The Wicked Princess Returns: Breaking the Arrogant Heir

Alessa POV

Kinsey scrambled backward on the asphalt like a crab, his hands hovering over his ruined mouth. Blood poured through his fingers, staining the pristine cuffs of his dress shirt a deep, violent crimson. He made a sound—a wet, gurgling noise that might have been a command if he still had the teeth to articulate it.

"Kill them!" one of his Associates interpreted, his voice cracking with panic. "Get them!"

Three of the Blair men surged forward. They were clumsy, driven by the desperate need to save face rather than actual courage. They made the mistake of thinking numbers mattered.

I didn't even flinch. I simply checked the time on my diamond-encrusted watch.

Kris moved. It was a blur of motion, efficient and terrifyingly silent. She didn't waste energy on theatrics. She stepped into the guard of the first man, a sickening thud echoing as a palm strike connected with a windpipe. The man dropped, gasping for air that wouldn't come. The second man reached for a weapon, but Kris was already there, sweeping his legs out from under him and driving a boot into his ribs before he hit the ground.

The third man froze, his eyes darting between his fallen comrades and the monster standing before him. Kris tilted her head, her expression hidden behind a dark mask, waiting.

The Associate dropped his hands, backing away. Smart choice.

I walked over to where Kinsey lay panting in the slush. The arrogance that had defined him ten minutes ago had been replaced by the raw, animalistic terror of a prey realizing it was not the predator.

"Look at you," I cooed, my voice dripping with false sympathy. I used the toe of my boot to nudge his chin up. His eyes were wide, watery, and filled with hate. "You're a mess, Kinsey."

He spat a glob of blood at my boot. It missed by inches. "*M-my m-mother...*" he slurred, the words mangled by the gap in his teeth.

"Yes, your mother," I said, stepping back and looking down at him with cold disdain. "Go home to her. Cry on her lap. And when you're done, tell Claudine that Alessa Moreno sends her regards. Tell her I'm coming to collect everything she owes us."

I turned on my heel, the adrenaline humming pleasantly in my veins. Kris fell into step behind me as I slid into the driver's seat of my Pagani. The engine roared to life, a beast waking up, drowning out the pathetic whimpers of the Blair heir.

I didn't look back as I peeled away from the curb, leaving the carnage of the Gold Coast behind.

*

The drive to the Moreno estate was a blur of city lights and speed. My blood was still hot, the violence acting like a stimulant stronger than any espresso. When I turned onto the private road leading to the estate, I didn't lift my foot off the gas.

The iron gates loomed ahead, flanked by high stone walls and surveillance cameras. Usually, one slowed down to a crawl for identification. I accelerated.

The tires screeched in protest as I drifted around the fountain in the main courtyard, coming to a halt inches from the bumper of a parked SUV. Dust swirled in the headlights.

Before the engine had even died, a young Soldier I didn't recognize was marching toward my door. He looked fresh, his suit ill-fitting, his face flushed with self-righteous indignation.

"Hey!" he shouted, slapping his hand on the hood of my car. "Are you crazy? The speed limit on the grounds is fifteen! Step out of the vehicle, now!"

I opened the door, stepping out slowly. The cold wind whipped my hair around my face, but my glare was steady. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me!" The rookie puffed out his chest, reaching for the radio on his belt. " reckless driving is a violation of security protocol. I'm going to have to report this to the Capo—"

"*Cazzo!*" (Fuck!)

The shout came from the guard booth. Leo, a veteran Soldier with graying temples and a scar running through his eyebrow, sprinted toward us. He didn't stop until he was within striking distance of the rookie, and then he delivered a sharp, open-handed slap to the back of the boy's head.

"Shut your mouth, idiot!" Leo hissed, shoving the stunned rookie aside.

Leo turned to me, his posture shifting instantly from aggression to deep respect. He bowed his head slightly. "Principessa. My apologies. He's new. He doesn't know the faces yet."

I looked at the rookie, who was rubbing his head, eyes wide with confusion and dawning horror as he realized he had just tried to arrest a Moreno.

"Teach him, Leo," I said coolly, smoothing the lapels of my jacket. "Before someone less patient than me decides to teach him with a bullet."

"Of course, Principessa. It won't happen again." Leo snapped his fingers, and another guard immediately drove up in a customized golf cart, the seats upholstered in white leather. A bottle of San Pellegrino and a small plate of biscotti sat in the cup holder.

"Don Alfonzo has been expecting you," Leo said, opening the door of the cart for me. "He gave orders that you were to be brought to his study the moment you arrived."

I paused. My grandfather knew. Of course he knew. News of Kinsey's public mutilation would have traveled faster than the wind in this city.

I reached into my purse, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and tossed them at Leo. He caught the bundle reflexively.

"For the trouble," I said, climbing into the cart. I glanced at the rookie one last time. "And buy him a new suit. He looks like a funeral director."

As the cart whisked me toward the imposing front doors of the main house, I took a sip of the sparkling water. The bubbles bit at my tongue, sharp and refreshing. The Don was waiting. Most people would be trembling at the prospect of explaining a street war to the head of the family.

I just smiled. Let them wait. The Queen was back on the board.