Gianna I tugged at the scrap of black lace riding up my hip. This outfit wasn’t clothes, it was a prayer. A tiny, see-through prayer. I caught my reflection in the cracked dressing room mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. The silver wig was cold and synthetic against my neck. "We’re getting that money, Bri. I swear," I said. Brianna looked at me, her eyes rimmed with red, "Gianna, you don't have to do this. You’ve already done enough for us. You shouldn't have to be in here, looking like this. We'll find another way." "There is no other way, and you know it," I snapped, then immediately softened. I grabbed her hands. They were ice cold, "I am not letting anything happen to any of us. I'd rather stand out there in front of a thousand strangers than spend one second wondering where Cole Mercer took you. If this is what it takes to keep all of us safe, then I'm doing it. End of story." The door swung open, Mama D came in with a smile. She looked us up and down, her eyes lingering on the way the black straps dug into my skin. She hated this as much as we did. "Are you ready, girls. It’s go time," she said, waving a hand dripping in fake gold rings, "We’ve got a private party in the Gold Room. These aren't your usual local creeps. These guys are fancy. Suits that cost more than your lives, clean fingernails, the whole deal. They’ll throw heavy cash if you make them feel like kings. Don't blow it." I swallowed hard and reached for the black lace mask on the vanity. I tied the silk ribbons behind my head, feeling a tiny bit of relief as the fabric hid my eyes and nose. If I couldn't see them clearly, maybe they couldn't see the real me. Walking into the private room felt like stepping into a freezer. It was dark, filled the smell of top-shelf bourbon and the kind of cologne that lingers in your throat. Three men sat on the leather U-shaped couch. They were leaning in, talking in low voices. "It’s a simple wire," one was saying, "We move the first billion through the offshore accounts in Cyprus by morning." First billion. The word made my head spin. I was here risking everything for a few grand, and they were talking about money that didn't even sound real. The music started, I stepped into the center of the rug, moving my hips, not like Bri and Tasha were moving. Instead, I used the only thing I knew: my training. I rose onto the tips of my toes, my calves flexing, I moved my hips in a slow circle, every muscle in my stomach rippling with a control that only years of the barre could give you. I arched my back until my silver hair nearly swept the floor, my ribs expanding as I took a shaky breath. I could feel their eyes on me. The room went dead silent. The talk of billions stopped. I arched my back, sliding my hands down my sides, trying to look like I enjoyed the way their eyes tracked my every move. The man in the center slowly sat straight. He didn't say a word. He just lifted one hand and curled two fingers, beckoning me closer. As, I got closer, the details hit me. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, no tie, just a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top. I stood between his knees, my body swaying to the beat. I looked up, and for a second, I forgot to breathe. He was... beautiful, like, scary beautiful. He had a jawline so sharp that it looked unreal. But it was his eyes that trapped me, a light, piercing brown, like clover honey held up to a flame. I stepped even closer, my bare thigh brushing against the expensive wool of his suit trousers. I arched my back again, my spine supple as a whip, and let my arms flow upward, before I brought them down to graze my own collarbone. I was using every bit of my ballet training, the control, the lines, the way I knew exactly how to shift my weight to make my hips sway just right. Slowly, he reached out. His hand was large, his fingers long and tanned covered in tattoos. He started to reach for my waist, his palm open as if he wanted to pull me onto his lap. I didn't think. I just reacted. I caught his wrist with one hand and pushed it back toward his chest. I didn't break eye contact. I just gave a tiny, slow shake of my head. Look, but don't touch, I'm not that kind of girl. I'm just here for the cash. I expected him to get angry. I expected him to snap or call Mama D to complain. Men like this weren't used to being told "no," especially not in a room they paid for. Instead, a slow, lopsided smile spread across his face. It transformed his face from a cold statue into something human, something even more dangerous because of how charming it was. He didn't try again. He just leaned back into the leather couch, crossing one leg over the other, watching me with a look that said he was suddenly very, very interested in the girl behind the mask. I slowly turned my back to him, arching my spine until I could see him over my shoulder. I moved my hips in a slow circle, the black lace of my thong barely covering anything. I heard a soft rustle of fabric. I turned back around, my silver hair stuck to my glittery skin. He was reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a thick wad of cash. It was all hundred-dollar bills, crisp and new. He didn't just throw it at me. He didn't tuck it into the table. Instead, he held the money between two fingers and looked up at me. His light brown eyes were darker than before. He didn't say a word, but the way he tilted his head was a question. Can I? My heart was thumping so hard I thought it would burst through my ribs. Slowly, I stepped even closer, until my stomach was inches from his face. I didn't nod, but I didn't move away. He leaned in. I felt his hot breath on my skin, his hand came forward, and he didn't just tuck the money in. He took his time. His fingers slid under the strap, grazing the skin of my hip. He let his knuckles drag against me, pressing a little too hard, a little too long. The friction sent a literal shock through my system, an electric spark that started at my hip and shot straight to my core. I gasped, my back arching instinctively. It was a reaction to the heat of his touch. He knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb traced the edge of the lace, dipping just an inch lower than it needed to, claiming a piece of me that wasn't for sale. He looked up at me from his seat, that lopsided, beautiful smile growing wider as he saw my chest heaving. He watched my reaction like it was a show created just for him. "Good girl," he mouthed, though no sound came out. He finally let go, but the skin where he’d touched me felt like it was on fire. --- --- "Gianna! If you don't put those shoes on right this second, I am going to lose my mind!" My mom’s voice went up an octave. I looked away from the mirror, where I’d been staring at my own eyes, trying to see if they still looked like the girl in the mask from two nights ago. "I'm coming, Mommy! Chill! We aren't