New York was good and bad for her - good because she finally learned how to fully protect herself, how to survive when she was lying on the floor of a suite in the Waldorf Astoria, bleeding out from a slice down her arm and a slice through her side. The intent was to kill her then, because torturing her wasn't good enough anymore. He had left her for dead, but she somehow survived, came crawling back, getting her strength back up. It took a move to Boston to give her what she wanted - a reunion with Danny, who she always thought about through all her struggles, and revenge on Christopher. Neither one of those things had been planned. But they both happened in succession all the same. Watching Christopher look at her and Danny in horror just before both siblings fired into him with their guns was a satisfying moment.
Until then though, Trista - now going by Yvonne - had a small body count.
By the time August 29th came around, her body count was a lot higher. By August 30th, she couldn't remember why. Why she had decided to help him out of all people take down those who were primed and ready to destroy his career. Why she had decided to kill with him. Why they both had decided that sticking together all week was a lot easier than being apart, and this meant doing things she would have never done - like fucking him on the roof of a building, a sniper rifle in her hand as she called out in pleasure while she was supposed to be keeping watch.
Those types of things were out of the ordinary for her. She was more calculated than that, though she could remember feeling more in control then than ever before. The two of them, they tried to see if they could understand what was going on. Doing a give and take, figuring each other out, denying things through and through - something he was good at given he was a politician. She always had to go to those dark, handsome, mysterious types that were more bad than good.
By the time labor day came around, she was no closer to figuring out what had happened, or why it had happened. But it seemed that apparently, she wasn't as careful of disposing those bodies in the week she was unable to remember than she had hoped. As she returned home from visiting one of her newest girls under her employ, she was blindfolded and thrown into the back of a car. As the car came to a stop, she was pulled out of the car and the blindfold was taken off of her eyes. The smell of the ocean filled her nose, and the sight of nothing but shipping crates surrounded her. She was alone.
Though not for long.
"Think you can kill one of my men, and not deal with the consequences?" A voice came to her, and she turned around to see an older gentleman coming towards her. She recognized the man immediately, not someone on the list of those she helped ‘get rid of'. This man was a private investigator. Crooked. One of the men hired to follow her.
Yvonne didn't say anything to the man, only smirked, knowing that they were not smart enough to check her for weapons. He taunted her more, trying to scare her, and when he slapped her across the face, she lunged for him. They fought, they struggled, he had a upper hand on her. As he grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the shipping container, she struggled against his grip. This wasn't going to be how she went out. Not by some no name corrupt wanna be police officer.
With the last amount of strength she had left, she grabbed her knife from her belt loop and shoved it into his neck, causing him to release his hold on her throat and she fell to the pavement gasping for air as he stumbled back screaming, slamming into a shipping container. Walking up to him, she pulled the knife out, causing blood to spill over him and splash onto her and she bent down to look him in the eye as he died. She could do without people coming after her constantly. At least now, she felt more in charge of her life. At least now, she could see things coming. At least now, she wasn't running.
She had a home here in Boston. She had her family. She was going to be dammed if she was going to run again. No way. No way in Hell.
But a more pressing matter of the moment. Like the blood on her clothes and in her hair, and the fact that she was in a shipping yard with no other means on how to dispose of the man in front of her other than kicking him into the ocean. So she picked up her phone and called the person who was responsible for this little predicament in the first place. She wasn't even mad, just amused. Though, he wouldn't get to learn that right away.
"Vince, you need to come to the shipping yard. Alone. We need to talk." So she'd get a little blood in his car, but this was his fault anyway. And she was going to make him spend all night making it up to her.