The rain had stopped an hour ago, but water kept dripping from the bare oak branches above Rosa Russo's gravestone. Each drop hit Elena's shoulder with a tiny, cold shock. She pulled her black coat tighter and stared at the simple granite marker that had eaten up three months of rent money. No fancy marble. No elaborate inscription. Just "Rosa Russo, 1975-2021, Beloved Mother."
Beloved by exactly one person in the entire world.
Elena knelt on the wet grass and placed a single white rose next to the headstone. The petals were already browning at the edges—all she could afford this week. Her knees soaked through her jeans instantly. She didn't move. She'd made this same pilgrimage every month for three years. Today felt different. Final.
"I'm done waiting, Mom." Her breath came out in small white puffs. "I'm going to make him pay."
Elena twisted the cheap silver ring on her right hand. Her mother's wedding band. The only piece of jewelry Rosa had ever owned, even though there'd never been a wedding. Never been a husband who loved her enough to stay.
The memory slammed into her like it always did. Sharp. Sudden. Her mother's hospital room. That steady beep of machines. The smell of disinfectant trying to hide the scent of death.
Rosa had looked so small in that bed. Her thick black hair reduced to wisps. But her amber eyes—the same eyes Elena saw in the mirror every morning—those were still fierce.
"Elena, baby, come here." Rosa's voice was barely a whisper. "I need to tell you something. About your father."
Elena had pulled the plastic chair closer. She was nineteen then. Working two jobs. Paying for community college and Mom's medical bills. The word "father" sounded foreign in their tiny world. Rosa had always said he was out of the picture, nothing more.
"His name is Richard Blackwood." Rosa's fingers found Elena's hand. Cold but strong. "I was twenty-two when I met him. He was... everything I wasn't. Rich. Powerful. Confident. He made me feel like I actually mattered."
Rosa's face changed then. Hardened with bitterness Elena had never seen before.
"When I told him I was pregnant, he said he'd take care of everything." Rosa's laugh turned into a cough that shook her whole body. "I thought he meant us. I thought he meant you."
The heart monitor started beeping faster. Elena wanted to tell her mom to rest, to save her strength. But the words kept pouring out like Rosa had been holding them back for twenty-two years.
"I used every penny on rent and baby formula and doctors when you got sick. The money was gone within a year, but the contract..." Rosa's grip had tightened. "The contract said you could never be acknowledged as his child. Even now, even after I'm gone, that piece of paper means you don't exist to him."
Elena's throat tightened at the memory. Her mother had died six hours later, leaving behind a stack of medical bills and a handwritten note with Richard Blackwood's address. Elena had looked him up that same night, sitting in the hospital waiting room with her laptop balanced on her knees.
Richard Blackwood. CEO of Blackwood Industries. Net worth: 3.2 billion dollars.
While her mother had worked three jobs and died because she couldn't afford proper cancer treatment, Richard Blackwood had been buying yachts and attending charity galas. Elena had stared at photo after photo of him—silver hair, expensive suits, that same amber-eyed smile she'd inherited—and felt something cold and sharp settle in her chest.
Now, three years later, Elena reached into her coat. The yellowed envelope crinkled between her fingers. The lawyers had sent it after Rosa's funeral, along with her mother's few things. Inside was a cashier's check for fifty thousand dollars. The exact amount Richard had paid Rosa twenty-three years ago. Interest from some account Rosa had never touched. Money she'd been too proud to spend even when the lights were getting shut off.
Elena struck a match. Held it to the corner of the check.
The flame caught. Fast.
She watched fifty thousand dollars turn to ash. The wind scattered the pieces across her mother's grave like black snow.
"Blood money." Her voice was steady. "I don't want a penny of it."
But she wanted something else from Richard Blackwood. Something worth way more than money.
Elena pulled out her phone and scrolled through the folder labeled "A.B." Six months of work. Every photo, every article, every social media post about Richard's precious adopted son.
Adrian Blackwood. Twenty-six. Harvard MBA. Vice President of Strategic Development at Blackwood Industries. Single.
Elena's thumb stopped on her favorite photo. Adrian leaving a coffee shop near Columbia Law School. Dark hair slightly messy. Green eyes focused on his phone. He looked nothing like Richard. Where Richard was all sharp angles and cold calculation, Adrian had softer features. A genuine smile.
She'd been watching him for months. Learning his habits. His routines. His weaknesses.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, he studied at Columbia Law Library. Same time—2 PM to 6 PM. Same table on the third floor. Always ordered a large coffee with two sugars. He was working on some pro bono legal research. Something about housing rights for poor people.
That detail had surprised her. And it was useful.
The golden boy with a conscience. Perfect.
She scrolled past photos of Adrian at various social events—charity galas, business dinners, family gatherings. In every picture with his father, she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his smile never quite reached his eyes. There was distance there, resentment maybe. Elena planned to exploit every crack she could find.
Her phone buzzed. New email. Elena's heart jumped when she saw the sender.
Columbia University Libraries.
