burst from the bushes.
"Jonas!" she screamed, pouring all her pain, her loss, her despair into that single, desperate thrust aimed at his heart.
His reflexes were lightning-fast. His body, honed by years of physical training, twisted instinctively. A flash of shock crossed his face; he clearly hadn't expected to see her here.
The blade missed his heart but sliced deeply into his left shoulder. Fabric tore. Blood bloomed instantly, staining his white shirt a dark crimson.
Jonas grunted in pain. His hand shot out, clamping around Amelie's wrist like a steel vise. The pressure was immense, threatening to crush the bone.
A cry of pain escaped her lips, and the knife clattered to the wet ground.
He slammed her against the stone wall, his large body trapping her completely. "Are you insane?" he roared, his ice-gray eyes blazing with fury and disbelief.
Amelie struggled, but it was useless. She threw her head back, rain and tears mixing on her pale face. "You made me insane! My baby! My mother! You're a monster, Jonas! A butcher!"
Her raw agony gave him a moment's pause, but it was quickly replaced by a deeper disgust. "Your baby? I don't care about that bastard's fate. As for your mother, she got what she deserved!"
His words ignited her. She stopped struggling against his grip and instead lunged, trying to claw his face, to headbutt his chest.
Her resistance was like that of a cornered, desperate animal-futile, but filled with a tragic fire.
Jonas lost his patience. He twisted her arms behind her back, pinning her against the cold, wet wall. "You still don't get it," he bit out.
The estate's alarms blared. Guards rushed out, surrounding them.
Jonas released her. She slid to the ground like a discarded doll. He glanced at his bleeding shoulder, then spoke to his men in a voice of ice.
"Tie her up. Throw her in the basement."
Amelie lay in the mud and water, watching as he was escorted through the gate, his back straight, his stride unwavering. He didn't look back once.
Her first act of rebellion had ended in complete and utter humiliation.
Two guards hauled her roughly to her feet and dragged her toward a separate, cellar-like structure deep within the grounds. Her fingernails scraped uselessly against the pavement.
