COPYRIGHT

  Queen of Vice by Natalie Bennett

  © 2024 by Natalie Bennett. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without the written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where the publisher or author specifically grants permission.

  Cover by Tiffany R

  Editing by: Pinpoint

  Dedication

  For those who dance with danger and fall in love with the darkness.

  AUTHOR NOTE

  Hello! This is an ADVANCED READERS COPY.

  Before you dive into the dark, twisted world of Old Money, I want to give you a heads-up. This story explores intense themes, including power dynamics, manipulation, and the complexities of a relationship that teeters on the edge of obsession. As the story unfolds, especially in the second book, the FMC will be pushed to her limits in ways that will leave no part of her unscathed. Brace yourselves, because her journey is raw, gritty, and unapologetically dark. If these themes are something you need to be mindful of, please proceed with caution.

  A CW can be found in the back of the book.

  Please keep in mind, this is a work of fiction. Mateo is intentionally crafted as a character who embodies darkness and complexity—he’s not designed to be romanticized or admired, but rather understood (or hated) for exactly who he is as his story unfolds.

  This story was previously Queen of Diamonds. It has been rewritten from front to back in duet form with significant changes, new content, deeper layers, and an altered storyline, all while staying true to the heart of the original. Whether you’re revisiting this tale or experiencing it for the first time, I hope you enjoy!

  XOXOX

  -NAT

  Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  Dedication

  AUTHOR NOTE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CONTENT WARNING

  CHAPTER ONE

  Elena

  If you have a gut feeling that something is off about a person or situation, listen to it. Most of the time, your intuition is trying to warn you and paying attention to it can prevent future regrets. Believe me, I wish I had followed my own advice. But even if I had, I'm not sure it would have made any difference.

  1 week prior

  Despite the oppressive humidity, a chill ran down my spine, alerting me that something was wrong. As I rushed towards the worn bungalow with its shabby shingles and creaky wooden stairs, the feeling only intensified.

  It was already past four in the morning, so there shouldn't have been anyone awake. However, every light in the house was on, causing a sense of unease to wash over me. The hairs on my arms stood on end as I became acutely aware of being watched. I stopped and looked around cautiously, but the street was deserted except for a few stray cats seeking shelter on the porch of the abandoned house next door.

  With a deep breath, I quickened my pace. Walking home always made me nervous, especially in this sketchy neighborhood. But I had no other choice--my car had a flat tire and without a spare, walking was my only option if I wanted to keep my job. Balancing precariously between getting by and utter poverty, I didn't have the luxury of choice. As I passed through the rusty gate and made my way up the pathway, I scanned for any signs of danger.

  Fishing my keys out of my pocket, I inserted the one for the front door into the lock and to my surprise, it wasn’t locked. Alarm bells started ringing in my head--this was not the kind of neighborhood you made the mistake of leaving your door open in. I twisted the handle and pushed hard, but the door wouldn't budge. It was definitely blocked by something. I knocked twice, hoping for a response, but there was nothing. I made my way quickly to the other side of the house, my heart racing as I reached the back. I froze the moment I saw the splintered doorframe.

  There was no sound coming from inside, just an eerie silence. With cautious steps, I pulled out my cellphone from my bag and prepared myself for what I might find inside. I knew now that something was definitely wrong. Despite the urge to call the police, I remembered the warnings instilled in me since childhood: never involve the local law enforcement if things go awry.

  I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, taking in the chaos. The fridge was pulled out from its usual spot, with its contents scattered across the floor. Dishes were broken and groceries were spilled from the cabinets. Creeping around the disrepair, I headed to the living room. Everything was overturned. Couch cushions were ripped apart and the TV screen was shattered. The loveseat frame had been torn apart, blocking the front door. As I walked towards the hallway, I made sure not to step on any of our tiny goldfish that lay lifeless on the soggy Berber carpet. Their once-golden bellies were now a pale white color.

  I passed by our tiny bathroom, and couldn't help but glance inside, half expecting to find someone lurking in the shadows. Like all the other rooms, it had been vandalized - the small mirror was shattered and the curtain rod ripped from its place. I swallowed hard and quickly turned my attention away, knowing that my room had probably suffered a similar fate.

  With trembling hands, I pushed my aunt's bedroom door open further, hesitant to see what lay beyond. The scent of tobacco, perspiration, and...something metallic filled my nostrils. My gaze fell upon the figure on the bed, and a guttural cry escaped my lips as I struggled to process what was before me. Her nightgown was ripped to shreds, barely clinging to her body. Her skin was covered in deep purple bruises, and it seemed as if her entire left side had caved in. I quickly backed away, bumping into the wall behind me in my rush to flee the room. I tripped twice, forcing myself to swallow back the sour taste of bile rising in my throat.