going to be late!" I yelled back, grabbing a pair of nude heels from the floor. I walked into the living room and found a scene of total chaos. My mom was wearing a floral dress that hugged her in all the right places, but her hands were shaking as she tried to fasten a gold hoop into her ear. She dropped the earring for the third time, a hiss of frustration leaving her lips. "Here, let me," I said, stepping in. I picked up the tiny gold circle and slid it through her lobe, clicking it shut. "Thanks, G," she breathed, patting my cheek, "I just want this to be perfect. Salvatore is... he's different. He’s a good man, but his family... his sons. They’re the Capones, Gianna. They’re the kind of people who own the city. If they don't think I'm right for him, or if they think you girls are... well, you know." "We'll be the picture of grace," I promised, giving her a wink, "They'll think Jules and I grew up in a palace." I turned to my little sister, Jules, who was currently trying to fit a bulky Barbie doll into the tiny, sparkly purse Mom bought her for the occasion. She was wearing a dress with so many layers of pink tulle she looked like a walking loofah. "Hey, Peanut," I said, crouching down. I made a massive, goofy fish-face at her, sucking in my cheeks and fluttering my eyelashes until I looked completely ridiculous. Jules burst out laughing, "G! You look like a weird frog!" "I look regal," I corrected her, poking her nose, "Now, listen. When we get to that house, if any of those guys look mean, just stick your tongue out at them when they aren't looking. It’s a secret trick for good luck." "Gianna, don't teach her that!" Mom groaned from the hallway, fumbling with her lipstick, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. I stood up, smoothing the fabric of my cream-colored dress. Five thousand dollars. That stranger, the one with the beautiful eyes and the tattoos that felt like they burned into my skin had handed us a lifeline. Because of that tip, I was able to cover this week’s payment to Cole Mercer. I’ll hand it over to him as soon as this dinner’s finished. We still owe him more than I can even bring myself to say, but for now, at least he’ll get his share. I even used a little of it to buy Jules the fancy shoes she’s wearing tonight. “Ready?” Mom asked, her hand resting on the doorknob while the Capone SUV idled outside, waiting for us. She looked beautiful, even if she seemed a little tired, a little more fragile than usual. It was just the nerves of meeting the legendary Salvatore Capone's inner circle. "Ready," I said, grabbing Jules's hand and swinging it. The SUV glided up the driveway, which was so freaking long. On both sides, Italian cypress trees stood. The car slowed to a crawl as the house came into full view. It was a monster of a building, white stone, massive pillars, and a front door that looked like it belonged to a cathedral. "Whoa," Jules breathed, "It’s a castle." "It’s a lot of windows to wash," I muttered. The SUV came to a perfectly timed stop right in front of the giant stairs. One of the suited men hopped out and opened our door, offering a hand to my mom. She took it, stepping out. I stepped out after her, tugging Jules along with me... And then I saw them. Three tall men stood in a loose circle and my stomach dropped so fast I thought I might actually be sick. Right between them stood the man from the strip club. And even with the thin glasses he was wearing now, I knew those eyes. Light brown, like honey held up to a flame. Two nights ago. Five thousand dollars. His hand at my waist. His eyes on me. My stomach turned into a block of ice. I felt sick. I felt naked, even in my dress. “Mum…” my fingers tightened painfully around Jules’, “Who… who are those people?” My mother looked over at them, a bright, hopeful smile on her face. She had no idea. She didn't know her daughter was a liar. She didn't know where all that money really came from. “Oh,” she said lightly, “That’s Salvatore’s sons. Adriano, Dante… and the one with the glasses is Raphael.” Those eyes were the same ones that had watched me dance. Watched me bend. Watched me take his money. The world tilted. The man I stripped for. The man who tipped me five thousand dollars like it meant nothing. He was my soon-to-be stepbrother. Cazzo. Chapter 2 Raphael Gold-digging whores. I didn’t even have to look at them to know that’s exactly what they were. The smell of desperation always clung to women like them, no matter how much expensive perfume they sprayed on their wrists to hide it. Hazel Kinsley. She was the widow of some pathetic senator who had managed to die and leave her with a mountain of debt and a name that wasn't worth the paper it was printed on. So, naturally, she did what people like her do best. She found a shark. She latched onto my father like a leech, hoping his shadow would be enough to hide her from the world. My father, the great Don Salvatore Capone, was a joke. He couldn't even figure out how to be a father to his own blood, yet here he was, tripping over his own feet to play hero for a woman who probably didn't even know his favorite food. He was so eager to take care of her and her baggage. It was embarrassing. And the worst part about all this was... Hazel was sitting in my mother’s chair. That chair was sacred. Seeing this stranger—this parasite—sitting there felt like watching someone spit on a grave. Right next to her sat the older one. Genevieve, or whatever forgettable name she had. She was trying to look small, trying to blend into the furniture, but I could see the way her eyes darted around, probably counting the silverware and figuring out how much she could hock it for. And then there was the ten-year-old, Juliet. She was bouncing in her seat, looking at the chandelier like it was made of diamonds. I didn't want them here. I didn't want their noise, their cheap problems, or their fake smiles. This was my home and my father had just opened the gates for a bunch of nobodies. Every time Hazel laughed, I felt a pulse of pure, dignified hatred in my neck. She looked far too comfortable. Her hands were small and soft, the hands of someone who had never worked a day in her life, someone who had spent her husband’s money until the well ran dry. Now she was here to drink ours. I leaned back, taking a slow drag of my cigarete, letting the smoke cloud the space between us. I wanted her to feel unwelcome. I wanted her to feel like an intruder, because that’s exactly what she was. "So, Gianna," Claire said. As the Donna and my sister-in-law, she was basically the queen of our home, and she sounded way too friendly for a table full of people who looked like they wanted to commit a felony, "You’re in college, right? What are you actually studying?" I expected her to say something useless. Art history. Philosophy. Something that required zero brain cells. "Tell them, honey. It's very advanced," her mother