Rose SinclairThe incident with Master Stephen plagued my mind all day. I couldn’t shake the endless possibilities running through my head.Lady Roseline would be the most exquisite bow I’d ever seen, and as an archer, I dreamed of one day holding it in my hands.But Master Stephen made it clear—it belonged to Red. Off-limits. Untouchable. No exceptions.The Trip & the Shooting TestThe rest of the trip was eventful. We saw old pistols, modern machine guns, even an MI16. But nothing captivated me like that bow in the restricted room.With three days left before our shooting program began, we gathered notes on bullets, arrowheads, and other essentials. I’d already started picturing myself shooting, imagining the thrill of it.Fun, right?Wrong.We were taken to a practice room where Tier 3 was having a shooting test. Each of us received a set of headphones. For what? To listen to Lady Gaga while we fired? Or were they meant to feed us information in this madhouse filled with guns and b
Federico Di Grazia;With the election only months away, my team and I were busier than ever. I had a lot on my plate—meetings to attend, business deals to oversee, and associates to manage. But it wasn’t just politics keeping me occupied. The underground mafia world had caught wind of my run for governor, assuming foolishly that my focus on the campaign meant I’d be too distracted to keep my grip on the streets.I needed to remind them. I ruled both worlds, and no one—not even another mafia family—could overthrow a Di Grazia.James brought me intel the other night."Boss," he said, "word is your campaign has stirred up the mafia. They think you’ve gone soft. Sources say your push for legitimacy has made you look… less ruthless."I leaned back, absorbing his words. "Is that all?"He hesitated before adding, "Your rivals believe you’re trying to play clean, avoiding violence to maintain a political image."I smirked. Listening to more of this bullshit wouldn’t help. "We need to remind t
Rose Alexandria Sinclair;It was midnight—the hour when debts are paid in blood. My blood ran cold, goosebumps rising as I watched them beat the life out of my pa.“Stop!” I cried, dropping to my knees. Tears poured down my face, my lips trembling with the pain tearing through me. “Please…I’ll pay the bills! Just don’t kill him!” I begged, every word a plea from the depths of my soul.One of them turned, an eyebrow raised, a mocking smile on his lips. “You’ll pay? Is that so?” He sneered, glancing at my father. “Desmond, you didn’t tell us your daughter was rich… alright, sweetheart. Five million—cash. Right now.”“Five million? Pa?!” I screamed, my voice breaking with frustration. “What the hell were you doing with five million!? You owe them that much?” I shook my head, ruffling my hair, my heart pounding in my chest. Panic clawed at me, the room spinning as I tried to make sense of it all.One of the men laughed darkly, the sound sending a chill down my spine. “Five million doesn’t
I awoke with a jolt, a coppery taste of blood sharp on my tongue, and for a disorienting moment, I couldn’t tell if I was alive or dead.Pain radiated from my head, throbbing in time with my heartbeat. Shadows blurred around me, my eyes struggling to adjust in the dim, murky light. The chill of metal pressed against my skin, a constant reminder that I was bound, helpless.“Wake up…” A low, mocking voice echoed through the silence. Then came the shock of freezing water thrown onto my face. I gasped, choking as I was forced back to reality.I blinked, taking in the room. It was a bare, grim hall, lined with unforgiving tools—things meant to hurt, to break, to kill. I shivered, fighting to push down the panic rising in my throat. “What… why am I here?” I tugged at the ropes, feeling them bite into my wrists. “Where’s my father?” I asked, the words barely escaping my lips.“Your father?” The voice came again, colder, twisted with dark satisfaction. “Getting his own punishment.”I strained
"If you take even a single step towards me, that's it. Your fate is sealed forever,” Frederico sneered, his lips curling into a smirk.My heart hammered in my chest. I had no choice. I couldn’t let my father die because of my selfishness. But this... this was the price I had to pay.I nodded slowly, my throat tight with unshed tears."Yes. I agree, Red. I’ll be your toy," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. The tears burned my eyes, slipping down my cheeks as I said the words I’d never imagined I’d say.Somewhere, on the edge of the city, my father was tied to a bridge—his life hanging by a thread. And my mother—she lay unconscious in a hospital bed, unaware that her life was hanging in the balance too. If I chose myself now, everyone—every single person I loved—would be gone. It was me or them."Then come on…" His voice was steady, but the command behind it was unmistakable. I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart pounding in my chest. I could barely move, each step feeling heavier th
