The Wicked Princess Returns: Breaking the Arrogant Heir

Alessa POV "Drop him," I said. The command was barely a whisper, lost to the wind, but Kris heard it. She always did. Her fingers opened. Kinsey didn't have time to scream again. One moment he was flailing against the gray winter sky, and the next, gravity claimed him. He didn't fall like a man; he fell like a sack of wet laundry, limbs loose and uncoordinated. He hit the pavement with a sound that made my stomach tighten—a wet, heavy crunch that echoed off the brick facades of the surrounding buildings. It was the sound of expensive bone snapping under the weight of arrogance. A collective gasp ripped through the crowd of Associates and doormen. For a second, nobody moved. Kinsey lay in a heap on the dirty slush, his left leg bent at an angle that nature never intended. Then, the screaming started. A raw, guttural wail of agony that shattered the sophisticated veneer of the Gold Coast. "You bitch!" one of the Blair Associates roared, his hand twitching toward the inside of his jacket. "Do you have any idea what you've done? This is war! Not even Felton Moreno can save you from this!" I didn't even look at him. My eyes were fixed on the writhing form of Kinsey Blair. "Save me?" I repeated, my voice amused. "I'm not the one on the ground screaming for his mother." I stepped away from the warmth of my Pagani, the heels of my boots clicking rhythmically against the asphalt as I approached the fallen heir. The circle of men parted for me, fear warring with their loyalty. They knew who I was. They knew that touching a Moreno, especially one with a pet monster like Kris, was a one-way ticket to a shallow grave. Kinsey was clutching his shin, his face pale and slick with sweat. When his eyes met mine, the pain in them was momentarily eclipsed by pure, unadulterated hatred. "My leg..." he hissed through gritted teeth. "You broke my leg." I stopped a few feet away, looking down at him with the same detached interest one might show a roadkill. "You should be grateful, Kinsey. If I had let Kris handle you her way, you wouldn't be breathing." I tilted my head, letting a cruel smile play on my lips. "Look at you. All that bravado, all that talk, and you crumble the moment you hit the real world. Tell me, does Elizbeth Shields know her little puppy breaks so easily?" The mention of her name acted like a shot of adrenaline. Kinsey pushed himself up on his elbows, spitting blood onto the snow. His vanity was bruised far worse than his body. "Don't you speak her name!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "You're nothing but a washed-up exile! A *puttana* (whore) who thinks she still matters!" Foam mixed with blood at the corners of his mouth as his fury mounted. He pointed a shaking finger at me. "I'm going to make you pay for this, Alessa. When my mother is done with your family, I'm going to find you. I'm going to cut out that pretty tongue of yours and put it in a box! It'll make a perfect birthday gift for Elizbeth!" The street went silent again. Even his own men looked uneasy. In our world, specific threats of mutilation were not thrown around lightly. They were promises. And promises had to be answered. I didn't recoil. I didn't blink. I felt a cold, sharp clarity settle over me. This was exactly what I needed. He had just given me the justification for escalation. "My tongue?" I asked softly. I reached up, tapping a manicured fingernail against my lower lip. "That's a very specific price, Kinsey." I turned my head slightly. Kris had already descended from the balcony. I hadn't seen her move, but suddenly she was there, standing just behind Kinsey's head like the Grim Reaper's shadow. "He wants my tongue, Kris," I said, my tone conversational. "That seems unfair. I think we should take a down payment first." I looked back down at Kinsey, my eyes devoid of mercy. "Take his teeth." Kinsey’s eyes widened in horror. "Wait—no! Don't—" Kris moved with the speed of a striking viper. She didn't use a weapon. She didn't need one. She grabbed a handful of Kinsey’s hair, jerking his head back, and drove a gloved fist straight into his mouth. Crack. The sound was sickeningly distinct, sharper than the breaking of his leg. Kinsey’s head snapped back against the pavement. Kris didn't stop. She delivered a second blow, then a third, precise and devastating. When Kris finally let go, Kinsey slumped back, choking. He coughed, and two white incisors, slick with crimson, clattered onto the black asphalt near my boots. He tried to scream, but it came out as a gurgling sob. His mouth was a ruin of blood and swelling flesh. I looked at the teeth on the ground, then up at the horrified faces of the Blair Associates. They were trembling. "Pick him up," I ordered them, my voice cutting through the cold air like a whip. "The She-Devil..." someone whispered from the shadows of the club entrance. "She's really back." I smoothed the front of my jacket, turning my back on the carnage. The message had been delivered. The Nun of Palermo was dead. Alessa Moreno had returned, and she didn't pray for forgiveness. She demanded blood.