Page 4 of Bloodlust

"New York ismine, Zoey," I state, clenching my fist. "Your brother has no right."

The bastard leaves his family to go gallivanting across Europe with his girlfriends, and now he wants back in?

Laughable.

"He just found out Tony retired," she explains, reading the text. "Said if he knew earlier, he'd have been here months ago."

"Tough shit for Leo," I say, continuing to march toward the damn shrink's office. "Maybe he should've stuck around instead of fucking off for half a decade."

"Do you think he's going to fight you for rule?" Zoey asks, gesturing for us to turn the corner. "He is the eldest son of the Di Rossi family."

"Your family lost to mine, Zoey," I state matter-of-factly as we stop in front of a grey brick building. I read the sign for Hayden Malcolm, PhD. Fuck’s sake. Worst Monday ever. "Your name means nothing anymore." I look down at her, a slight tinge of guilt gripping my heart. "It's a fact, Zoe. Don't be upset."

"I'm not upset," she says, opening the door for me. "But the family might see it otherwise." She nods up the stairs. "Let's put out one fire at a time, okay? Go do your thing, Cami."

I straighten my shoulders. "Checkbook?"

"Here." She hands me the book. "Good luck."

I snort. "Good one."

Today has been an utter shit show, and it's not even 9 a.m.

Javier and Kody better come back tonight.

I need my little toys.

I need control.

Chapter 2

Transaction

Iwouldn't say that I'm a particularlyangryperson. Sure, there are many things that piss me off. Poor internet connection. People who chew with their mouth open. Mansplaining. Traffic. People who don't clean up after their dogs.

And waiting.

That's the worst. Whether it's to cross the damn street or stand in a fucking line, I thoroughly despise waiting.

It's a waste of time.

And time is a precious commodity. It's fleeting. Every second that passes is a second that's lost forever. Time is the one thing money can't buy. I've tried. I wasted thousands trying to buy time. It can't be done.

Time is something to cherish, to hold sacred. And the longer I stand here, waiting for—I glare at the name tag pinned into the peppy receptionist's blouse—Heatherto get off the damn phone, the more time I lose.

I'm tempted to remove the switchblade from mypurse and slice through the telephone cord—also perhaps her throat—but my father's repetitive warnings float through my mind.

Do not ever make a scene. Do not cause unnecessary trouble. Hold your head up high. You represent a century of influence. We have standards, Camilla.

Meet them...or else.

I dig my nails into my upper thigh, the acrylics imprinting the faux leather fabric of my skirt, the pain soothing my spurting frustration. I dig in harder as the seconds pass and the receptionist continues to hold up a finger indicating she needs more time.Don't we all.I push harder and harder and harder until?—

"Sorry about that! Busy morning!" Heather exclaims, peering up at me as she lowers the receiver. "How can I help you?"

"Hi," I say, gradually pulling my nails away from my thigh, the indents in the fabric evident by touch.Control.I place my clutch on the counter, removing my sunglasses. "My assistant Zoey called earlier about an appointment. Name's Camilla Bianco."

"Ah, yes! Welcome, Miss Bianco!" she says, smiling up at me. No one should be this cheery before noon.Must be drugs."You're a bit early, though I do have you scheduled for 10 a.m."