1. Untouchable

Chapter 1

Untouchable

I have this entire city wrapped around my manicured finger.

I hear everything. I see everything. I control everything. Nothing happens in the gruesome underworld of New York City without me knowing. Nothing. I'm in charge.

Me.

I was destined for this life. It was my birthright. In the last two months, I have fought against every code, every rule, every patriarchal, antiquated hurdle to get to where I am today. To be the queen. To have all the power. But I did it. I succeeded. I won. It's mine.

The power is mine.

All of it.

And the best thing about power? Well, other than blinding riches and undying respect? It's that absolute power comes with impenetrable protection. My entire fucking essence is made out of the finest Kevlar.

I'm bulletproof .

Everyone in this city knows that I'm untouchable.

Physically. Financially.

Legally.

You'd have to be a complete idiot to take me to court. Unfortunately, the great borough of Manhattan seems to be littered with opportunistic idiots.

Take this Karen-in-the-Making sitting adjacent to me. She's a walking TV ad for personal injury lawyers. Pathetic, really. She must be new to New York. Hell, based on her outdated haircut and bottom eyeliner, she must be new to this fucking decade.

I almost feel bad for the lady. If I were a nicer person, I'd take pity on her. I'd gladly toss her a few grand...and the number to my stylist (God knows she needs it). But that's the thing about showing kindness, you can't do it often. Why? Because that's when the leeches come out. That's when all these losers with nothing better to do try and sink their grimy little teeth into my perfect skin.

I wasn't raised to be nice to leeches. To vermin. To bitches that try to smear my impeccable reputation. And I sure as hell wasn't raised to be nice to people who force me to wake up at the crack of fucking dawn and make a courtroom appearance.

So annoying.

The poor woman thinks she just won the jackpot. Little does she know that American dollars are worth zilch in hell. And that's exactly where she's going after I put a bullet between her stupid, overplucked, overzealous, overexaggerated eyebrows.

God, I need another coffee.

"Your Honor, this is ridiculous. We are wasting your time, my time, and the court's time with these outrageous accusations," I state, suppressing a yawn as I make eye contact with Judge Keegan. He's a fresh fish on the circuit. I don't know too much about him. He looks harmless enough. For now. "I have not done anything to this woman—" I shoot daggers at the blonde idiot sitting next to her legal aid lawyer, "—she's clearly trying to take advantage of the situation." I snort, rolling my eyes. "If we can even call it that."

"Accusations?" Karen screeches, pointing her short, tubby finger at the teensy little scar on her left eyebrow. "You did this!"

"Total hearsay!" I snap back, crossing my arms.

Some people are so sensitive.

"Miss Bianco," Karen's lawyer clears his throat, gesturing to the TV at the front of the courtroom. "Do we need to replay the CCTV footage from the Chanel kiosk? We can all clearly see you throwing a perfume bottle at my client."

"Objection," I scoff, looking around the room. I catch my assistant, Zoella, face-palming in the front row. "First of all, it was a compact, not a perfume bottle." I glare at Karen's lawyer. "Maybe a visit to the optometrist is needed, hey?" I point to the TV. "Or better yet, a consultation with a damn neurologist, because I would hardly call that a throw!"

"Camilla," my lawyer, an old fart that my father made me hire, whispers beside me, "Perhaps let me do the talking."

"Shut up," I spit back, hating my geriatric parents for meddling in my affairs. Retirement means they butt out of my business. Every aspect of my business. I look up at the judge, who looks like he's about to fall asleep. Maybe he needs a coffee too. I feign a sweet smile, sickening even myself. "Your Honor, there is no evidence of any wrongdoing. I think we should just drop all these charges. What do you say? Hmm?"

"She assaulted me!" Karen cries, her shrill voice causing my body to tense.

"Assault?!" I jerk my head toward her, glaring. "That's a bit of a stretch, Karen."

"For the fifth time, my name is Wendy!" she seethes through her teeth. "Not Karen!"

"Whatever, Karen," I say flippantly, facing the judge. "Listen, all I did was toss her a little compact, that's all."

