Seraphine sat in the farthest corner of the school cafeteria, not to get caught by anyone especially Solene. She would make life miserable for her by reporting to her father. The lunchroom buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the clatter of trays, yet she felt disconnected, as though she existed in a bubble of silence. She took a hesitant bite, her mind already wandering to the mountain of homework awaiting her at home and the unpredictable chaos she might return to.

Her solitude was interrupted by the familiar sound of cruel laughter. Jenna and her group, the self-proclaimed queens of the school, strutted over to her table. Seraphine stiffened, her hands gripping the edges of her tray. She kept her head down, willing them to pass her by.

"Well, if it isn’t the charity case," Jenna sneered, snatching Seraphine's sandwich from her hands. "What’s on the menu today? Stale bread and pity?"

The girls erupted in laughter, and Seraphine’s cheeks burned with shame. She didn’t respond, knowing any protest would only make things worse. Jenna crumpled the sandwich wrapper and tossed it onto the floor. "Oops. Guess you’re skipping lunch today," she said with a mocking pout.

Before Seraphine could react, another girl grabbed her backpack from the bench beside her. "Let’s see what treasures we have here," the girl teased, unzipping the bag and dumping its contents onto the floor. Books, a broken pencil case, and a few crumpled papers scattered across the tiles.

"Stop it," Seraphine whispered, her voice trembling, but her plea was drowned out by their laughter.

On the other side of the cafeteria, Solene watched the scene unfold. She locked eyes with Seraphine for a fleeting moment but quickly turned away, focusing on her phone. She wasn’t one to get involved. It was easier to stay out of it and pretend she hadn’t seen anything.

The afternoon dragged on, each class a blur as Seraphine struggled to focus. The humiliation from lunch lingered, and she felt as though everyone was whispering behind her back. When the final bell rang, she hurried out of the building, clutching her empty bag. She didn’t dare look for Solene, who had likely left with her boyfriend or a group of friends.

Seraphine’s small sanctuary was the old wooden shed behind her house, where she kept her piggy bank hidden beneath a loose floorboard. It wasn’t much, just a collection of coins and crumpled bills she’d saved over months from tutoring classmates and doing odd jobs. But it was hers—a sliver of security in an otherwise unstable world.

She knelt on the splintered floor, her fingers trembling as she lifted the board. Her heart sank. The piggy bank was gone.

"No," she whispered, frantically searching the surrounding area. Tears stung her eyes as the truth settled in: someone had taken it. And she didn’t have to guess who.

When Seraphine entered the house, the stench of alcohol hit her like a wall. Sebastian, her older brother, was sprawled on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand. Beside him, a woman with smudged makeup and a short dress giggled, running her fingers through his hair.

Seraphine clenched her fists, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Where’s my money, Sebastian?" she demanded, her voice shaky but firm.

Sebastian glanced at her lazily, his bloodshot eyes unfocused. "What money?" he slurred.

"The money I saved in my piggy bank," she said, her voice rising. "It’s gone, and I know you took it."

Sebastian sat up, his movements sluggish. "Relax, kid. I needed it for... expenses." He waved dismissively toward the woman, who snorted in amusement.

"That was all I had," Seraphine said, her voice breaking. "How could you—"

"Don’t lecture me," Sebastian snapped, his tone suddenly sharp. "You live in my house. Don’t forget that."

"Your house?" Seraphine shot back. "You mean the house Mom left for us before she—"

"Enough!" Sebastian roared, throwing the whiskey bottle against the wall. The woman yelped and scrambled off the couch, grabbing her purse. "I don’t need a kid telling me how to live my life," he muttered as he stumbled toward the stairs.

Seraphine stood frozen, her chest heaving. The woman hurried out the door, sparing her an awkward glance before leaving.

Later that evening, Solene breezed into the house, humming a tune. She was dressed in a sleek black dress, her makeup flawless, and her hair styled in loose waves. Seraphine sat at the kitchen table, staring at the chipped wood, her thoughts a tangled mess.

"Big night out?" Seraphine asked, her tone bitter.

Solene smirked, ignoring the sarcasm. "Don’t wait up," she said, grabbing her purse. "And don’t touch my stuff while I’m gone."

As the door slammed shut behind her, Seraphine felt a wave of anger and despair. She was surrounded by people, yet she’d never felt more alone.

Determined not to let her circumstances define her, Seraphine resolved to find a job. She had been fired from her last one—a cashier position at a convenience store—thanks to Sebastian’s drunken antics and Solene’s habit of “borrowing” money from the till when she needed a quick fix.