  “This can’t be real,” gasped for air. My trembling hands fumbled with my phone's screen as I scrolled through my contacts, struggling to see through the blur of tears. It took me three attempts to locate the name of the one person I had desperately hoped I would never have to reach out to. It was on the second ring a fresh wave of dread washed over me.

  I had no idea where my sister was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  present

  Funerals aren’t for the dead.

  Think about it. Why would the deceased care what color their casket is or how many people showed up to see them off? Funerals were nothing more than social gatherings for those of us left behind after someone passed on. Being here, this whole ordeal was supposed to offer closure, a final goodbye. To me, it felt like a cruel reminder of the void that had been left in my life. The empty chair at the dinner table, the voice that I would no longer hear.

  Not a single fucking person present would care as much as I did. I was positive the woman three rows back—who had shown up in a tight red dress—somehow confused the cemetery with a nightclub. Quite a few were whispering amongst themselves as the reverend spoke. Some had begun playing on their phones as if they couldn’t be bothered pretending to give a damn.

  It took everything in me to keep myself calm and not make a scene. I kept my eyes trained ahead on the two identical cream caskets sitting side by side. One contained someone irreplaceable and dear to my heart. The other was a painful illusion, nothing but an empty box. My estranged family thought this was for the best. Let people grieve an imaginary death versus the never-ending theories and rumors that came when someone went missing.

  The problem was that I knew the truth.

  It kept me awake at night and burrowed into my chest, creating a consistent pain that had me physically and mentally worn down. I wanted to be numb, to feel nothing. It was my curse to feel everything. I’d managed to keep it together thus far, but I wasn’t sure what the point was. The blatant disrespect I had to endure was a harsh reminder that the Castello family wasn’t the powerhouse they’d once been.

  There were hardly any of them left. My parents would be sick with rage if they were alive to see what their legacy had become.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the service to conclude. I’d say it lasted twenty minutes tops, but I couldn’t be entirely sure. There were no passionate speeches or last-minute sobs of despair. It was simply over and done with. My aunt would be forgotten before the first mound of dirt hit the top of her casket vault. That was no different than how she’d lived her life, shoved into a decrepit corner far away from Vice City to struggle and rot. She’d never been given a fair chance, but then nothing in life was ever fair, was it?

  I stood and smoothed down my black asymmetrical dress. It was so hot outside sweat had begun gathering between my breasts and thighs. My uncle, Luis, stood with me, leaning down to ask, “How are you holding up?”

  I hated that question. Were people ever really expected to answer Good? Fine?
Doing great?

  Giving him a tight smile to appease the nosey masses, I responded quietly. “I’m having the time of my life.”

  A flash of irritation marred his features, my sarcasm impossible to miss. I didn’t care. He hadn’t wanted to do things this way. He’d wanted a cremation for my aunt and a burial for the one person that wasn’t present. It had been a large source of tension between us. My grandmother had swiftly shut him down before things got violent. It was a wise choice, otherwise, Uncle Luis would’ve needed an urn for his damn self. Molly may not have been my aunt by blood, but she was more family than he would ever be. She didn’t deserve to die the way she had or to be judged by a man who never knew her.

  “Come, my dear, it’s almost over.” Grandma Laurel’s gentle voice broke me out of my bitter reverie.

  She held her arm out and I gently took hold of it, letting her guide me back towards the fleet of waiting luxury vehicles. I tried to avoid looking at anyone too long, but I couldn’t do anything about the lingering stares aimed my way. I wished I could make myself invisible, or that all these people would go back to forgetting my existence. It was the fucked-up clandestine world they thrived in that continued to take everyone I loved away from me.

  God, I hated this place. My eyes began to burn again, to the point of aching. I bit down on the inside of my lip until I tasted blood. I refused to let any tears fall. I wouldn’t cry in front of these soulless, vile assholes. My gaze wandered to where a cadre of men stood observing from afar. An invisible boundary separated them from everyone else in attendance.

  They exuded an aura distinctly their own. Even their suits appeared to be cut from a cloth of regality that the others lacked. Among them was one man who solely captured the essence of their difference. I blinked to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

  Why the hell was he here?

  Our eyes locked in a silent exchange. It was a fleeting connection, but within those few seconds, I became the sole focus of his intense scrutiny. I tore my gaze away and refocused on where I was going. I didn't know what the hell that was about, but I had a bad feeling about it.

  I started to think my grandmother was wrong.

  This wasn’t close to being over.

  It hadn’t even begun.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I adjusted the Bulgari sunglasses my grandmother had thoughtfully provided. The lens concealed my true feelings on the hollow sympathies and perfunctory condolences of the attendees. I crafted a veneer of composure, a brittle facade that belied the turmoil that threatened to surface. Standing with the only family I had left, the thread of my thoughts frayed as I grappled with the uncertainty of whether I had taken my medication. It was a precarious moment to be uncertain, not the time nor the place to rectify such an oversight.

  "My deepest condolences."