added. Gianna, her name was Gianna... "I'm studying Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning," she said, "Mostly deep neural networks." I didn't move, but my head tilted just a fraction of a millimeter. My brain did a quick scan. AI and ML? Deep neural networks? That was the language I used to build the back-end systems that moved our money across the globe. I finally shifted my gaze, letting it settle on her for the first time. Long, light brown hair. Green eyes that seemed to be fighting to stay calm. My memory is a filing cabinet of faces, names, and patterns, I don't forget things. And looking at her, a warning light flickered in the back of my mind. She looked familiar. It was vague, but I’d seen those eyes before. Green eyes were a rare find. My brain doesn't make mistakes, and it was telling me right now that this wasn't the first time our paths had crossed. I didn't know where I had seen her, but the more I stared, the more my skin prickled. I leaned back, my eyes narrowing behind my glasses. I’d figure it out. "That is incredible," Maddie said. My other sister-in-law's face lit up with that genuine, annoying warmth she always had, "That’s complicated stuff. We actually have a genius in the family who works with that kind of tech all the time. Raphael, you have to talk to Gianna!" I felt the trap snap shut around me. What the fvck, Mads? Adriano was looking at me from across the table, a smug look on his face. He knew I hated being forced to interact with the help, and that’s all these women were to me. I took one last pull of my cigarete and crushed it out in the crystal ashtray. "It's interesting work," I finally muttered as I adjusted my glasses, "You'll need a good server cluster..." I just said. Most students just play with toy datasets. They don't have the compute power for anything real. I expected her to look away, to be intimidated by the coldness in my tone. Most people were. Instead, she leaned forward, "Oh! Are you… building models?" she asked, "For what kind of application?" I felt a strange, sharp prickle at the base of my skull. I didn't answer her. I couldn't. Because if I told her what I used my models for, I’d have to kill her before the dessert was served. "Papà Salvatore, do I get my own room?" the little one, Julia, chirped. Of course. There it was. The real reason these parasites had crawled out of the woodwork and into our dining room. They weren't looking for a family, they were looking for real estate. They were already measuring the bedrooms, picking out which corners of our legacy they could claim for themselves. The transparency of it was disgusting Adriano choked on his wine, and the dinner turned into the train wreck I knew it was always going to be. --- --- I tossed my glasses onto the dresser. I didn't actually need the prescription, my vision was perfect but when you spend eighteen hours a day dissecting code and staring at glowing monitors, blue-light protection becomes a necessity, not a choice. I valued my efficiency too much to let my eyes fail me. During the day, I had a legit tech firm to run, but at night? At night, I ran the Chicago Outfit. I did it all from behind a screen, digitally controlling everything. It took hours of staring at the glass, moving numbers, and watching data streams. My job was simple: keep us getting richer and keep ruining the lives of anyone who got in our way. I could drain a bank account before the owner even finished typing their password. If I wanted to, I could erase a person’s entire existence, social security, credit history, birth certificate with a few clicks. And right now, my only job was to figure out which one of these parasitic women was trying to bleed my family dry. We don’t do "new beginnings" in this house, and we definitely don't do "happy families." We do assets and liabilities. And these women looked like the kind of liabilities that needed to be liquidated. I started with the most obvious target. The one leading this little gold-digging expedition. The mother. Hazel Kinsley. I wanted to see the exact moment she decided my father was her winning lottery ticket. By the time I was done with her, she wouldn't just be out of our house, she’d be wishing she’d never even heard the name Capone. The click of the lock was the only warning I got. "Raphael." My father’s voice cut through the silence in my room. I didn't even have to look to know he’d stopped dead in his tracks the second his eyes hit the surveillance photos on my laptop of his girlfriend. I closed my eyes for a split second, a cold, sharp sigh escaping my lips as I felt my patience thinning. I turned my head slowly, expecting to see him standing there alone, probably looking for another round of excuses for his pathetic dinner choices or his sudden need for a soulmate. Instead, I found him flanked by Vincenzo. My oldest brother. The Don. Vincenzo stood there with his arms crossed. He was the one man in this world whose orders were absolute, the final authority I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I wanted to. Seeing them together made the situation clear, whatever my father was about to ask. He brought the Don along to make sure I understood whatever this was, it wasn't a favor or a request. It was a mandate. An order. "Yeah?" I asked, my voice flat and monotone, matching the cold glow of the screen. I didn't even bother to minimize the windows. My father stepped further into the room, his eyes landing on the data-heavy screens and the high-res photos of Hazel Kinsley I had pinned to the desktop. He didn't look angry, he looked like he’d expected exactly this. He gestured toward the screen with a flicking motion of his hand, "That," he said, his voice dropping into that low, serious tone he used when business was on the line, "That is exactly why I’m here, Raphael. I knew you’d already be digging. I knew you’d be trying to find a reason to tear this apart before it started." I kept my gaze locked on Vincenzo, "What, I’m not even allowed to run a basic background check anymore? I already sat through the dinner. I endured the disrespect to my mother's table and listened to your little sob story. Is there something else you need from my schedule, or can I get back to actual work?" "Raphael," my father repeated, "I saw that look in your eyes at dinner. I know how your mind works. You see a new variable, and you want to solve it. You want to dig." My head snapped towards him, a muscle in my jaw twitching. He stepped closer, "I’m telling you right now, let it go. Hazel and her girls are not a project. They aren't a threat to be analyzed. I want you to respect their privacy. That means no deep dives, no hacking their bank statements, and absolutely no background checks. You stay out of their digital lives." I raised an eyebrow, "You’re asking me to be blind, Dad? In this house?" "It’s not a request," my father snapped, his jaw tightening. Vincenzo