March, Year One
CHICAGO
Sweetness, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.
Lakeland killed my parents. He murdered them in front of my eyes.
I know the media says it was a car accident, but that’s just it. He’s in control of so much, much more powerful than I’d anticipated. I underestimated him; I was cocky to think I could take him down.
I tried to save them, you know. I screamed and screamed…it was like I was dying alongside them.
Riale dragged me away from the scene and tried to shield me, but it was too late. He took me to my apartment, but right when I opened the door, he was there.
First, he was at the scene of the crime. Then, he was sitting on my couch as if he were there to shoot the shit.
My uncle was there only to deliver one message: A repeat of what he told me weeks ago.
My existence now is for his benefit. My father was that person for him for years—my dad made Lakeland and a bunch of other sick, rich fucks a lot of fucking money. Dad was the face, the golden boy, the one who graced the cover of Forbes. Dad was the puppet; Lakeland was the puppet master.
I stupidly thought I had him all figured out, but as I stared at my parents’ burning corpses, I learned I was wrong. I was so damn wrong.
I lost. He won. All because he knew where to hit.
He took my parents from me, and if I didn’t do what he commanded me to, he would have hurt you, too.
Not hurt you, killed you. And the thought itself is pure torture.
Shae, damnit?—