  The words were a repetitive chorus from unfamiliar faces, each utterance accompanied by an insincere, forced look of grief. Give me a fucking break. These people had no idea who my aunt was. I wasn’t sure if the same could be said about my sister because she lived a life separate from us, but I would bet less than half actually gave a damn about her either.

  They were here to be seen and see me like I was some roadside freak show. There was no end to the questions or speculation about my abrupt arrival and sudden reappearance. Those that weren’t offering bullshit sympathies were laughing, and conversing as if we were at an annual get-together instead of a wake.

  “I’ll be right back.” I gently touched my grandmother’s shoulder and gave her a small smile, excusing myself. I felt eyes all over me as I crossed the room, unable to block out what everyone was saying.

  “She looks just like her.”

  “I thought she was dead too.”

  “Where do you think she’s been?”

  I let the voices wash over me, unheeded, as I made my way to the ladies' room at the back of the building. The door swung open to reveal a trio huddled over the sink. It took a moment for the scene to sink in. "Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me?” The words bounced off the walls.

  I didn’t care who heard me. My reservoir of concern for our image was depleted. A curvy blonde was now looking at me like I was the one doing something wrong. I shook my head and promptly exited before I acted on the thought of slamming her face into the goddamn mirror. The audacity to do that here of all places was just the cherry on top of a spectacular day. I couldn’t care less that she wanted to get high, that was her own screwed-up prerogative but there was a time and a place, and this was neither. She didn’t even try to hide the powder on the rim of her nostril.

  Suddenly needing a breath of fresh air, I veered sharply left, escaping the oppressive atmosphere of the venue for the sanctuary of the patio. The imperative to shield my emotions was at a critical juncture, and my defenses were dangerously close to crumbling. The instant I emerged outdoors, the sun greeted me with an unforgiving blaze, though its harshness was tempered by a soothing breeze that whispered promises of comfort.

  I found solace at the edge of the patio, resting against the cool stone of the balustrade with a heavy exhale. Weariness seeped through my bones. I wanted to run away and sink into the solace of my bed, yet I dreaded the restless thoughts that awaited me when I got there. It was surreal to think a whole week had slipped by. There were still so many questions yet to be answered, the most crucial being where my sister was and who did this. The coroner told us my aunt was sexually assaulted by at least two men, beaten so badly her brain bled, and then shot in the head twice--postmortem.

  It wasn’t the bullets that killed her, but the violence of the assault. I kept asking myself what kind of vile human being could do something like this? What had Molly done to deserve it? The answer was rhetorical. No one should ever have to go through what she did, to die in such a slow horrific way. She would’ve felt every ounce of inflicted pain, knowing no one was coming to save her.

  Even worse, I knew she would have begged. My aunt would have pleaded for her life and in the end, was given no amount of mercy. It made me sick to my stomach. She was one of the kindest, most selfless people I’d ever met and would ever know. At my mother’s behest, she’d taken me and my sister into her home without a second thought a few months after we’d turned twelve. What was meant to be a temporary situation became permanent after our parents died.

  I hated to think the incidents were related. Eleven years was a long time to hold a grudge but nothing else made sense. And I knew better. In the cruel currency of this world, debts were settled in blood. My aunt had paid the ultimate price. So whose debt did she acquire? I had no one to answer that question. I couldn’t ask Grandma, who pretended I was as delicate as blown glass. And even if he knew, Uncle Luis wouldn’t tell me the truth because he was a misogynistic, sexist asshole.

  Gazing down at the koi gliding through their sculpted aquatic haven, I couldn’t help but envy the simplicity of their existence. If only my greatest concern was swimming in circles until someone offered me food. It was a sad contrast to the complexity of my own existence, which seemed to have been reduced to a tapestry woven with threads of grief and anger. So immersed in my head, I sensed his approach too late, the silent footsteps behind me barely registering in my distracted mind.

  "Some people have a complete disregard for respect, don't they?"

  I spun around to face him and instinctively stepped back—a terrible move on my end. Fuck. First at the cemetery and now here? I was the very last person this man should’ve been paying attention to. Worse, I couldn’t just walk away from him, which left me no choice but to remain where I was. I kept my posture straight, refusing to let his towering frame completely overshadow mine.

  I’d seen him maybe once or twice before, years ago when I was just a girl and had my father as a barrier between us. Now that I was seeing him again—older and a little wiser—I had a better understanding of why women were drawn to him. His hair, the color of onyx, fell just right, managing to appear both meticulously arranged and effortlessly elegant. His suit had been tailored to accentuate every line and curve of his form.

  My eyes traced the outline of an expensive watch circling a wrist that led to hands of noticeable largeness. A hint of ink trailed from under his cuffs, etched into his deep golden skin. The angular cut of his jaw could have graced any high-end ad, sharp and edged with precision, shadowed by a trim of stubble. Yet, unlike the polished models of glossy commercials, he radiated an unrefined, raw aura of masculinity.