CLARA ROSSI

It had been a week since Volkov lost.

Ever since that day in the safe house, he'd been avoiding interactions, drowning himself in work. The townhouse had never been so quiet.

At first, I wanted to respect his privacy, his need for space. But he'd given me a fawn when I couldn't leave my room in Mexico. So...

On Sunday evening, I knocked on his office door.

"What?" He snapped behind it.

I took that as 'welcome, please come in' and cracked it open.

He was sitting in a black leather chair behind a messy desk, one hand buried in his hair, writing in a notebook.

The bronze lamp in the corner provided barely enough light to reveal the exhaustion under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders.

"Dear diary, if I keep hiding in my office, maybe Clara might get curious if I'm still alive," I said, sauntering closer.

"Not in the mood."

"No way? Could've fooled me."

He glared under his lashes. "What is it, Clara?"

"I have a surprise for you." I moved around his desk and leaned against it, in front of him.

Confusion furrowed his brows. "What?"

I let my hand wander over my hip, brushing the silky material of my champagne skirt. The movement drew his gaze down there.

"I finally bought crotchless panties."

He deadpanned. "Hilarious."

"Who said it's a joke?"

"Fine." He raised a mocking brow, the rest of his features hard and unyielding. "Lift up your skirt."

My heart beat quickened. "You don't think I would?"

"I know you wouldn't." He sighed.

"Your loss."

"Sorry, but if this is your way of cheering me up, it's terrible."

"Aw. Well, I'm sure Niko would be interested."

His expression hardened further, and I realized how much I fucking hated this.

I missed him. I missed that fire in him. The one that burned and overpowered everything else around me. When life felt out of control. When my own thoughts made it hard to breathe. Somehow, he had become a source of comfort, something I could lean on. In his presence, I felt less scared of the world, of the future. But now, he looked like someone else and I hated it.

That desperation bled into my voice, into my expression. "Okay, what can I do? How can I help?"

"There's nothing you can do."

"Just tell me, Daniel."

He froze in his spot.

"What?" I asked. "I know that you've thought about it. Haven't you? Just say it."

He continued to gawk at me, with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief.

"What?" I snapped. "What is it?"

"You've never called me Daniel before." His voice came out breathless.

Huh? Oh. Shit, he was right.

"Yeah, I have," I said defensively.

His coldness melted. His shoulders relaxed. As if he had been stuck in another realm, in a cursed nightmare, but his name on my tongue broke that spell. Freed him back to the present.

My cheeks boiled. "I have."

"What do you mean 'thought about it'?" He tilted his head. "Thought about what?"

For a moment, I couldn't remember what I was talking about before. "I mean why haven't you asked me to help you get the evidence?"

"Um, have you been here the last couple of weeks? Or was it your twin helping to seduce Marko?" He stood from his chair, organizing the endless pages of papers.

"I can wear the wire."

His movements stilled. When he snapped his gaze back at me, it made me flinch.

"You what?"

"Romeo has never met me. He'd never expect me to be in that neighborhood—"

"No."

"It'd be easy to change my features with makeup. There are a lot of tricks—"

"Don't ever bring this up again."

"Why?" Irritation raised my tone.

He brushed past me to put more distance between us, staring out the window.

"I don't get it." I followed. "You said that girl was your last shot. Now all of your lives are at risk. What's your plan?"

"I don't have one yet." He kept his back on me and his gaze on the forest.

"Well, I do—"

"No."

"Listen—"

"I'm not going to listen. I don't care what you say. The answer to that will always be no."

"Why? You don't think I can pull it off? I'm strong, Daniel. Don't undermine me—"

"I'm not undermining you!" He turned so quickly, it scared me. I had never seen his eyes so sad. Pleading, tormented. "Fuck. Are you serious? Is that really how low you think of me?"

"No! I don't think low of you at all!"

"Then stop."

"Why? Why not—"

"I don't want you to get hurt. Jesus!"

I scoffed. "Well, it's a little too late for that."

My words hit a nerve. His jaw twitched.

"You want to leave? Here." He removed the wedding ring and forced it in my palm. "Take whatever you want and go. Leave. You don't ever have to see my face again. Just leave."

"Asshole, I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't want your help! You know what I want?" His laugh was broken, painful. "I want my family to go to sleep without worrying that your dad will burst in and kill them. Because he's tried it before, Clara, and he's going to try again. Soon. I can feel it. So just go. You don't belong here."

His words ripped my already shredded heart.

He was right, though. I didn't belong here. I didn't belong anywhere. But somewhere along the way, I started hoping that maybe I could fit in here. Maybe they liked me. I had lied, when I said that being unwanted didn't hurt anymore.

"Where do I belong then?" My voice trembled.

"Somewhere better. Away from me. Somewhere you won't get hurt."

"Somewhere where I won't get hurt? You really think a place like that exists?"

"No, I don't."

"Exactly. So stop bullshitting."

His eyes widened as I cupped his face and pressed my lips on his cheek. I felt it. His silent grief still bleeding from unstitched wounds. This fierce, unmoving man. His breath shook. I felt his strangled emotions in his exhale against my skin.

