Queen of Vice (Old Money Empire #1) Read Online Natalie Bennett

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark Tags Authors: Series: Old Money Empire Series by Natalie Bennett
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Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 68858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
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Nothing’s what it seems.
Escape is just another broken dream.

In a city where vice and corruption reign, my life has become a nightmare.
With no one to turn to, I'm left with only one option—the man I should avoid at all costs.

Mateo Escuro.

The infamous crime lord who controls this city and everything in it, is now my only hope.

He promises to help me, but his terms aren’t I must become his wife—in every sense of the word.

He is ruthless, unpredictable, and dangerously possessive.

As our twisted relationship intensifies, secrets from my past start to unravel, and I realize just how deeply Mateo is entangled in my family’s history. To survive this, I’ll have to surrender to him completely.

But in a world built on lies and deceit, surrendering to him might mean more than losing myself—it could cost me everything.

PLEASE NOTE
Queen of Vice is the first book in a duet, replacing the Old Money Trilogy. This is not a new release, but an updated version of Queen of Diamonds with significant changes and a full rewrite. Queen of Vice is a dark romance featuring a morally black mmc. This story isn't for the faint of heart. Reader discretion is highly advised. A CW can be located in the back of the book.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

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.


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