finally moved. He took a single step forward, and the temperature seemed to drop. He didn't have to raise his voice, the authority he carried was enough to crush the lungs of a lesser man. "It’s my order as well, Raphael," Vincenzo said, "You will stand down on this. If I find out you’ve been sniffing around their history or running their names through your servers, I’ll take it as a direct middle finger to me. They’re under my protection now. Am I making myself clear?" I felt the burn of frustration in my chest. My instincts were screaming at me that something was wrong, that those rare green eyes were a puzzle I needed to solve but I was a Capone. I understood the chain of command. "Crystal," I bit out. "Good," Vincenzo said, giving me a single, stiff nod. "Go on a hunt. Do your thing. Go burn off that energy on some real enemies. Just leave those women out of it." The second the words left his mouth, the rage boiled over. I didn't even think, I just grabbed my laptop and hurled it across the room with everything I had. It hit the hardwood floor, snapping into two pieces, the screen flickering one last time before going dark. Vincenzo gave his head a shake before leaving. But my dad stopped. He walked over, and placed a hand on my shoulder. He gave it one squeeze before turning and leaving me alone. I stood up and shoved my chair back, the screech of metal against the floor echoing my mood. I walked over to the closet and ripped off the charcoal suit, tossing the expensive fabric onto the floor like it was trash, and replaced it with a black muscle-fit shirt that clung to my chest and shoulders. Next came the heavy, black tactical trousers, military grade, built for movement and utility. I slid my customized handguns into their holsters and tucked my knives into their hidden sheaths. Every blade was sharp enough to split a hair, every weapon was a part of me. I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck. My phone vibrated. A single text glowed on the screen: Is the hunt on for tonight? Yeah, I typed back. I slid the phone into my pocket. I needed the hunt. I needed the clarity of the chase to wash away the irritation of the dinner and the weight of Vincenzo’s order felt like a collar around my neck, and I hated the way it pulled. I headed down to the garage. The heavy steel doors slid open, and rows of supercars sat under the glow of LED strips. Ferrars, Lamborghins, custom-built monsters that could outrun a helicopter. My eyes landed on my favorite, the Ducati Panigalle V4. It was a blacked-out demon of a bike. I grabbed my helmet, pulled it over my head, and the world went quiet, just the sound of my own breathing. I kicked the engine over, and the bike roared to life, a deep, aggressive growl that vibrated through the floor and up my spine. I hit the throttle, and the garage door couldn't open fast enough. I blurred out into the night. The party was at The Void. That was the name of our massive, black-stone mansion tucked so deep into the woods that the law couldn't find it even if they had a map. It was a place where things disappeared I pulled up in the driveway, the bass from the music was so loud I could feel it in my teeth. The house was glowing, lights spilling out onto the lawn where hundreds of people were already losing their minds. This was a typical mob party, expensive booze, dangerous men, and women looking for a way in. The second I cut the engine and pulled off my helmet, everything changed. "Yo, RC!" someone shouted over the music. "Holy shit, Raphael is here!" I felt the eyes on me immediately. People cleared a path as I walked toward the entrance. I was aggravated. I was pissed. I wanted to be invisible, but when your last name is Capone, you’re a sun that everyone wants to burn in. "Raphael!" A group of girls drifted toward me. One of them, a blonde with lips plumped to perfection, leaned into my space, her hand brushing my bicep. "Raphael, baby, you look like you want to kill someone," she purred, her eyes scanning my tactical gear. I didn't push her away. I didn't even look at her. I wasn't mad at them, they were just playing the game they were born to play. I was mad at the glitch in my head. I was mad that I was being told to play nice with parasites. "Move," I ordered. She didn't look offended, she looked thrilled. That was the problem with people like this. They loved the edge of the knife until it actually started to cut. I needed to drown out the sound of my father’s voice. I needed to forget the Don’s orders. But most of all, I needed to figure out why I felt like the hunt tonight wasn't going to be enough to fix my head. I pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the screen for a second before I dialed. "Enzo," I said, my voice cutting through the bass of the party. "Yes, boss?" Enzo answered immediately. "You remember the girl from the Gold Room two nights ago?" I asked. I didn't need to describe her, he knew which one had my attention. "The dancer? Yeah, I remember." I didn't care what it cost. I didn't care who she was. I just needed to clear my head, and she was the only thing I’d seen in days that made my blood run hot for the right reasons. "Find her," I ordered, "Get her to the Void. Now." Chapter 3 Gianna I was back at the Rose Garden, which was basically a fancy way of saying a place where girls got dressed up to be arm candy for guys with too much money. "I’m telling you, Mama D, they aren’t humans," I groaned, throwing my head back so hard my ponytail nearly hit the floor. "They are like... six different flavors of Doom. It’s a Doom Buffet." Mama D, the only woman I knew who could look scary while wearing a floral robe and holding a cigarete, blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. She looked us over like a mother hen guarding a bunch of sparkly chicks, "They’re Capones, G." "I saw more gvns today than I’ve seen in my entire life!" I said, waving my hands around, "And they don't even hide them. It’s like, 'Oh, pass the salt, and also, here is my Glock.' And the staring! Oh my god, the staring. They didn't just look at me; they stared at me like I’d personally broken into their house and stolen their favorite children." Tasha laughed, her dark skin glowing under the vanity lights as she dusted gold shimmer over her collarbones, "Girl, at least they’re rich. If I’m going to be stared at by a man with a weapon, he better have a private jet and a designer suit." "It’s not funny, Tash! One of them, Adriano looked like he wanted to snap his fork in half just because my mom breathed," I said, leaning over to grab a hair tie. Jasmine was sitting right next to me, her dark hair pulled back as she carefully pinned a small, jeweled nose stud into place. She didn't look worried at all. She just glanced at me through the mirror with a tiny, wicked smile. "I don't know, G," she teased, "Maybe they weren't trying to scare you. Maybe they just liked the view. You did wear that dress that makes your waist look like it doesn't exist." "Their stares were hostile, Jas. Extremely hostile," I muttered, but my mind immediately drifted to the one brother who stared at me harder than everyone else. Raphael. