CLARA ROSSI

People kept banging on the bathroom door as if I was going to open it.

Too bad. I was too busy straddling Enzo—my dad's junior employee. Busy ruining his black, spiky hair and wrinkling his expensive suit. And that he was sitting in an empty bathtub made this ten times more amusing.

"So you'll talk to him?" I shifted my hips against him, smiling at his trembling exhale. "Hm?"

"God, you're going to get me in so much trouble..."

"I will, if you don't listen." I grabbed a fistful of his hair and brushed my lips across the shell of his ear. "Come on. He likes you. He knows we hang out. Tell him I'm ready. Tell him how passionate, dedicated, and hard-working I am." To prove my point, I grazed my palm over his insignificant bulge, teasing him over his dress pants. "He just needs to realize I'm not a little girl anymore, don't you agree?"

He let out the most condescending, sleazy chuckle. "Oookay, sure."

I paused. "Excuse me?"

"Just go to college! Jesus Christ. Or open a beauty salon—I don't know." He placed his hands on my thighs, crumpling the emerald silk. "You're a rich girl. Why do you care? Plus, the right man would never let you work."

He tried to kiss me, but I pushed my finger on his lips. "The right man would know better than to think he can control me. He'd also care enough to fight for me."

My blood boiled when he clicked his tongue with dismissal. Prick. I pushed myself out of the bathtub and slipped my studded Valentinos back on.

"Come onnn. Did you get upset? Baby, talk to me. Claraaa? Come on. Don't do that."

I tightened my ponytail, then adjusted the criss-cross straps of my open-back jumpsuit.

He sighed. "Why are you being difficult?"

"Difficult? Oh, that's original."

I hated that word. My mom and dad loved to call me that whenever they couldn't win an argument. You're so difficult, Clara. Stop being so difficult. You're too difficult.

"I care about you—"

"You don't. Clearly, you're with me, because of my last name, and because you thought I'd be easy to fool. Sorry to disappoint." I gave him a sarcastic smile, enjoying the anger tightening his features. "When you started working for my dad two months ago, I was impressed by how dedicated you were. I thought you'd understand. I didn't ask for much. Just for you to tell him the truth."

"Tell him yourself." He scoffed. "I don't understand what you're involving me for. It's none of my business. He's your dad. Go talk to him."

"That's not my—" I cut myself off. It wasn't worth it. Take a deep breath and put the smile back on. "You know what? Thanks. I'll go do that right now. I'll also tell him what I really think about you. So good luck!"

He called after me, but I yanked the door open. Outside, the three guests who were waiting to use the bathroom gave me a critical look, but said nothing.

Downstairs, music and laughter blasted my eardrums. My mother had gone waaay overboard with the party. Ironic how she spent an abnormal kind of money for my birthday—seriously, enough to feed a city—but she wouldn't even notice if I wasn't there.

Outside the floor-length windows of the mansion, she had rented ancient Greek sculptures. They surrounded the marble water fountain and rose bushes trimmed in geometric shapes. Everything was intentionally designed to impress the two hundred guests today. The gold-filigree china. The piled display of carved fruits and roasted meats. The exploding flower centerpieces.

I found a hiding spot behind a mountain-sized birthday cake. The fluffy frosting caught my attention. I licked my lips from the smell of sugar.

I was scooping a tiny bit on my finger when my dad snuck up behind me and whispered in my ear. "What are you doing?"

"Dad!" I laughed. "Don't do that!"

"Um...." He swept a disapproving look over my outfit. Yes, okay. It wasn't the most attention-grabbing choice. I was supposed to be my mom and dad's pride. Their living and breathing representation."This isn't the gown that Valentina picked."

"Did your mother dress you when you were eighteen?"

He smiled for my sake. "Come on. Let's go dance with everybody."

"I am so not drunk for that—"

"You don't need alcohol."

This. This is why he was my favorite. He knew that I drank, and he didn't try to lecture me. Unlike my mom who'd call me a hooker and warn me about premature wrinkles.

"You know what I need, dad? I need to work with you. Please, just give me a chance? Please? You promised that I'd join you when I turned eighteen. I want to carry your legacy."

My dad owned an extremely successful food distribution company. We were the wealthiest family in the area code, which didn't always make sense. But once I was a part of it, I'd learn why.

"I am not retiring anytime soon," he said and tugged my arm. "Come on, let's go dance."

"I'd rather shove my face in this cake. No—" I flexed my leg muscles to not be pushed, but he was stronger than me. "Please, don't—"

Too late. He forced me to join the circle of guests on the floor. They were clapping and cheering, but everyone's expression was forced. Amidst all that noise and celebration, I never felt warm and I never felt seen.

But I kept hoping that when I finally proved myself, that things would change. Maybe I'd find my purpose. Maybe I'd find a place where I belonged.

"Dad, please?" I said mid-dancing. "I've read every book you've suggested. I've interned all throughout boarding school. I'm ready. I have a lot of ideas that are worth investing in."

He grinned like I was an adorable pet. "Not now."

"For example, you come from nothing. Right? Well, how symbolic would it be if you opened a branch designed to help people in poverty? People in need? There are so many ways to profit while—"

"I want to dance. Dance, dance, dance." He lifted my arm to twirl me.

