Page 1 of Seeking Vengeance

1

Layla

I placea sweaty hand on the restaurant door, my fingers holding the slightest tremble of anticipation as skin meets glass.

I’ve waited two years for this.

No. It took two years to know Ineededthis.

The retaliation.

The validation of revenge.

Two years where I forced myself to believe I was a bigger person, when in reality I’m nothing but a carbon copy of the monsters I’m now determined to end.

I shift my fake glasses farther along my nose and push my way inside, the aroma of fresh basil sinking deep into my lungs.

I discovered Perfezione on my last excursion to Denver, my novice detective work leading me to this Italian masterpiece with immaculately polished china, pristine tablecloths, and sparkling chandeliers.

A last-minute no-show was the only reason I gained a reservation when I previously walked through these doors. And an insanely generous tip secured a seat for tonight.

This place doesn’t do walk-ins. It does millionaires and prestige. High-class and pomposity.

I give my fake name to the maître d’ and keep my expression impassive as a young, slim waitress escorts me to my table—the two-seater I requested in the far back corner, right next to the window.

She pulls out the chair closest to the wall, but that’s not where I want to be. I decline the offer with a polite smile and reach for the opposite seat, descending into the padded cushion with my back to the room.

There’s a beat of confusion in her expression. The slightest pause where she looks at me in judgment for picking this position instead of hers. “Is someone else joining you, Ms. Javernick?”

I give a subtle shake of my head, the strands of my fake blonde wig skimming my cheeks. “Not tonight. It’s just me.”

There’s another pause. Another perplexed glimpse asking why I wouldn’t want to stare at the restaurant’s opulence instead of the plain cream wallpaper. Then she nods and increases the wattage of her beaming smile. “Can I get you something to drink?” She hands over a leather-bound menu and grabs my cloth napkin to delicately place it on my lap.

“White wine, please. Pinot Grigio if possible.”

She inclines her head. “Of course.”

I’m left alone, the hum of conversation brushing my ears and adrenaline warming my veins. But it’s the intoxicating promise of vengeance that consumes my thoughts.

The past few months have been filled with one idea after the next, each potential strike against my enemy joining a long list of possibilities.

I’ve contemplated financial ruin, family destruction. I’ve even humored the idea of loss of life. Nothing is off-limits. Nothing can be if I want to sleep peacefully in the future. Because this isn’t just revenge. It’s also vindication. I need to earn back the respect of those I love.

My wine arrives while I scan the menu, my eyes reading the words despite my wild mind not letting them sink in. I’m too eager, my nervous energy ratcheting my pulse and feeding my vicious hunger.

I still have many questions to answer before I strike.

I haven’t decided if I’ll outsource the attack—physical or otherwise.

Mercenaries are an option, however trusting a stranger is an issue. I have the stomach to do it on my own, though. Murder won’t haunt my conscience. I already have a vial of cyanide in my purse posing as cocaine, the poisonous powder awaiting an unwilling victim. It’s the panic over a lengthy jail sentence that gives me pause.

Either way, I won’t reignite a war in the middle of a five-star restaurant. Tonight is merely reconnaissance.

I’m two sips into my alcoholic relief when a skitter of awareness shimmies down my spine, awakening my nerves.

They’re here.

I can’t see them. Can’t even hear them yet. But I know the Costa family has arrived.

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