"I needed stitches!" Karen screams, her face turning red. "Two of them!"

"I don't see how your sloth-like reflexes are my fault," I state. At this point, I can hardly even remember what Karen did or said to piss me off at Nordstrom. I laugh internally. She probably just opened her mouth. A voice like that would make even the Pope go nuclear. "Your Honor, can we please dismiss these charges already? I'm a very busy woman. I don't have the time or patience to entertain Miss Karen's get-rich-quick scheme."

"My name is Wendy!" the idiot yells again.

God, she needs to be locked up.

"Enough," Judge Keegan sighs, shaking his head as his gaze skims both benches. "Miss Bianco, whether it was a throw as Mr. Julian claims, or a... toss as you so claim, the footage from the CCTV camera is irrefutable."

"Hah!" Karen exclaims, a prideful grin on her face.

My jaw locks. Is she... laughing at me? That lowlife? That human scum? And is he... ruling in her favor? Oh, this fresh little fishy doesn't know what he's doing.

With a burning tingle in my fingertips that slowly spreads up my arm, I stare at Judge Keegan. This time, I'm not smiling. This time, I'm not acting. No. This time... I'm being real. Myself. I'm Camilla Bianco of the Bianco Crime Family. And this? This is unacceptable.

No one in my family has ever been charged with even a parking ticket. This can't happen. Not now. Not this early. Not when I just clawed my way to the fucking top. I intend to stay here. This is where I belong. This is my rightful throne. And no one, I mean no one, will take this from me.

"Do you know who I am, Fred?" I ask the judge, gripping the edge of the table. "Does my name ring a bell?"

"Of course, Miss Bianco," he states, unflinching. Really? Another idiot. "But you are not above the law."

Great, he's a martyr. How inconvenient.

"With all due respect, Fred ," I say, frustration bubbling in my blood, "but in New York City? I am the law." I glance at Karen. "A fact that should make you feel very, very afraid."

Karen's eyes go wide with fear. Good. As it should be. "Are you threatening me?" she shrieks. "Your Honor, did you hear her? You heard her, right?"

I hope he did. He should be scared too. My trigger finger is trembling at the thought of putting these two fleas down.

"Miss Bianco," the judge says, surprisingly keeping his composure, "if you could refrain from uttering threats in my courtroom, that would be much appreciated."

"She's a fucking lunatic!" Karen yells. "She needs to be thrown in jail!"

"What did you just call me?" My hand finds the closest thing to grip. This energy needs to be transferred to something. I need to control myself. I need to ground this building rage.

Breathe, Camilla. Fucking breathe.

"I said—" Karen, with a moronic burst of confidence, rounds the desk, stalking toward me, "—you're a fucking lunatic."

My pulse quickens as I sense everyone staring at me. They're watching. Waiting. What will she do? No one would dare speak to my father like this. To my grandfather. To my cousins. They never had to deal with this. They'd never be dragged this far. The same blood runs through my veins. This blood demands respect. And yet here we are. There's only one difference between me and them. A difference I can't change. A difference I was born with.

I don't have a fucking cock dangling between my thighs.

"A lunatic?" I ask, a small maniacal laugh slipping past my lips. "I'll show you fucking lunatic!" I grab the stapler off the table, chucking it across the room. I have excellent aim, so the thing flies just a dick hair away from her face before slamming into the far wall. "Is that lunatic enough for you, Karen?"

"Miss Bianco!" Judge Keegan bangs his gavel, drawing the attention of the now almost weeping leech. The tingling sensation in my fingers dissipates slowly, my heart rate slowing down. "That is enough!" He glares at me, but I don't care anymore. I'm over it. "I am hereby ordering you to pay Miss Graham for medical expenses incurred as a result of your thoughtless actions, as well as an additional fifty thousand dollars for infliction of emotional distress."

"What—"

He's kidding, right? She should be paying me!

"I am not finished," he continues in a stern tone, much to my dismay. "In addition to financial restitution, I am ordering that you complete forty-eight hours of mandatory anger management therapy with a doctor of your choice."

"I'm sorry? What?" I choke, blinking. Am I hallucinating right now? "Anger management? Have you lost your goddamn mind? You can't do that!"

