POV: DAISY MONROE
The sound of sirens woke me.
Not the urgent kind that made you jump out of bed, but the background wail New Yorkers slept through like lullabies. I blinked at the cracked ceiling above my mattress and groaned.
Another day in hell.
My leg was stiff from sleeping half-dressed, and my shoulder ached from where I'd slammed that guy's head into the sink last night.
Well, Worth it.
The clock on the wall blinked 7:48 AM in blood-red digits. I dragged myself up, tossed the blanket aside, and sat on the edge of my worn mattress. The apartment smelled like burnt toast, expired nail polish, and old perfume.
Which meant one thing.
"Mum's awake," I muttered.
Sure enough, the moment my feet hit the ground, I heard it.
"DAISY!"
Her voice was sharp, dramatic, like she was auditioning for a soap opera. "Where's the rest of the money from last night?" She yells.
Here we go, again..
--------
I walk barefoot down the hall and into the kitchen, still wearing my hoodie and leather pants from the night before. My boots were by the door, stained with dried blood. I didn't care.
Vanessa Monroe — my mother — was standing by the microwave in a silk robe she couldn't afford, tapping her long fake nails on a half-empty wine glass.
It was eight in the damn morning. Why is She drinking wine already?
I crossed my arms. "Good morning to you, too."
She turned with a fake smile and eyes full of fire.
"Don't play smart with me. You got paid last night. I know you did." She fired at me.
"And I used it to cover rent. You're welcome." I calmly said.
"Rent?"
Her face twisted like I'd insulted her.
"I told you I needed that money for my audition next week!" she snaps back at me.
"Oh, please."
I rolled my eyes.
"You've been talking about this imaginary audition for three years. What is it this time — a backup dancer for Beyoncé or a toothpaste commercial in Jersey?"
I fired at her. I mean, it is too early for this drama about money, isn't it?
She slammed the glass down.
"I gave up my dreams for you, Daisy! I could've been something, but I had to raise a child!" She Furiously Spatted.
My blood boiled.
"No. You didn't raise me. The streets did. The gangs did. The jobs I took to feed us both — they raised me."
"You ungrateful little—"
"Save it, I know I am an ungrateful little bitch. You have called me that so many times "
I fired back before she could finish.
I grabbed the cold cup of coffee from the counter, ignoring the shaking in my hands.
She was always like this. A dreamer in designer knock-offs, living off my crimes like she deserved royalties.
Sometimes I wondered if she even remembered I was her daughter. Or just her personal ATM with a body count.
---
I stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
I needed more than just air — I needed to wash off the past 24 hours.
I stripped quickly, letting the hot water run until steam fogged the cracked mirror. The spray hit my skin like needles, stinging but cleansing. I scrubbed until I felt new again — or at least less bloodstained.
************
After ten minutes, I stepped out, dried off, and applied a soft, rose-tinted perfume behind my ears. It was subtle, but powerful. Dangerous. Just like me.
I got dressed in dark jeans, a fitted black top, and slid a blade into my boot.
You must be wondering where I am going. Well, I have a part time job in a restaurant that serves as a cover up for my main job. I was about leaving until....
---
My phone buzzed.
I almost didn't answer. But the screen read: UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Maybe it's work so I quickly picked up.
"Hello"..
A voice said into My ear immediately I picked up.
My chest tightened. That voice again. Luciano.
I stepped into the hallway.
"Yeah?"
> "There's a black SUV parked outside. It'll bring you to me."
His voice was smooth. Not a request. Not a question. A command.
"Do I look like a Toy You can just wake up in the morning and command?" I snapped
>" Just obey Daisy"
I exhaled deeply, trying to stay calm. I hate commands but there is something about this command that makes me want to obey
"Where?" I asked
> "My residence. 55 Riverside. I want to talk, face to face."
I hesitated.
Then said the only thing I could.
"Fine. But if this is a trap, I swear to God, Moretti, I'll put you in the ground myself."
> "Good girl. Don't keep me waiting."
He hung up.
-------
By the time I stepped outside, the SUV was already parked at the curb — all tinted windows and quiet menace.
The driver didn't say a word. Just opened the door and nodded.
I climbed in, keeping one hand on my blade the whole time.
I didn't trust anyone. Especially not men in suits who called me "good girl."
