Zoey Richardson
A treasured social elite or a criminal Cleopatra?
A cunning young woman or simply a lucky naive girl?
Widower or murderess?
Traitor or victim?
Duality had always played a role in this authentically zealous woman's life. On the out...
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"What the fuck are you playing at?!" Frankie came storming out the doors, hot on Zoey's trail. He'd been stood in the corner of that room, hanging on the edge of every word.
"I was just playing them at their own game, Frankie." She nonchalantly proclaimed to him, not bothering to turn her head back in his direction as she marched down the hall. "It's not my fault they lost." And with that, she busted through the exit making the older man groan in frustration at her unphased attitude.
"You'll be a walking bloody target if you don't give them what they want." He exhorted her, watching in concern as she flagged down a taxi.
"Relax, I've taken precautions." Zoey threw him a reassuring glance, diving into her purse in search of her cigarettes.
"Precautions?" Frankie's brows knitted together, "How could you have known-" Zoey could almost hear the penny drop as his eyelids flung open, "Please tell me you didn't."
All he got in response was a slip of her smile, triggering a muttered "Jesus christ' under his breath before the taxi rolled up, "Give my brothers my love won't you," She mocked, lighting her cigarette. Just as she was about to hop into the car, Frankie blocked her path.
"I hope you know what you're doing kid." He warned her, he's seen this girl grow up. He'd seen her at her best and seen her at her worst but one thing he didn't want to see was her death.
"I'll be fine Frankie," She reaffirmed to him seriously this time, "I'm done being a puppet, I want my own life."
"Your brothers aint gonna take well to this you know." He reminded her, stepping aside to open her door.
"Imagine if I gave a fuck Frank," Zoey quipped back with a fed-up expression playing on her face, pulling herself into the taxi, "What a world that would be." To which Frankie laughed to himself, closing the door behind her and peering into her window.
"Good luck Zo." He then proceeds to hit the roof of the car, indicating for the driver to take off.
A week passed and freedom suited Zoey rather well. She had a glow about her although it was dimmed down by the mourning dresses she had forced herself into every day since the funeral in the hopes of keeping up her public image as the heartbroken widow. But, If anything she wore this black in honor of Sam, for she was never given the opportunity to openly grieve her first love.
Since the funeral, Zoey had been bombarded by questions from the police and press, which she had answered with such sincere elegance, the newspapers had declared her the most charming woman to walk England. So now Zoey had earned the nation's love, disregarded her brothers, and broken off ties with the Italians now she could start planning her future and what she wanted to do with her newfound wealth and independence.
It was getting late, the sun had just set and the bitter night was beginning to fall as Zoey turned the golden taps to her bath off. Allowing her silk gown to fall, she slid herself into the steamy waters with ease while placing her wine glass on the stool she had set beside the tub. She let her eyes drift to a close as the warm water sank into her pores, rendering her body motionless at the mercy of relaxation.
Her mind had already wandered into the depths of her subconscious, she dreamed of nothing, and her brain had become a blank slate thinking of nothing but how the water comforted her like a warm hug. This tranquil moment, of course, was swiftly snatched away as she felt two heavy hands come down onto her shoulders submerging her with force into the water.
The struggle was intense, she thrashed and kicked, her hands reaching to hit the face of her attacker but nothing was of use. Her internal instinct was to scream for help but then she'd lose the remaining oxygen that was crucial to her survival. Instead, she let one of her hands hang over the edge of the tub while the other clenched the man's face as a distraction. Her fingers searched the air for her glass and once she'd successfully located it, there was no hesitation to smash it into the man's face- causing him to release a scream of pain, as the blood from his wounds polluted her bathwater and his grip loosened.
Fortunately, due to the loud bellow, her bodyguards whom Tommy had put in place, heard this, kicking down the door and shooting the man dead. Leaving Zoey, shaking and heaving in a bath of her killer's blood.