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine just thinking about him. He was the one I was most afraid of. He sat there with those sharp glasses and those eyes that felt like they were scanning my hard drive. Every time he looked at me, my heart stopped. I was so sure, so absolutely positive, that he was going to stand up, point a finger at me, and tell everyone he’d seen me at the Gold Room. I’d been so careful. The club had dim lights, and I wore that heavy mask and the wig. He probably didn't recognize me. I took a shaky breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over me all over again. He hadn't said a word. He’d just looked at me like I was a bug he didn't feel like squashing yet. He definitely didn't recognize me. He couldn't have. If he knew his future stepsister was the same girl he’d watched on a stage, I’d be at the bottom of a lake by now. "I just need to stay out of his way," I whispered to myself, grabbing my brush. "I’ll be fine. He’s never going to find out. There is no way." "What are you mumbling about?" Tasha asked, nudging me. "Nothing," I lied quickly, forcing a bright, fake smile, "Just hoping my luck holds out. I’m going to go help Mama D with the inventory in the back." In the corner, Morgan was vibrating. She was the baby of our group, barely eighteen. Her straight, jet-black hair was pulled into a high, sleek ponytail, and she kept tugging at the hem of her tight dress. She looked like she was about to go to her first prom, except the prom was a high event gala or something with men twice her age. "Are they... are they going to come here?" Morgan asked, "The Capones?" I softened, reaching over to pat her hand, "No. They stay in their castles. This place is too 'low-rent' for them." She’d been practicing her sultry walk in the hallway for three hours. "You'll be fine," Bri said, walking over and putting a protective arm around Morgan’s shoulders, "Just remember, we look at them, but we don't see them. We’re just here for the paper." Emma walked over, her eyes soft as she squeezed my hand. "G, you don’t have to go back to that house. You can stay here. Your mom... she can live her new life with them, but you don't have to be part of that." I gave her a small, grateful smile. These girls were like my family. I met them when I was sixteen, five years ago, after I’d run away from a life that felt like it was crushing me. They didn't ask questions, they just opened the door and took me in. It took my mother four months to track me down, and when she finally did, she tried to cut them out of my life like they were a disease. She thought she’d succeeded. She had no idea that not a single day had passed in five years where I hadn't talked to them. Mama Denise ran the Rose Garden, but it wasn’t what people thought. These girls were escorts, they were the arm candy for the elite. They went to the galas, they danced at the high-class events, but they were strictly off-limits. Mama D was like a lioness, no one was allowed to touch her girls. Not ever. I wasn't officially on the roster, but I was always here. Since I didn't have a real job, I made myself useful. These women were the ones who stepped up when my world was falling apart. They helped me pay for my mom’s spine surgery. They kept us afloat when Senator Kinsley—Jules’ father—died and left us drowning in mountains of debt. Every time I needed a miracle, Mama D used her connections to make it happen. So, yeah, I owed them everything. Helping out was the least I could do. Whether it was inventory, or filling in when they needed someone to look pretty at a party, I was there. They were my safety net. "And leave my mother alone with those six giants from hell? No way," I said, wrinkling my nose, "I have to be there for Jules. Someone has to make sure she doesn't accidentally become a mobster." "Which of you were at the Gold Room two nights ago?" Mama D asked, clapping her hands to get our attention. "There’s a black car idling at the curb for you. A private request." My heart did a weird little stutter, a cold prickle of sweat hitting the back of my neck. "A request? From who?" "High-end client," Mama D said, "He sent cash up front just to get the car moving. He’s at some estate out in the woods called The Void." Tasha and Brianna shared a look, then turned to Mama D. "We were all there, Mama," Tasha said, stepping forward while adjusting her earring. "Me, Bri, and G. But Gianna is off duty tonight. She isn't on the books for house calls." "Yeah," Bri added, nodding toward me. "The guy probably saw one of us. Send Tasha or me. We’re already dressed and ready to go." Mama D looked at the thick envelope of cash in her hand, then back at the girls, "Fine. Go on then. I’ve already vetted the guy, well, his people. They gave their word you’ll come back untouched. If he just wants a Gold Room girl, one of you will do." I watched them head for the door, and suddenly my heart hammered against my ribs. He was there. My stepbrother. What if... what if he did recognize me? What if he was the one who sent that car? No. That was impossible. I wore a mask, a wig, and the lighting was garbage. "You okay, G?" Mama D asked, noticing my pale face. "I'm fine," I lied, "Just... tired. I should get going. I need to get back before mum notice I'm missing." I gripped my coat, my knuckles white, and stayed hidden in the shadows until I heard the low rumble of the car engine fade away. Tasha and Brianna were gone. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, leaning my forehead against the cool metal of the lockers. I was safe. Then, the world exploded. The heavy front doors of the club didn’t just open, they hit the wall so hard that I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat. "Where’s my money, Denise?" a voice boomed. I peered around the corner. It was Cole Mercer. The leader of the Lake Street Reapers. He walked in swinging a heavy aluminum baseball bat. Behind him, four of his guys followed. Smash. Cole swung the bat, shattering a shelf of glass bottles behind the bar. Shards of crystal flew everywhere, raining down. "The week is up!" Cole yelled, his eyes wide and manic. He stepped up to a table and flipped it over with one hand, the wood splintering, "I’m tired of waiting. This place looks busy. You've got my cut, or I start breaking legs." Mama D stepped forward, her face was cold though I could see her fingers trembling, "Cole, stop. You're scaring the girls." "I don't give a damn about their feelings!" he snapped, bringing the bat down on a chair, snapping the legs like toothpicks. He walked over to where the girls were huddled. He stopped in front of Morgan. She was shaking so hard