*****************
Luciano's Residence
After about twenty minutes ride, we arrived at What seems like a vacation house.
It wasn't what I expected.
No guards out front. No gold gates or marble lions. Just a tall glass building, quiet and guarded by silence. The SUV pulled into a private basement garage, and I was led into a private elevator by a man with dead eyes and expensive shoes. Looking like a greek god.
We said nothing as the elevator rose. Each second felt like a choice I couldn't take back.
*Ding*
The doors opened into a penthouse.
Minimalist. Expensive. Cold.
Black floors. White walls. One long leather couch, a bar stocked with untouched bottles, and near the windows—
Luciano Moretti.
Black suit. No tie. Sleeves rolled just enough to show off the tattoos on his forearms.
He was everything I didn't expect — and more.
Handsome, yes. But not soft. He looked like a perfect sculpture from God himself.
And those eyes, charming, Cold. Calculating. Blue as a winter storm.
I thought the man that lead me up the elevator was a greek god but this, this creature standing before is perfection himself..
He didn't smile. Just looked me over slowly, like I was a weapon he was thinking about buying.
I didn't flinch.
---
"Daisy Monroe," he said, voice smooth like smoke. "Up close, you're even more interesting."
I crossed my arms.
"Cut the crap. You didn't drag me out here to flirt."
He chuckled — low, soft, deadly.
"No. I brought you here because I have a job. One only you can do."
I stayed silent. Let him talk.
"There's a man. Used to be one of mine. Now he's leaking information to the feds. I need him gone. Quiet. Permanent."
"And you want me to handle it?"
"I've seen what you can do. You work clean. You don't ask questions. And you don't panic."
I smirked. "Sounds like you've been stalking me."
He didn't deny it.
---
I stepped closer to the table, slowly.
"You do realize I don't work for free."
"Of course not."
He slid a file across the table.
"Ten thousand now. Ten after the job."
I opened the folder. Inside: a photo of a man in a sharp blue suit, smiling with a child in his arms.
I frowned.
"A father?"
Luciano's jaw clenched. "A rat."
There was something in his voice. Cold, but... personal.
I didn't ask.
"I'll do it," I blurted out, closing the folder. "But you better not screw me over."
His eyes darkened, just a little.
"You'll find I'm loyal to those who earn it.
----
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.
"One more thing, Daisy."
I looked back.
"Don't trust my men. Not all of them are thrilled about you being here."
"Story of my life." I replied with a smirk
------------
As I walked out of the penthouse, the wind bit at my skin when the rooftop elevator opened
Ten grand for a kill.
A Mafia boss watching my every move.
And a mother at home who'd probably spend the money on wigs and whiskey.
This life wasn't made for happy endings.
But I wasn't here for happy.
I was here for blood, survival... and maybe, just maybe, something more.
****************************
POV: LUCIANO MORETTI
She didn't answer right away.
When the line connected, I heard her breath before her voice.
"Yeah?" she said — rough, clipped, a little tired.
> "There's a black SUV parked outside. It'll bring you to me."
Do I look like a Toy You can just wake up in the morning and command?" She snapped
>" Just obey Daisy"
No pleasantries. I didn't offer them, and she didn't expect them.
"Where?" she asked.
> "My residence. 55 Riverside. I want to talk, face to face."
I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Her hesitation wasn't fear — it was calculation. Risk vs. reward. Life vs. trap.
Then came her answer.
"Fine. But if this is a trap, I swear to God, Moretti, I'll put you in the ground myself."
That made me smile.
> "Good girl. Don't keep me waiting."
Click. I ended the call.
-----
I leaned back in the leather chair, the city stretching out beyond the tall windows behind me.
She was coming. That alone told me everything I needed.
Daisy Monroe was a woman who never let her guard down. The fact that she would step into the lion's den just to hear what I had to say?
That meant she was curious. Curious meant interested.
And interest — well… that could be turned into loyalty. Or something more.
---
I stood and adjusted the cuffs of my shirt, rolling them up slowly until the ink on my forearms showed.
Most men covered their sins.
I wore mine like armor.
Hardin, My right hand man. entered a moment later.
I trust him the most but not too much. Trust is weakness.
"She's on her way. Fifteen minutes away" he said
"Don't hover," I told him.
