PROLOGUE

ZARAH

He has been following me since I rounded the block— and I just entered the back alley of my apartment.

Honestly, I'm a bit tired of men stalking me like I'm some prey to play with before they attack.

Well, I guess we'll soon know who the prey really is here.

Leaning on the back door of the apartment building I've been staying at for almost a year now, I cough loudly into the dark, feigning weakness.

The man that has been following me stops. I sense him more than I see him, and I cough louder, dropping to the floor this time.

Slowly but surely, the footsteps become louder, closer, and my breath stills. Waiting.

He reaches my side and his hand stretches to touch me.

Too bad.

I extend my leg, kicking his, and he loses his footing.

In a blink, I'm on my feet, and I reach out to grab him, but he rolls out of my reach and to the other side of the alley.

He glances around, and I follow his gaze. There's a bin blocking half the path on one side, and the road is clear on the other side of the alley.

But I'd bet all my dwindling money he'll choose to fight me.

He balls his fingers into a fist, and in the dark, I don't see his face, just a glimmer of black where it should be.

A mask.

Well, I'll be damned.

He charges at me, and I let him tackle me like a street thug, barreling into me, his hands locked around my waist.

I angle my elbow and ram it into his back. Once. Twice. Thrice.

He balks, and his grip loosens.

Seizing the opportunity, I thrust my knee up, hitting him in the gut.

Adrenaline ceases my body, setting fire to my blood.

Before he can recover, I pull him by his hoodie and swing my fist in a punch.

He catches it with his palm, shoves my hand out of the way, and headbutts me.

His forehead connects with mine with a slam, and my world shifts for a second.

Pain explodes in my skull, radiating across my head and eyes.

Damn, I could be seeing stars.

I shake my head barely in time to see him swing a punch at me.

Staggering to the side, the metallic tang of blood coats my teeth and tongue.

Fuck. Just fuck.

Another punch—this time my blurry vision is clearing, but his hit lands, the force plummeting me to the ground.

My heart lurches to my throat, beating fast.

Fuck. This is gonna be bloody.

"I just want to talk," he speaks for the first time, walking towards me slowly, like a predator stalking its prey.

That's a little insulting to me.

He bends over me, his face hovering over mine.

"Talk, my foot." I pull him by his collar and slam his head into the ground by the side of my face.

"Fu—" he muffles a curse with his groans and yelps as I straddle him and hit him over and over again.

"What did you want to do?"

I hook my fingers under his mask and pull, but he holds my hands in place.

"Please, please," he coughs out, his voice barely holding like an extinguished flame. He's out of breath. "They'll kill me if you see my face."

"What?" My fingers stop their onslaught.

"I know about your dad."

Well, that does the trick. My hands soften on his neck, but my grip remains firm. My pulse skyrockets in tune, weighing his words.

What does he know? How does he know?

"What are you talking about?" I ask, carefully, racking my head.

"Please let me go first."

"And I'm supposed to do that?" I arch my brow even if he can't see it. My attacker is swaying from side to side in my eyes. I blink and jerk my head.

I'd probably have a concussion.

But whatever this man is about to say better be important.

"He was murdered."

"Yeah, no shit. It was a bullet wound." Even as I say the words, the pang of pain cuts sharp in my heart and I squeeze his collar even tighter.

"We know who did it."

With lightning speed, I pull my knife from my pocket with one hand and place it by the sliver of skin on his neck that the mask leaves open.

I let the sharp knife graze his skin, drawing red in its wake.

"Think carefully about what you're about to say." My voice is low, a growl even I don't recognize.

"We know that the police closed the case, but we also know who did it. A common enemy. And we can help you take him out."

Why does this fucker know so much? And what else does he know? About me?

"And what proof do you have?" I grip his collar harder.

"My left pocket."

"Your left or my left?"

"Your left."

I glance around for a second.

Then, keeping my armed hand by his neck, I tap his pocket twice and pull out a phone.

Releasing him, I hold my knife in one hand, still at his neck and turn on the phone.

A video immediately starts playing.

It's black and white and a little blurry, but even with that, there's no mistaking the man in the video. The all-too-familiar limp and the hairs greying at the side of his head.

My father.

From the high angle, it's likely CCTV footage.

My eyes scan the surface of the screen, and I spot the timestamp at the top right corner of the video.

It's the date he was killed.

Like wind, I rush to my now crouching attacker, my knife at his throat before he can even blink.

"A name. Now."

"Dante Romano."

Honestly, I expected more struggle before giving up the name.

Romano. I've heard that name before. I just can't remember where or when.

A company. No. Not just that. He's—

Whoa.

My attacker pushes me. The soft breeze rushes through me as I fall back into the alley.

My attacker sprints away in a half limp.

meh, I'd also runaway from me if I could.

I make to run after him, but my head spins, and fucker isn't even worth it.

Romano.

Now it's my turn to sprint—into the apartment building, up the stairs, and into my room.

Taking a deep breath, I pull the box from under my bed.

My hands tremble, and tears sting my eyes as I lift open the lid.

I suck in a breath as I stared at the contents of he box. Everything I could salvage before his apartment was demolished.

I shut the stirring pain out.

If my dad knew any Romano, it would be in his...

The belt. The black belt he gave me when I officially beat him in hand-to-hand combat.

I swallow hard, pushing it aside and taking out his journal. I glance away from the items in the box.

They were too many I locked along with the memories they carried.

Swiping through the pages, all I see is "the girls,"

"The company,"

And on the last page, "They all know, even the boss."

Romano?

I grab my laptop and type the name in.

The results pour in.

Dante Romano, CEO of Romano Group.

All the news articles and trends about him.

Even the boss, huh?

Rage flares in my chest. A fire that long since burned out.

But now, it's crackling. A living flame and all I want to do is burn everything to the ground with it.

Tears wet my face as I stared at the name scribbled on the journal.

Dante Romano.

I guess I'll be your new predator.