she could barely stand, her eyes huge and wet with tears. Cole leaned in close. He reached out and tangled his dirty fingers in her sleek black hair, pulling her head back. "You're the new one, right?" he sneered, "Maybe if Denise doesn't have the cash, I just take you instead. We can find a way for you to pay the debt." "Get your hands off her!" I snapped, stepping forward before I could talk myself out of it. Cole turned his head, a slow, ugly smile spreading across his face, "Ah, the little scientist. You got something for me, G?" Mama D rushed to her desk and pulled out a thick envelope, "Here! It’s all I have right now, Cole. Take it and leave." Cole snatched the envelope, counted it quickly, and spat on the floor. "Seven? You owe me ten, Denise. You’re short." He raised the bat again, eyeing a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. "Wait!" I shouted. I reached into my bag, pulling out the three thousand from the tip I received two nights ago. I walked over and slammed the stack of bills onto the bar, "There. Three thousand. That makes ten. Now leave us alone." Cole picked up the cash, thumbing through it with a greasy smirk. He looked at me, then at the terrified girls. He stepped away from Morgan, finally letting go of her hair. "Next time, don't make me come down here and break your toys," Cole said, pointing the bat at Mama D’s chest. "Next week, I want twelve. Interest for making me wait. Don't be late, or I’ll burn this Garden to the ground with all of you inside." He laughed, a dry, hacking sound, and signaled his men. They kicked over one last lamp on their way out, leaving us in the flickering darkness. Morgan collapsed into a chair, sobbing into her hands. I stood there, staring at my empty bag, my hands finally stopping their shake only to turn cold as ice. "You didn't have to do that, G," Mama D whispered, "That was for you. You needed that for your college tuition. Your future." I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head, not letting myself regret it for even a second. I walked straight over to Morgan, who was still trembling like a leaf, and pulled her small frame against my chest. I held her tight, letting her hide her face in my shoulder. "I’ll figure it out, Mama," I said. I smoothed back Morgan’s hair, feeling her tears soak into my shirt. "Don't worry about the tuition, okay? We’ve got each other’s back. Always. Money comes and goes, but we're family. We’ll find a way to fix this. I promise." I meant it, but as I looked at the wreckage of the room, I knew I was in deep. My bank account was officially at zero, and my stomach felt like it was tied in knots. I had nothing left, no safety net, no backup plan, just the crushing weight of everything falling apart at once. Chapter 4 Raphael I leaned against the cold brick wall of the mansion, my arms crossed, watching the show. Our soldiers were busy dragging in the trash, fifty men, all bound at the wrists, their faces covered in bruises and tears. They were lined up like cattle ready for the slaughter. This was the Hunt for the night, and the air already smelled like sweat and fear. Adriano walked in behind them, looking entirely too casual. He had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expensive coat fluttering as he moved. "The cells downstairs were getting a bit crowded," he said, his voice light, almost bored. "So I brought you fifty of the worst. Traitors, rats, and the kind of scum that touches people who can’t fight back. They’re all yours. Do whatever you want with them." I didn't say a word. I just watched, my mind already calculating the thrill of the hunt. Luca walked over and crouched down in front of one man who was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. The second the man’s eyes met Luca’s, a dark, wet stain spread across his trousers. He literally pissed himself just from a look. That made Luca smile. It wasn’t a normal smile, it was the kind of jagged, hateful expression that made your skin crawl. He looked more alive in this basement than he ever did at a family dinner. "Is that the one?" I asked, my voice flat. Luca didn't look back at me. He just kept staring at the man, his eyes dark and empty. "Yeah," he whispered, "This is the piece of trash who... did those things to his own son." Just then, the heavy metal door groaned open. Dante walked in, looking annoyed as he tried to peel some girl off his arm. She was clinging to his sleeve like her life depended on it, but he just shoved her back toward the hall telling her something sweet to hold her off. He straightened his collar and strolled over to us, looking at the row of trembling men. "What did I miss?" Dante asked, checking his watch. "The party started without me?" I looked at the fifty men, then at my brothers. The night was young, and I had fifty different ways to make sure these men regretted ever being born. "Just getting ready to play," I said. I reached for the weapon resting on the table. It wasn't something you could just buy, I had spent months in my lab building it, piece by piece. It was an electronic bow, sleek and matte black, looking more like a piece of high-tech surgical equipment than a weapon. It was light as a feather but strong enough to put a hole through a brick wall. I picked up one of the arrows. I had designed these myself, too. They weren't just sharp sticks, they were smart. The tips were made of a special metal that didn't just pierce skin, the moment they hit a target, they sent a massive electrical surge straight to the heart. I’d programmed them to track heat, so once I locked on, there was no running away. If I fired, the arrow did the thinking for me. It didn't matter how fast these men ran or where they tried to hide in the dark. My arrows would find them, and the last thing they’d feel was a thousand volts of my own personal brand of justice. "Take them to the back," I ordered. I gestured toward the massive floor-to-ceiling glass walls that looked out into the blackness. Behind the mansion lay the heart of our estate, acres and acres of thick forest. It was our own private playground, a kingdom of pain where the rules of the world didn't exist. The soldiers started grabbing the men by their collars, dragging them toward the heavy steel doors. "Make sure they understand the map," I added, a small, dark smirk playing on my lips, "There is no exit. The entire forest is wrapped in ten feet of electrified barbed wire. The only way out of those woods is back through this house. And to get through this house, they have to get past us." I watched the realization hit the prisoners. Their eyes went wide as they looked at the dark treeline. It wasn't just a forest, it was a cage. A massive, beautiful, green cage. They could run until their lungs burned and their feet bled, but they would always be trapped inside our world. "Give them a five-minute head start," I told Adriano, "I want them to feel