"I feel safe here," I murmured. "Don't take that from me."

I gave him back his wedding ring and turned to leave his office, not because I was angry. But because there was nothing left to say. Whether he believed me or not didn't matter.

When I walked into my room, I took a deep breath, then released.

On my left, on my laptop screen, was the unfinished article for Rebel Ink.

Title: How I found out my dad is a sex trafficker: A story by Clara Rossi.

Useless without evidence.

I unzipped my crossbody bag on my chair and pulled out the object I'd been staring at every day for the last seven days.

The wire I had stolen when Daniel kicked it off the table.

~

The next morning, I was in Nana's blue Ford Focus, parked across the cafe by Echo High School. Rain hit the car's roof.

Was this potentially the most reckless, dangerous idea? Absolutely. Daniel had no idea where I was. No one knew. His depressive episode ended up being a blessing in disguise.

It's an experiment for work. I had lied to Nana when I asked to borrow her car.

The fact that she didn't recognize me at first was a relief. With this new hairstyle (clip-in bangs with a headband) and contoured makeup (to round my features) and unusual clothes (low-cut top with ripped jeans), I was sure even my parents wouldn't recognize me on the street.

"To say that Mr. Rossi's life started off rough would be an understatement," said the journalist on my phone in the latest interview. "But today he is one of the most respected billionaires."

I rushed out of the car, cold rain drops hitting me in the face. As if the weather itself was demanding me to turn around.

"If I have to give only one advice, it's this," said my dad to the journalist through my headphones. "All of us are made of water. But you have to make a choice. Do you want to be a puddle? Or do you want to be an ocean?"

Tomasso Rossi was my father. I'd risked my life to defend him once. It was a mistake.

"Anyone can stomp on a puddle, but nothing can destroy an ocean. So become an ocean."

All I wanted now was to correct it.

The door creaked on its hinges as I entered the cafe.

It smelled like stale coffee and dust. The barista didn't bat an eye behind the register. Two older men read a newspaper in the far left, around torn leather seats. On the right side, by the dirty windows were a line of bar stools and a splintered long table.

I settled there, pretending to be a student. But three hours passed and nothing happened. It was both a relief and a disappointment.

Maybe he was watching me. Testing. So I kept my behavior consistent.

It took a week.

I knew from the moment he walked through the door that it was him.

He was tall. With salt-and-pepper hair gelled back, a few pieces fallen forward. He wore a leather jacket and a charming smile. It was painfully obvious that he had noticed me, but made an effort not to look in my direction.

After placing his order, he pretended to look for a seat. My aisle was empty, but so was the rest of the place at ten in the morning on a Wednesday.

He chose to sit next to me, leaving a chair between us.

My pulse was racing so fast, it went numb.

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

I froze, reminding myself of the wire in my top.

"I ditched."

"You new? Haven't seen you around here."

I shrugged a self-conscious shoulder. "Right back at ya."

He smiled. "Everyone knows me. I'm Romeo."

"Are you...famous?"

"No, do I look famous?"

A shy smile played on my mouth, which I let him see before shoving my face back in my notebook. "I don't know. You kind of look like it."

"I work in the industry! Is it that obvious?" A sleazy chuckle. "Nah, I'm too old. I mostly focus on finding talent. Sometimes I help high school kids around here with acting or modeling gigs. Hate to see untapped potential, you know? Especially in this neighborhood."

"You mean around poor people?"

"Hey, I don't judge. I used to be poor. We all have to start somewhere."

"Hm." It took so much energy to say the next line. "That's kind of you, I guess."

But it worked. He took that as a sign to ditch his seat and claim the one right beside me. The scent of his obnoxious cologne attacked my nostrils. I held my breath not to cough.

"So what's your name?"

I shifted to film his face and bit my bottom lip as a distraction. "I think I'm a little too young to ask that, no?"

"Oh, please. You're my daughter's age! I'm just being friendly."

"I'm Sophie." I rolled my eyes. "Romeo."

"So why are you ditching class, huh? Aren't you scared I might tell your parents?"

"It's funny that you think they'll care."

His eyes sparkled. "They don't? I'm sorry. You don't deserve that. No one does. Well...if you ever need anything. I mean..." He pulled out his wallet from his jeans and sorted through cash. "Here." Handed me a twenty dollar bill.

"I'm not a charity case." I scowled.

"No, I know. It's my treat. Consider it a kind gesture."

"I don't want a kind gesture. I want a job."

"Oh? Are you old enough to work?"

"No." I frowned. "I'm fifteen. I guess the only thing I can do is modeling or acting, if I have the talent. And if I'm pretty enough, I guess."

He scoffed. "Pretty? The moment I saw you, I knew. This girl has something special."

My mouth went dry.

Okay. Great.

I'd pretend to be fooled. Underage girls were taken straight to my dad. Once I filmed and uploaded it online, he'd be done. No bribery or blackmail could erase that kind of evidence.

But I wouldn't be able to pull this off without Daniel. And I couldn't tell him either.

If I wanted this to work, I had to lie to everyone.

A/N
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