She spent the next morning scouring the town, walking into every café, boutique, and diner she could find. Most places turned her away with polite smiles, saying they weren’t hiring. By midday, her feet ached, and her spirits were low.

At a small bakery on the corner of Main Street, the owner, an older woman named Mrs. Adler, seemed kind. "We could use some help in the afternoons," she said, handing Seraphine an apron. "But I expect you to be reliable. Can you do that?"

"Yes, ma’am," Seraphine said, her voice filled with determination.

She worked tirelessly that day, scrubbing counters, organizing shelves, and serving customers with a forced smile. For a moment, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this could be a fresh start.

But when she returned home, exhausted and smelling of flour, she found Sebastian rummaging through her room.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Relax," he said, holding up a small jewelry box. "Just looking for something I can pawn. You wouldn’t want me to starve, would you?"

Seraphine lunged for the box, but Sebastian was faster. He shoved her aside and walked out, leaving her on the floor, her anger boiling over.

That evening, as Seraphine lay in bed, she stared at the cracks in the ceiling, her mind racing. She couldn’t rely on anyone—not Sebastian, not Solene. If she wanted a better life, she would have to fight for it herself.

That night, Don Pedro Calyx lounged in his dimly lit study, the faint aroma of burning weed mingling with the leather-bound musk of old books. His sons, Lucca and Raven, sat across from him. The tension between the two was as palpable as the smoke spiraling from their father’s fingertips. The Calyx family wasn’t just any criminal family—they were meticulous, cunning, and ruthless. And tonight, they had a target.

Pedro took a long drag from the joint, the ember glowing briefly as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke. His dark, sharp eyes settled on his sons, commanding their full attention. “Felix Romero,” he began, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence, “is a stain on the very fabric of this city. An Italian politician with too much greed and not enough heart.”

Lucca leaned forward, his jaw tightening. Draven simply crossed his arms, his dark eyes narrowing.

Pedro continued, “Two years ago, while Felix campaigned for his seat, he promised the world. He vowed to sponsor ten orphanages and set up an organization for widows in New York. Said he’d visit them monthly. That man hasn’t stepped foot in an orphanage. Not once. No, instead, he bought himself a $150 million mansion. A Lamborghini for each of his five baby mamas. And just last month…” Pedro paused, his lips curling into a sneer, “...he opened a jewelry store for his wife, Valerie. A store brimming with diamonds and gold. That, my boys, is our next operation.”

Luca’s lips twitched into a sly grin. “Perfect,” he murmured, nodding in agreement. “A politician like Felix deserves a taste of his own medicine.”

Draven’s face lit up with a similar, mischievous gleam. “I’ll sketch the master plan,” he said, a touch too confidently. “Dad and I will handle it. You can help when it’s time to execute.”

Lucca’s grin faltered, replaced by a scowl. “What did you just say?” His voice dropped to a dangerous low, his pride bristling at the slight. “You think you’re calling the shots now, Draven?”

“I’m saying we need to divide and conquer,” Draven replied, his tone clipped with unwavering gaze.

“Divide and conquer?” Lucca barked out a humorless laugh. “Let me remind you, little brother, I’m older than you. And around here, age demands respect.”

“Oh, spare me,” Raven shot back, his voice rising in defiance. “You’re older by what—what, a year? A day? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not the boss of me, Lucca, and you never will be.”

Lucca slammed his hand down on the polished mahogany table, the sound echoing in the room. “Watch your mouth, Draven. I’ve been doing this long before you were old enough to hold a gun. You think you can waltz in here and give orders?”

“Enough!” Don Pedro’s voice cut through their argument like a whip. He leaned forward, his steely gaze pinning them both in place. “You two will stop this nonsense right now. We’re not here to stroke egos or pick fights. We’re here to focus on the job. If either of you can’t handle that, I’ll find someone who can.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the brothers glaring at each other but saying nothing. Pedro leaned back, his expression unreadable. “We work as a team. Always have, always will. Lucca, Draven—you’re both involved in the planning and execution. No exceptions. This operation needs precision. No distractions, no mistakes. Got it?”

“Yes, Father,” Lucca muttered through clenched teeth.

Draven simply nodded, his jaw tightening as he looked away.

Pedro took another drag from his joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke that seemed to diffuse the tension in the room. “Good. Now, let’s talk details. This isn’t just about money or jewels. This is about sending a message. Felix Romero needs to know that his actions have consequences. And we’re the ones who’ll deliver them.”

The brothers exchanged one last look, their rivalry momentarily set aside. They had a job to do, and in the Calyx family, failure was not an option.