He nodded. "You sure it's safe bringing her here?"
He asked me
"No," I replied. "But that's why I like it."
"What ever mission you have for her, one of our men can take care of it or even me"
Hardin said..
I gave him a glance that left him trembling.
"Sorry Boss"
He apologized immediately and left.
------
I poured myself a glass of bourbon and stared out the window.
It wasn't just the efficiency that impressed me about Daisy. It was the silence — the stillness in her when she moved.
She didn't talk to herself like amateurs do.
Didn't fumble.
She executed.
Ruthless. Beautiful.
The kind of weapon that came with a warning label no one ever reads until it's too late.
-----------
Fifteen minutes later, the elevator dinged.
I turned slightly as the doors slid open.
She stepped out like she owned the place — black jeans, dark top, and that same confident walk that said she feared nothing. Not even me.
Good.
Fear made people sloppy
---------
Her eyes flicked around the penthouse. One glance told her it was real. Not a trap.
Minimal furniture. No flashy décor.
Clean, sharp lines. Like me.
"Daisy Monroe," I said, letting her name drag out slow. "Up close, you're even more interesting."
She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Cut the crap. You didn't drag me out here to flirt."
I chuckled — low and deliberate. "No. I brought you here because I have a job. One only you can do."..
She didn't speak.
She just waited.
So I gave her the details..
----------
"There's a man. Used to be one of mine. Now he's leaking information to the feds. I need him gone. Quiet. Permanent."
Her eyes narrowed. "And you want me to handle it?"
I nodded. "I've seen what you can do. You work clean. You don't ask questions. And you don't panic."
She smirked. "Sounds like you've been stalking me."
I didn't deny it.
Because it was true. I'd been watching her for months.
Every move. Every target. Every successful vanishing act. She was an artist.
And I… I had always admired good art.
--------
She stepped closer to the table, arms still crossed.
"You do realize I don't work for free."
"Of course not." I slid the file toward her. "Ten thousand now. Ten after the job."
She opened it slowly, eyes scanning the image. Her face changed.
Not panic.
Not doubt.
But something flickered.
"A father?" she asked.
My jaw tightened.
"A rat."
I could hear it in my own voice — the coldness that surfaced when betrayal was on the table.
She didn't ask further.
That, too, I liked.
-------------
"I'll do it," she said, snapping the folder shut.
"But you better not screw me over."
I met her stare.
"You'll find I'm loyal to those who earn it."
She turned to leave.
But I couldn't let her go just yet.
"One more thing, Daisy."
She paused.
"Don't trust my men. Not all of them are thrilled about you being here."
She smirked again.
"Story of my life."
-------------
When the elevator doors shut behind her, I finally let myself exhale.
She was poison in perfume.
Sharp heels, sharper mind.
A gun dressed as a woman. I didn't just want her as a tool. I wanted her under control.
Not because I needed obedience But because I needed clarity.
And Daisy Monroe… she was chaos I could mold.
She wasn't mine yet But she would be.
*********************
POV: DAISY MONROE
People think killing is messy.
Well, Sometimes it is.
But when you are good at it—really good—it's clean. Quick. Quiet. You become a ghost with a purpose. And today, I had purpose.
Luciano's rat was about to breathe his last breath
---
The sky was still grey when I slipped into Midtown, blending with the commuters, their suits and heels clicking past without seeing me. No one ever sees me. That's the gift. That's the curse.
I wore a charcoal trench coat, hair tucked into a silk scarf. Sunglasses. Lip gloss instead of lip stick. A softer look for a harder job.
His name was Darien Colt. Ex-counsel to one of Luciano's front companies. Now he was whispering secrets into the ears of the wrong people — FBI, DEA, some reporter with a podcast.
Dead man walking.
-------------------
I tailed him from his apartment, watching him exit with his predictable swagger — Bluetooth in one ear, coffee in one hand, briefcase in the other. His suit was expensive. So were his shoes.
The man had style, I'll give him that.
He took the same path he always did — twenty blocks downtown, through the underground garage of his corporate office, where he thought he was untouchable.
That was where I'd end it.
No crowd. No screams. No witnesses.
----------------
I slipped into the garage through the service entrance. My heels didn't make a sound. I moved like mist.
He was halfway across the lot, checking his phone.
