1
ZARA
What is a person without memory? A wandering ghost, drifting through life half alive, half dead? A captive trapped inside a hollow, merciless mind, clawing to fill the gaps? Mine has failed me. It carved out a chunk of my past, leaving me to piece together what remains. Years later, the full picture still eludes me.
I roll the ring on the fourth finger of my left hand, the only physical reminder of what I lost. I was engaged once. To a man I forgot as if he had never existed. I couldn’t have invented him, because an engagement means I loved and was loved.
I remember the feeling, but not my dead fiancé. Like my brain, my heart is a blank space, a vacuum that swallowed all the memories into a black hole. Nothing trickles out, only grief for something I can’t remember.
My chances of finding out what happened on that fateful day were obliterated by my father’s death. No one else was alive to tell me the truth.
Not going mad has been challenging. A challenge I overcame by working.
My father’s empire almost crumbled, and from the deepest despair, I created an identity on the ashes of my former self.
My trusted right-hand man, Conrad, helped me become what I am—from gun-trafficking heiress to arms mogul. Tucked in the heart of Wisconsin, on thousands of acres of land, I built a compound with training facilities, weapons development, and shipment operations—an impenetrable fortress where I rule.
My business invites danger, but I can’t complain. Dealing in death is a high-risk endeavor. I’m more accustomed to breathing in gunpowder than oxygen.
From my home office window, my land stretches as far as the eye can see, the thick forest providing a natural shield around me. The sun touches the tips of the trees, casting shadows on the land and marking the beginning of summer, while permanent winter resides in my soul, stuck in the cold unknown.
In the distance, I hear bullets and grunting, the sounds reminding me how far I’ve come. My men train for special ops worldwide. My weapons go to the highest bidder. I didn’t sell my soul to the devil. He snatched it right after I woke with no recollection.
I once read that in times of peace, you prepare for war. All I’ve known is war. And war finds me, I guess. After everything I’ve witnessed, I’ve concluded that peace is as far away from humanity as absolution is from the ultimate sinners.
“Are you going?” Conrad asks, yanking me out of my thoughts.
I stare out the window as if there’s a door leading to my past. “You don’t say no to the King of New York.”
“Everyone will be there. I don’t like it. Your safety––” Conrad says, his voice thick with concern.
I wave him off, unperturbed. I dance with death to danger’s tune. “Nothing will happen.”
While I cherish his worry, I don’t fear for my safety. Tristan Kinkaid does nothing without a strategy. He wouldn’t risk his wedding ending in a bloodbath. That means I don’t have to worry about tiptoeing a fine line—my land ensures an invisible bridge between the East and West Coasts. My alliance to the Syndicate is one thing, but my business knows no loyalty.
“The Syndicate won’t like you still meeting with BRACON. You need to think strategically, Zara. Consider marrying?—”
I spin around, stabbing him with a hard stare. “I don’t need a man.”
He arches a brow, undeterred. “No, but you need a partner. Tristan found a way.”
What Conrad implies is that I should find a loophole—some way to keep doing business with the West Coast while remaining an associate of the Syndicate.
The Syndicate staged a cull a few years ago. Only a few associates remained, and I am one of them. The alliance has proved beneficial, and I shouldn’t risk it, but it would be plain stupid to miss out on the opportunities BRACON and the Council bring. Calla Ferrara is the head of the latter, and I appreciate a woman leading such a powerful organization. In the underworld, we are few, so we should support each other.
I recall the other unmarried associates. Rafe Moreno, the cartel boss of Miami, and Vian Giancana, the Chicago mafia boss––a man who is as enigmatic as he is captivating. He intrigues me, strangely drawing me in.
I twist my engagement ring back into place as if clinging to the past. The movement grounds me even as it maddens me, and a deep sigh rocks my chest. I know I can’t continue like this. For my well-being and my business’s prosperity, pragmatism is required.
Conrad doesn’t break eye contact as he says, “You can’t postpone the issue any longer.”
“I’m not entering an arranged marriage with someone who could remind me I needed him.”
I survive just fine on my own. I’ll deal with the Syndicate, but my inner voice urges caution. That’s the only reason I continue this conversation.
“That won’t be the case. Be reasonable. What you’re doing is betrayal, and betrayal means death.”
I should heed the reminder, but it’s not greed that drives me; it is the desire to build a legacy.