like they have a chance. I want their hearts to be pumping fast. It makes the sensors on my arrows lock on much better." The thrill of the hunt, the power of the tech, and the absolute control over fifty lives. To most people, this was a nightmare. To me, it was the only time I truly felt like a god. The heavy stone back terrace was crowded with the kind of men who ruled the world from glass skyscrapers. These weren't just random guys, they were the heirs, the CEOs, the sons of senators, they were the guys I’d gone to Ivy League schools with, the ones I traded stocks with, and the ones who sat across from me in high-stakes boardrooms. "Raphael," a voice called out. It was Julian, the son of a tech mogul I’d helped take over a competitor last year. He adjusted the night-vision goggles on his head, a glass of expensive bourbon in his other hand, "I heard you updated the software on the perimeter sensors. Please tell me the 'no-kill zone' near the wire is gone. I want to see them hit the electricity this time." I didn't even look up from my bow. "I fixed it, Julian. If they touch the fence, they’ll light up like a Christmas tree. Try not to miss this time." A few of the guys laughed, these men weren't here for a gala or a charity auction. They were here for the high that only the Capones could provide. We had grown up together, gone to the same elite schools, and now we shared the same dark secrets. "The entry f^e is paid?" I asked, not looking at them as I calibrated the touch-screen on my bow. "Every cent, Raphael," one of them, a billionaire's son with a cruel glint in his eyes replied, "And the side bets are already at ten million for the first kill." I looked out at the fifty shadows running into the treeline. My screen flickered to life, showing fifty small, pulsing heat signatures. "The rules are simple," I said, my voice cutting through the excited deep voices of the men, "The forest is a closed loop. If they reach the wire, they die. If they stay still, they die. The only way they 'win' is if they make it back to the mansion basement before the sun comes up." I paused, a cold, sharp smile stretching across my face. "But I’ve never had a winner." The men around me laughed, they gripped their weapons, high-end rifles and crossbows, waiting for my signal. I’m the one who provided the playground for their darkest desires, the one who turned a boring Friday night into a hunt that would be whispered about in boardrooms for months. "Five minutes are up," I whispered, flicking the safety off my bow, "The Void is open. Happy fvcking hunting, gentlemen." Chapter 5 Raphael The last man fell backward, crawling away on his elbows, "Please! I have a family!" "So did the people you sold out," I said. I didn't use an arrow for him. I stepped on his chest, feeling his ribs give way under my tactical boots. I leaned down, the red dot of my bow's laser resting right between his eyes. And then I pulled the trigger. The hunt went on, and as the first gray light of dawn began to bleed through the canopy, the Hunt ended. I stood up and checked the digital display on my wrist. Twelve. Twelve kills tonight. I walked back toward the clearing. The other men were already there, emerging from the shadows like a pack of wolves returning from a kill. Their expensive tactical gear was stained with mud and blood, their faces flushed with the kind of high you couldn't buy in a pill. Julian walked up to me, his chest heaving, he raised a blood-spattered hand, and we hit a heavy fist bump. "God, Raphael," he laughed, "That ridge trap? Pure genius. I watched the third one run right into your wire. Best night of the year." Marcus joined us, wiping a smear of red off his cheek. He grabbed a bottle of hundred-year-old scotch from a waiting soldier and took a long swig before passing it to me, "The side bets are through the roof, Rafe. We’re going to need a bigger forest next time. Fifty isn't enough." Luca walked over, the rusted chain still draped over his shoulder like a trophy. He didn't say anything, he just stood next to men "Clean it up," I ordered the soldiers, "I want the place cleaned by sunrise." I turned my back on the woods and started the long walk back to the mansion. I stripped off my gloves and tossed them onto a side table, my eyes scanning the foyer, "Where are they?" I asked a soldier standing guard by the stairs. "In the private room, sir," he muttered, "Enzo brought them in through the service entrance three hours ago." I pushed open the doors of the room, the light was dim, lit only by a few lamps, the scent of cheap, sugary perfume filled the place. Two women were huddled on the velvet sofa. A white girl with soft features and light hair, and a Black girl with sharp features and curly hair. I scanned their faces, my mind clicking through the memories of the club. Neither of them was her. "Where is she?" I asked. The blonde looked up, "Who?" "The one who performed for me," I snapped, stepping into the circle of lamplight. My shirt was still damp with sweat, and a streak of dark blood was drying across my jaw. I probably looked like a nightmare, and I didn't care, "The one in the silver wig." The blonde stood up slowly and walked toward me. She tried to put on a brave face, swaying her hips in a way she probably thought was seductive. "I was in the silver wig the other night..." I narrowed my eyes, scanning her from head to toe. I didn't really remember the face. In the dark of the club, faces were just masks. What I remembered was the way she moved. I remembered the curve of a spine, the tilt of a head, and the way her skin had caught the neon lights like silk. I looked at the woman standing in front of me now. She was pretty, sure. But she was stiff. "Turn around," I ordered, my voice flat. She obeyed, trying to arch her back, but it was all wrong. The math didn't add up. The height was off by an inch, the shoulders were too narrow. My brain recorded everything like a high-speed camera, and this wasn't the footage I had stored in my head. I stepped back, the interest draining out of my eyes. This wasn't her. "You’re not the one," I said. The blonde froze, her fake smile slipping. She looked at the other woman on the sofa, then back at me. I didn't have time for this. I turned my back on them and looked at the soldier waiting by the door. "Get them out of here," I ordered, "Take them back. Make sure they are compensated for their time and they get home in one piece." Chapter 6 Gianna "We’re moving in with Salvatore," Mom said. She said it while pouring juice, like she was just talking about the weather. I froze, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth. I didn't say anything at first, I just stared at her, the heat rising in my face until my skin felt tight. "No, we're not," I snapped. Mom sighed, a long, tired sound. She reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Jules’ ear, her eyes squeezed shut for a