I walked fast and light. My hand dipped into my coat pocket, fingers wrapping around the grip of my suppressed Glock 43. Smooth. Familiar.
---
"Mr. Colt!" I called out, pitching my voice into a flirty tone.
He turned, smiling like a man used to being admired..
"Do I know y—"
Pffft.
The bullet entered just above his left eyebrow. He dropped instantly. No drama. Just a sack of meat and Armani falling to the pavement.
His phone skidded out of his hand. I crushed it with my heel.
I crouched by the body, checked the pulse out of habit.
Gone.
I rifled through the briefcase. Inside were documents. Names. Numbers. Wire transfers. Enough to bury half of Moretti's empire.
He wasn't just a rat.
He was a nuke.
---
I took the brief case, and tucked the gun into my waistband. Then I walked out.
Not a drop of blood on me. Like I'd never been there.
**********************
LATER THAT DAY — LUCIANO'S PENTHOUSE
--------------------
It smelled like leather and whiskey when I stepped into the penthouse again. Same chilled air. Same damn skyline view.
He was sitting at the edge of his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up, ink climbing up his forearms. His expression unreadable.
"Clean," I said, dropping the brief case on the table.
Luciano pulled out the files, flipping through them. His jaw tensed. Something in there got under his skin, but he didn't say what.
"I said clean," he muttered. "Not poetic."
"It was clean," I replied, pulling off my scarf. "One shot. No mess."
He looked up at me — slowly.
"You wore lip gloss this time. You never do"
"You sure have been stalking me..Don't get used to it."
That made him smirk. Just a twitch. Barely there. But it was something.
-------------------
He poured two glasses of bourbon without asking.
Slid one toward me.
I took it, sat on the couch opposite him, legs crossed, hand on the glass but not drinking.
"Why me?" I asked finally.
Luciano's gaze didn't waver.
"Because you don't flinch. And because you finish what others start." he answers smoothly.
"That's not a compliment. That's a label."
I replied..
"It's a reason."
He expressionlessly said..
I sipped the bourbon. Let it burn.Then came the line I didn't expect.
"I want to bring you in. Full time."
I stared at him.
"You want me on your payroll?"
"I want you inside the circle. No more middlemen. No more freelancers. Just you and me."
I stood slowly, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed.
"What makes you think I'd say yes?"
"Because you're tired of scraping for money while babysitting amateurs. Because I see the hunger in you."
He moved behind me, his voice low.
"And because I make loyalty worth it."
I turned around, keeping the glass between us like a shield.
"You're used to obedience. But I don't bend. I don't break."
"I'm not trying to break you," he said. "I want to sharpen you."
His words sent a chill down my spine — not from fear.
From something darker- Want
---
I stepped closer.
We were inches apart now.
"The answer's no," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "I don't work for anyone."
Luciano's expression didn't change. But his eyes… they darkened.
"I figured you'd say that." he blurted out
"Then why ask?" I asked him.
"Because I like the chase. And because I don't lose."
---
I walked past him, brushing his shoulder as I passed.
"I'm not yours to win."
"But you will be," he said behind me.
I didn't stop walking.
Didn't flinch. But inside, something cracked — just slightly.
---
POV: LUCIANO MORETTI
She walked in like sin in heels — calm, composed, deadly.
Daisy Monroe wasn't like the others. She didn't need to scream power. She was power.
Even when she said no.
Especially when she said no.
---
I watched her sip the bourbon, watched the way she didn't even blink when I offered her a place beside me.
Most people would've begged.
She refused.
But not with arrogance. With control.
And control is what I crave most.
*************
"She refused?" Hardin asked after she left.
"No," I said, eyes still on the door she'd walked out of. "She's thinking."
"What makes you so sure?" Hardin questions
"Because she didn't slam it."
I leaned back in my chair, looking at the glass she left on the table.
Half-full. Lip gloss on the rim.
She may not work for me. Not yet. But she's already in the game.
And soon…She'll be mine.
Hardin's phone buzz, he glanced at the screen , his expression changed immediately.
"Boss, there is a problem"
Hardin said..
I know that look on his face.
"Spew it!" I commanded
"Xavier is in the country"
I clenched my fist . That name gives me a sour feeling at the pit of my stomach.
TO BE CONTINUED .....