"But I can," he says, closing the folder in front of him as he looks at Karen and her lawyer. "Court dismissed."

"I told you to let me do the talking," my lawyer grumbles under his breath before leaving me standing alone and bewildered. " Women ."

I stare off into the distance, attempting to process what just happened. Mandatory anger management? Mandatory? Hah. If Fred thinks he can force me to sit in a room with a fucking shrink three times a week, he's more delusional than I thought. No one makes me do anything.

No one.

Luckily for me, wealth is like a get-out-of-jail-free card .

And I have millions of them.

"Cami!" Zoey's melodic voice fills my ears as I feel a hand on my arm. "Hey, Cami? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say, sucking in a sharp breath as I hold out my hand for my purse. She places the designer clutch in my palm. I open the bag, pull out a pair of sunglasses, and slide them on my face. "I'm going to use the restroom." I exit through the wooden gate and walk toward the doors, Zoey running behind me. "You have two minutes to find the closest psycho-whatever-the-fuck's office and book me an appointment for 9 a.m."

"But it's almost 9 a.m. now," she says, pulling out her cell phone as my bodyguards discreetly follow us. "I don't think?—"

"Make it happen," I state, stopping in front of the ladies' room. "And bring me my checkbook."

"Okay," she peeps. "I'll try."

"Don't try," I say, entering the restroom. "Just do."

The lighting here is atrocious. I scan the bags under my eyes before pulling out under-eye cream and a tube of red lipstick, hoping it livens me up. It's too fucking early to deal with all these Neanderthals. I shouldn't have gone so hard last night at Suffer N' Rage, but it's a rarity for Javier and Kody to be working on the same night. I keep telling them I'm willing to make them full-time dancers, but apparently getting A's at NYU is more important to them than getting me off.

Warped priorities, in my humble opinion. What can a degree give them that I can't?

With a final glance in the mirror, I exit the restroom. "Cigarette." I hold out my hand to Frankie, my lifelong guard. He casts me a judgmental frown. I shake my hand, reaffirming my decision. "I'm waiting."

"Cami," he sighs, pulling a pack out of the breast pocket of his jacket. "You're too young to smoke, princess. Ain't the patch working?"

"Clearly not." I yank a smoke from the pack as Zoey comes charging toward me. "So?"

"Okay, well—" she scrolls her phone, "—I called a few offices, and no one is available right now, but I did get the number to a practice that recently opened a couple of blocks from here, and they have an opening at 10 a.m." She squints, reading the name. "A Dr. Hayden Malcolm."

"I'm not waiting until ten.” I walk out of the courthouse and light the smoke. God, it’s so embarrassing that I'm even in here. Never again. "They'll make time for me now." A warm breeze hits my skin as we step outside. "Well? Which way?"

"Left." Zoey lets out a tiny sigh, pointing down the street. "Are you sure you want to barge in, Cam? I mean, after what happened today, shouldn't you?—"

I snap my head down at her, my expression cold. "I appreciate the concern, Zoe, I really do, but I can handle this, okay?"

"Fine," she says with a shrug, biting her bottom lip. "I just don't think you need more stress added to your day."

"I'm not stressed," I state, heels clicking against the sidewalk as we make our way to the head doctor's office. I take a long drag of the smoke, relishing the instant relief. "Frustrated, maybe, but not stressed. Can you believe that happened, Zoe? It's like the people in this city have lost their minds. Truly."

"Maybe you shouldn't have thrown makeup at the counter lady," Zoey mumbles.

I roll my eyes. "She said I had oily skin. Her fault."

"Right," Zoey hums, her phone vibrating. "Oh, shit."

"What?" I glance down, the message skewed by the sunlight. "What is it?"

"He's back in town." Zoey sheepishly looks up at me. "My brother's back in New York."

I stop walking. "Leonardo...is back?" My teeth slam against one another. I was a fool to think he wouldn't return. It's been five years, and he shows up now? "What does he want?"

Zoey gives me a knowing head tilt. "What do you think?"

"New York is mine , 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.