second. "Yes, we are, Ginny. Sal will be here in a few hours to pick us up. I need you to go upstairs and pack your essentials into boxes. I’ll handle Jules and my own things." I let out a harsh, dry laugh. My eyes felt hot, my vision blurring with frustrated tears I refused to let fall. "No, Mom. You promised. You said we weren't moving into that place unless there was a ring on your finger. You aren't married yet." Mom grabbed Jules’ spoon and started feeding her cereal, bite by bite, as if Jules were three years old and not a grown girl. She’d been doing that lately, smothering us, acting like we were helpless babies who couldn't survive a walk to the mailbox. "Change of plans," she said, her voice flat. "It’s a zoo, Mom! A zoo full of men!" I stood up, my chair screeching against the tile like a scream,."There are six brothers and their father. Seven men and just two women in that whole house. Did you see them at dinner? Did you see the way they looked at us? They didn't see guests, they saw targets. They hated that we were breathing their air. They hate us, Mom. They're mobsters!" Mom looked up at me, her expression disturbingly calm, "We’ve lived around men like that our whole lives, Ginny. What’s the difference this time?" "The difference?" I blinked, stunned that she even had to ask. "The difference is that I’m done living in a man's shadow. I’m done. I don't need a man to feel safe. I don't need a man to feel loved. I don't need them for anything. I hate them, Mom. Every single one of them. They use us until we’re empty and then they throw us away. We should be doing the same to them. Use them, toss them, and never look back." I slammed my hand onto the table, making the milk in Jules’ bowl ripple. "I don't understand you! Why do you feel the need to crawl into bed with Don fvcking Salvatore Capone? Why do we have to be his property?" Mom just wiped a drop of milk from Jules’ chin, "Keep your voice low," she said softly, "And do not curse in front of your sister." I stared at her, feeling a cold, hard knot tie itself in my chest. She was choosing a cage, and she was dragging us into it with her. But I wasn't a child anymore, and I wasn't going to let her believe we were helpless. I dropped to my knees in front of her, grabbing her hands to make her look at me. "I’m taking care of us, Mom. We’re doing just fine," I said, my voice filled with desperation, "I’m getting my degree. I’m going to get a good job, a real career, and we’ll be set. I’ll take care of you and Jules for the rest of our lives. I promise." I squeezed her fingers, trying to make her feel the strength I was trying so hard to build. "I love you. You and Jules are enough for me, and I’m enough for both of you. We don't need a savior. We don't need a man's protection or his blood money. We’ll be fine, Mom. I swear, we’ll be fine." She didn't look hopeful. She didn't look proud. Instead, she let out a short, hollow laugh that felt like a slap to my face. "You’re going to take care of us?" she asked, her eyes finally meeting mine with a pity that made my stomach turn. "And who is going to take care of you, hm?" She pulled her hands away to reach for the cereal box again, as if the conversation was already over. I stayed there on the floor, feeling the sting of her doubt. She didn't get it. She thought a woman was only as safe as the man standing in front of her. But I knew better. I knew that the men who protected you were usually the ones you needed protection from the most. "You have it all backward, Ginny," Mom said, as she put the spoon down and turned her full attention to me, "It is not your job to take care of us. It was never supposed to be your weight to carry." She reached out, cupping my face with a hand that felt too soft for the world we lived in. "I am the mother here. I brought you and Jules into this life, which means you are my responsibility, not the other way around. You’re talking about jobs and degrees like you have to be the man of the house, but I’m telling you to stop. Stop acting like you’re the one in charge of our survival. It's unfair to you." I opened my mouth to argue but her gaze turned stern instantly, the kind of look she only used when she wasn't going to budge. "You need to be a daughter. You need to be a student. You need to just live. I’m making this choice so you don't have to spend every second of your day worrying about where the next rent check is coming from or who is watching the door at night." "But I can do it—" I started, my voice cracking. "No," she interrupted, her thumb brushing over my cheek, "You shouldn't have to. Salvatore provides something you can’t buy with a degree, Gianna. He provides a name that people are afraid to touch. He provides security in every possible way." I pulled away, the heat of her hand lingering on my skin. She thought she was giving me freedom, but all I could see were the bars of the cage she was locking us into. I let a cruel laugh escape my throat, "How can you be so sure, Mom? Really? Look at your track record. It didn't work the first time, and it definitely didn't work the second time. What makes you think you've finally figured it out?" "Ginny, stop it," Jules said in a tiny voice, her eyes filling with tears. I leaned over the table, "Do you even listen to the stories people tell? Salvatore Capone is famous for killing his first wife. The mother of those six monsters he calls sons is in the ground because of him. And you want to be next? You want to move into her bedroom and wait for him to get bored of you, too?" Mom just looked at me with those soft, watery eyes that always made me feel like I was the one being unreasonable. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to touch my arm. "Gianna, please," she whispered, her voice sweet and hurting all at once, "Don't be mean just to prove a point. I know you're scared, but you don't have to say things like that. We are going to be a family." "Family?" I spat the word out, looking at her kind, hopeful face. She was so soft, so willing to believe the best in the worst men. It made me want to scream, "He’s a predator, Mom. The Capones are predators and we’re just the new bait." "Gianna, stop it," Mom whispered, her eyes widening. I paced the kitchen, the words pouring out like venom. "We don't need them. We don't need any of them. Men are a waste of space, a burden we’re taught to carry just so we don't have to be alone. I’d rather be alone forever than spend one night under the same roof as that old killer and his pack of rabid dogs. They’re all rotten, from the father down to the—" The words died in my throat. Mom’s face didn't just go pale, it went grey. She looked like she was about to faint. I felt a shadow fall behind me, blocking out the morning sun. I didn't have to turn around to know the air in the room had changed. "Is that so?" A deep, smooth voice asked from behind me.
Not enough history yet to show a trend.