I hissed and spat a mouthful of blood onto the snow. “You hit like a girl.”
The words escaped me before I thought better of them.
Ivan stepped back and glanced at the head of the Tijuana Cartel. “She’s all yours.”
Then he was gone. A set of rough hands reached for me, and I was thrown over a shoulder. I swallowed a pained gasp and lifted my head to find Santiago and Junior following behind me.
They looked at each other, their sadistic expressions reaching new heights.
Beyond them, the first flickers of dawn peeked through the dense forest, throwing shades of cerulean, amethyst, and coral across the horizon. I could make out parts of the compound as my captors led me away, and I threw a silent plea out to my sister that she’d find her way out of this hell.
It was then I made a vow. I vowed to become their worst nightmare, that I’d make them suffer. Not even God could save anyone who dared stand in my way.
The world would see how evil Liana Volkov could be. There’d be no more villains in this world, only me.
The villainess.
ONE
GIOVANNI
Present
Istood in front of the sprawling mansion, wondering if I was making a mistake. I owed nothing to the Volkov girl, yet here I was. It had been eating at me for the past eight years. I felt responsible since I did nothing when I’d first met the other Volkov twin… at her wedding to my uncle.
So there it was. A guilty conscience brought me to the doorstep of Kingston Ashford and Louisa Volkov in Portugal. Despite the late hour and being well outside the city proper, Avenidas Novas bustled with people, music, and laughter.
But all my attention was on the high walls in front of me… Ones that I imagined offered a sense of safety to those on the other side. A few smaller outposts were scattered nearby, lowering the risk of snipers, but the surveillance cameras watching every angle of the property sent a clear message.
If anyone showed up unannounced, they’d be swarmed by guards and shot on the spot without hesitation.
I lit up a cigarette, placed it in my mouth, and stepped forward, positioning myself directly in front of the gate. As expected, the gate opened and two guards appeared out of thin air. Kingston Ashford had trained them well.
“Hands up where we can see them,” one of the guards boomed in thickly accented English. The sound of a clicking gun came from behind me. “Now.”
Cigarette still in my mouth, I did as I was told, then slowly spun around. A guard held a gun at his side, his attention on me, while another pointed an AK-47 in my direction.
“Mr. Agosti?” he spluttered, his eyes widening.
“One and only.”
He relaxed his stance, holstering his weapon. “My apologies, you’re a day early.”
I smirked, taking the cigarette out of my mouth.
“I’m busy for the next several weeks. I figured my gracious hosts wouldn’t mind. I certainly won’t make the same assumption next time.” His brow furrowed and he shared a glance with the other guard, but said nothing. I motioned at him when he remained immobile. “Now, take me to your boss.”
He puffed his chest out.
“Right away, Mr. Agosti,” he faltered, his voice hesitant when he continued, “Or should I call you Mr. Tijuana?”
I gritted my teeth at the last name, the bitter reminder of my mother’s betrayal and lies. “Agosti is fine.”
The Agosti name was on my birth certificate. It was the name I grew up with. As a boy and young man, I was proud of it. It garnered respect and fear.
But it turned out that I wasn’t an Agosti at all. Imagine everyone’s surprise when Santiago Tijuana reached out, naming mehissole heir. Oh, the fucking irony.
Of all the people in the world, my mother had spread her legs for Santiago Tijuana’s brother. And because Santiago—myuncle, as it turned out—had a sick sense of humor and lost his only son, I’d found myself as the head of the Tijuana Cartel.
