Every night, the old wound in my abdomen flared up, the pain so vicious it sent me writhing across the bed.
Christian sat on the sofa not far away, swirling a glass of red wine, watching with cold detachment.
He never offered an ounce of sympathy. Only when I was on the verge of passing out from the agony did he toss out a single, frigid line.
"Remember this pain. It's the price of your stupidity."
On the morning of the third day, the butler delivered a pure black couture trench coat.
I stood before the floor-length mirror, staring at the woman reflected back at me. Pale face. Vicious eyes.
When I changed and came downstairs, Christian was sitting in the dining room, flipping through the morning paper.
"Ready?"
He didn't bother looking up. His tone was offhand, almost bored.
"Let's go."
I pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, hiding the ugly constellation of cigarette burns across the backs of my hands.
The motorcade headed toward the East District. The territory I'd once bled to claim.
Inside the car, Christian handed me a file.
"Have a look. A little appetizer from your dear lover."
My expression didn't change as I opened the folder. Then my pupils contracted sharply.
Inside was a stack of high-resolution photographs.
In them, Tyler Briggs, my most capable enforcer, was being pinned facedown in the mud by several men and beaten.
His legs had been broken. They bent at sickening, unnatural angles.
And standing off to the side, watching with cool indifference, was Dennis's new woman. Nellie Fox.
"Dennis froze every single one of your old Syndicate accounts. Put the word out, too. Anyone who dares follow you gets the same treatment as that cripple."
Christian leaned back against his seat, amusement flickering in his voice.
"Ms. Delgado, you're a general without an army. How exactly do you plan to deal with this rabid dog?"
My fingers crushed the edge of the photograph.
The savage fury I'd been forcing down in my chest was clawing its way loose.
Dennis. You manage to disgust me more every single time.
"Mr. Finley needn't concern himself."
I tore the photographs to pieces, slowly, deliberately, and let the fragments scatter across the cabin.
"When dealing with a rabid dog, you just knock its teeth out."
The main hall of the East District Syndicate was buzzing today.
The heavy mahogany doors stood wide open. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke. Dozens of chapter bosses and elders sat along both sides of the hall, arranged by rank and seniority.
The moment I stepped through the doors, the noise died.
Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto me.
In the seat of power at the head of the hall sat not Dennis.
It was Nellie Fox, draped in a designer Chanel suit, belly swollen and on full display.
Dennis stood faithfully at her side, one hand hovering protectively over her waist.
When he saw me, something flickered in his eyes. Instinct pulled him forward a step.
Then he glanced at Christian behind me and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Margot, you're finally here."
Nellie was the first to break the silence, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness, so saccharine it could rot teeth.
"Dennis said you weren't feeling well, so he asked me to host today's handover ceremony on your behalf. You won't blame me for overstepping, will you?"
As she spoke, she made a show of stroking her belly. The provocation couldn't have been more blatant.
I didn't spare her a glance. I walked straight to the center of the hall, my gaze cutting across every elder seated along the sides.
These men. Every last one of them used to trail behind me, calling me their queen.
And now they sat here, watching in silence while some bed-climbing nobody perched in my chair and lorded it over them.
"Dennis. Where is my man?"
I ignored Nellie entirely and went straight for him.
Dennis couldn't meet my eyes. He cleared his throat.
"Margot, Tyler didn't know his place. He disrespected Nellie. I just had someone teach him a small lesson."