*Dear Ms. Russo,*
*We're happy to tell you that your application for the part-time Research Assistant position has been accepted. Your background in legal studies and excellent references make you perfect for our team. Please report to the Law Library circulation desk on Monday, February 14th at 1:30 PM for orientation.*
*We look forward to working with you.*
*Sincerely,*
*Margaret Walsh*
*Head Librarian*
Elena stared at the screen. Twisted her mother's ring. The metal was worn smooth from Rosa's fingers, and now from hers.
February 14th.
Valentine's Day.
How perfect.
Elena stood up. Brushed wet grass from her knees. The cemetery was empty except for a maintenance guy collecting dead flowers in the distance. She pulled up Adrian's schedule one more time. If her research was right, he'd be at the library tomorrow. Completely unaware that his world was about to explode.
"I hope you taught him to love deeply, Richard." Elena spoke to the gray sky. "Because I'm going to break his heart into a thousand pieces. And when I'm done destroying your precious son, I'm coming for you."
She picked up the white rose from her mother's grave. The petals were completely dead now. Brown and curled. Elena scattered them over the headstone and walked away.
Time to get to work.
The walk to her car took five minutes. Long enough to review her plan again. The research job would give her access to the library. A reason to be there during Adrian's study sessions. She'd have to be careful. Subtle. One wrong move and he'd see right through her.
Elena had spent a whole year perfecting her cover story. Elena Martinez, not Russo—she'd legally changed her name after Rosa died. Said she wanted to honor her grandmother. Her application listed a father who'd died young and a mother who'd been a nurse. Both lies. But believable ones.
The hardest part was getting into Columbia Law School. Elena's community college grades were great, but she'd needed financial aid. Scholarships. She'd worked sixty-hour weeks for two years. Saved every penny. Wrote endless essays about her dream of fighting for social justice.
It wasn't totally a lie. Elena did want justice.
She just had her own definition of what that looked like.
Her phone buzzed again as she reached her car—a ten-year-old Honda Civic with more rust than paint. This time it was a text from her best friend Sophia.
*Coffee after your cemetery visit? You know I worry when you go there alone.*
Elena smiled despite herself. Sophia Chen had been her roommate at Columbia for the past year, and somehow they'd become close friends despite Elena's best efforts to keep everyone at arm's length. Sophia was studying art therapy, all bright colors and optimism, completely different from Elena's carefully controlled darkness.
*Rain check? Big day tomorrow.*
*Job interview?*
*Something like that.*
Elena climbed into her car and started the engine, which protested with a series of concerning rattles before finally turning over. She needed to make this plan work soon, before her savings ran out and she had to find a real job that didn't involve destroying billionaires.
As she drove through Queens toward Manhattan, Elena practiced her smile in the rearview mirror. Not too eager, not too fake. Just friendly enough to seem approachable. She'd been working on it for weeks, studying videos of actresses and politicians, learning how to make her eyes crinkle at the corners like she meant it.
Tomorrow, she'd walk into that library and begin the most important performance of her life. Everything had to be perfect. Every word, every gesture, every "accidental" encounter had to seem natural and unplanned.
Elena parked outside her apartment building and sat in the car for a moment, staring up at the fourth-floor window where she'd left a lamp burning. Home was a studio apartment barely big enough for a bed and a desk, but it was hers. She'd covered every surface with her research—photos of Adrian, family trees, financial records she'd found through public databases. It looked like the workspace of someone obsessed, which Elena supposed she was.
Her phone buzzed one more time. Another email, this one from her credit card company reminding her that her minimum payment was overdue. Elena deleted it without reading the details. Money had always been tight, but the last few months had been especially brutal. The library job would help, but it wouldn't be enough to live on long-term.
She needed this plan to work, and not just for revenge. Elena was running out of time and options. If she couldn't find a way to make Richard Blackwood pay for what he'd done to her mother, she'd end up just like Rosa—forgotten, struggling, invisible to the people who mattered.
Elena locked her car and climbed the four flights of stairs to her apartment. The hallway smelled like cooking oil and somebody's cigarette smoke, a stark contrast to the sterile perfection she'd seen in photos of the Blackwood family mansion.
Inside her studio, Elena spread out her files again. Photos of Adrian at the library. His class schedule. His coffee order. Even the brand of pen he liked. She'd learned that he was kind to service workers. Always said please and thank you. Held doors open for strangers.
Either he was genuinely decent, or he was a great actor.
Elena hoped it was the first one. Decent people were so much easier to break.
She picked up a photo of Adrian from last month. He was laughing at something on his phone, walking across campus. Happy. Carefree. Completely unaware that someone was watching from across the courtyard with a telephoto lens.
"I'm sorry," Elena whispered to the photo. "I'm really sorry it has to be you."
But not sorry enough to stop.
As she finally drifted off to sleep, Elena's last thought was of her mother's face in those final hours. Not the pain or the fear. The fierce love in those amber eyes. Rosa had died believing her daughter deserved better than the life they'd lived.
Tomorrow, Elena would start proving her right.
The plan was simple: make Adrian Blackwood fall in love with her, then destroy him with the truth.
She was Rosa Russo's daughter. And Rosa had taught her that love and survival sometimes needed the same thing.
The willingness to do whatever it took.
Elena's phone lit up with one last notification. A reminder she'd set six months ago.
*Tomorrow: Phase One begins.*
She smiled in the darkness. For the first time in three years, it felt completely real.
**End of Chapter 1**