Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Varrick Legacy
The mansion was no longer a place of employment; it had become a sanctuary of secrets.
Dominic had moved us into the high-security wing, miles away from the prying eyes of the household staff and the rival families.
I watched Milo sleep, his small chest rising and falling, unaware that his mother was no longer a penniless cleaner, but the long-lost heir to a criminal empire.
My life had shifted on its axis.
I wasn't worrying about rent anymore.
I was worrying about survival.
Dominic spent hours in the west study, the very place I had been forbidden to enter, barking orders into secure lines.
The mafia boss was activating the entire network to trace the source of the fire that had claimed my parents.
I spent my time learning.
Not how to clean, but how to protect.
I learned the layout of the mansion’s security grid.
I learned that Dominic’s inner circle was not as loyal as he believed.
I felt the power coursing through me—the same cold, calculated instinct that Dominic possessed.
It was a dangerous gift.
"Why me?" I asked one night, finding him staring out at the darkened city.
"Why keep me here?"
"You're a Varrick," he replied without turning.
"You were born to command this city."
"The moment you entered that room, the power balance in Boston changed."
"Our enemies know I’ve found you."
"That makes you a target, but it also makes you a queen."
I thought of the eighty dollars I used to earn.
The humiliation of scrubbing the floors.
The fear of not being able to buy medicine.
"I don't want a throne," I said.
"I want revenge."
Dominic turned, a faint, ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
"Then you are a Varrick after all."
He walked over to a heavy desk and pulled out a handgun—an elegant, custom-made piece with a silver swallow engraved on the handle.
"I’ve spent years looking for you, but I’ve also spent years preparing for the day the truth came out."
"We are going to find out who ordered the fire."
"And when we do, we will make them wish they had never heard the Varrick name."
I took the weapon, the cold steel fitting perfectly in my hand.
For the first time, I didn't feel like the victim.
I felt like the predator.
The city was vast, dark, and filled with people who wanted me gone.
But they had forgotten one thing.
The Varrick blood doesn't die.
May you like
It only waits for the perfect moment to strike.
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