Don't get triggered, don't get triggered, don't get triggered.

"What if I intern? You don't have to—"

"What—there you are!" My mother popped before me with steam coming out of her ears. She dug her nails into my wrist and yanked me away, until we were far enough not to be heard. "Clara Rossi. What are you wearing? Where's that gorgeous dress I bought for you?"

"I looked like a cupcake in it. "

She did not find me amusing. "You look homeless!"

"I am literally wearing Valentinos."

"What did you do to your hair?"

From the corner of my eye, I noticed something strange. One of my dad's workers was whispering in his ear. It looked urgent and serious.

"What's going on?" I murmured.

Gunshots shattered every window around.
Bursting them into a million pieces.
Screams filled the chaos.

I couldn't...couldn't believe what was happening.

People ducked for cover under the tables. They tripped over chairs. Helicopters descended on the yard, ripping the rose petals off and making them flutter like confetti.

Terror wrecked my bones.

The front doors burst wide. Men—so many of them, dressed in all black—poured inside. They barked orders, pointing at us with firearms.

It was a nightmare. A nightmare in real life.

My mother whimpered in panic. I snapped back into razor-sharp clarity and grabbed her arm, hiding us behind the nearest wall.

"Haven't you taken enough from me, Tomasso?" A male voice I didn't recognize rumbled throughout the house.

It was hoarse with rage. Such rage, a sense of dread rolled through the pit of my stomach.

Something thudded on the marble.
A man cried out in agony.
People gasped.

"I thought we had an agreement," the stranger continued with mock-indifference. A voice that was used to giving orders, but never obeying. "You pretend I don't exist. I return the courtesy. We lived in peace for what, six years? So why'd you try to hurt my brother?"

I froze. My dad would never hurt someone.

"Don't!" My mother hissed as I peeked around the corner.

My breath halted.

Blood. There was so much blood. A man was sobbing on his knees. A middle-aged man who looked tortured, like he'd been ripped apart by vicious animals.

Behind him—someone was standing behind him.

Young. No more than a few years older than me. He had an amused twist to his mouth. Power rippled from the sharp cut of his shoulders and assertive stance. Everything on him was dark: his shirt, jeans, boots. Except for his untamed, sandy hair. Except for his cunning, hazel gaze.

"I had nothing to do with it," my dad said. He raised his palms like he was calming a ticking bomb.

The young guy laughed. Laughed.

We were going to die.

"Let's skip the lies and excuses. We both know, your men don't even touch their own cocks without your approval. I'm not here to chat. You hurt my family. Now I have you surrounded. There's nowhere to go. No one can help you. No one can stop me from turning this party into a bloodbath."

Whoever this was, no one dared to fight him. No one helped my dad. No one cared. Well, I cared.

I straightened my shoulders and stepped away from the wall, finding a sliver of hope as the intruder blinked in surprise.

"Don't hurt him." It was an order. I met his gaze without a care for the firearms pointed at me.

The guests gasped, anticipating me to get killed first. The blond man recovered quickly and let out a slow, suggestive whistle.

"Who are you?"

Fire burned in my veins. "Who are you?"

"I asked first."

"I don't care."

He turned to my dad with a wicked chuckle. "Your daughter, I assume? How embarrassing for you. She has bigger balls than all your hairy men combined."

My dad paled and looked at me. "Stay quiet."

"Are you sure she's yours, though?" His smile hinted at a mind that knew how to trick and intimidate. Effortlessly. "You're so ugly. She's not. She's beautiful and brave. Those can't be your genetics."

"Leave her out of this." My dad clenched his fists.

"Just like you did to my family? Hmm. Let's see. Then by your definition...I should shoot her in the stomach. Right? Is that what you're suggesting?"

Breathe.

He cocked his head with animalistic interest and lingered the slowest gaze over my body.

I took a cautious step back.

"Actually, I've been thinking of settling down. We should join forces. Now that would solve all this, wouldn't it?"

Nausea gripped the muscles of my stomach.

"What?" My dad turned paper white.

"Well, think about it. The alternative is death. Come on. It is so justified for what you did to my brother. Or you could prove that you didn't mean any harm. Personally, I'm tired of us being enemies. Aren't you? Why waste our resources, when we can double it? Some might consider it a blessing. Not to mention, your only daughter would never be left in such a life-threatening situation again, because unlike you, I never let my guard down."

My dad was shaking with hatred. "This is nothing, but a small misunderstanding—"

The stranger fired at the ceiling.
People shrieked as debris rained down.
The gravity of the situation slithered around my neck.

"If that bullet went through her and I called it a misunderstanding, would you let me live?"

"Listen—"

"So there's only one option left, isn't there?"

The walls were closing in.

"Tom..." My mom cried behind her hands.

My dad remained silent, and I could tell from the sweat dripping down his temples, from the labored breaths through his heaving chest...

He was completely helpless.
There was no escape.
No way out.

The cruel stranger slid his gaze back on me, and his eyes darkened with triumph.

A/N
Wait until she makes them roll to the back of his head.

Anywaaay, reminder to VOTE <3