Frederico Grey Di Grazia; The office was dead silent, except for the tap-tap-tap of my pen against the glass desk. I wasn’t trying to make noise—just thinking. The single desk lamp cast long shadows across the papers scattered in front of me. Numbers. Reports. Bank accounts that didn’t sit right.“These numbers don’t add up,” I said, my voice calm, but cold enough to make anyone sweat. I hated repeating myself, but I had to see if my assistant caught on.Emilia stood by the door, holding her tablet like a lifeline. Her sharp little suit and neat bun were meant to show confidence, but the way her fingers gripped the edge gave her away.“Boss,” she started, her voice careful. “The offshore accounts were updated last night. I double-checked them.”I looked up slowly, meeting her eyes. My stare always had a way of stripping excuses down to the bone. “You double-checked, but here I am, staring at numbers that don’t make sense. Either you missed something, or someone’s playing games. Which
Rose Alexandria Sinclair;The moment Frederico released me, I didn’t hesitate—I bolted. My legs moved faster than my thoughts, carrying me as far away from his cold presence as I could manage. I stumbled into the room and collapsed onto the bed, overwhelmed by a rush of tears that seemed to drown me whole.What hurt the most wasn’t just being in his service—it was the emptiness in his eyes. The same eyes that had once held warmth now only reflected anger, disdain, and irritation. His words had been sharp, cutting through me like daggers, each one worse than the last. My stomach churned with the weight of it.“Are you crying?” a faint voice asked, cutting through the silence. I shook my head quickly, but the lump in my throat betrayed me.“Yes, you are, foolish girl,” the voice continued, soft but firm. “It’s okay to cry. Come on, let it out—cry if it hurts!”The dam inside me broke, and I sobbed harder, burying my face into the mattress. A scream tore from my throat, raw and unrestrai
Frederico Grey Di Grazia A glass of whiskey rested in my hand as I leaned against the window, watching Rose crouch in the garden, her hands lost in the weeds. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in me—not love, not hate. Nothing.What I wanted from her was simple: pain. I wanted her to claw and crawl through the same hell I’d been dragged through. To beg, to sob, to plead for mercy she’d never receive.Her parents? Oh, they were living on borrowed time. The same way she stripped mine from me, I’d return the favor. One by one.“Boss,” a voice interrupted my thoughts, familiar but irritating nonetheless.I turned slowly, slipping my left hand into my pocket, a deliberate move that kept him guessing. “James, isn’t it?”He swallowed, hesitating. “Uh… no, Boss. It’s John.” His gaze dropped as if he knew better than to meet my eyes.“Is that so?” I murmured, a slow smirk tugging at my lips. “John, then. Have a drink with me.”I poured him a glass, the amber liquid catching the light. Passing
Federico Di Grazia;With the election only months away, my team and I were busier than ever. I had a lot on my plate—meetings to attend, business deals to oversee, and associates to manage. But it wasn’t just politics keeping me occupied. The underground mafia world had caught wind of my run for governor, assuming foolishly that my focus on the campaign meant I’d be too distracted to keep my grip on the streets.I needed to remind them. I ruled both worlds, and no one—not even another mafia family—could overthrow a Di Grazia.James brought me intel the other night."Boss," he said, "word is your campaign has stirred up the mafia. They think you’ve gone soft. Sources say your push for legitimacy has made you look… less ruthless."I leaned back, absorbing his words. "Is that all?"He hesitated before adding, "Your rivals believe you’re trying to play clean, avoiding violence to maintain a political image."I smirked. Listening to more of this bullshit wouldn’t help. "We need to remind t
Rose SinclairThe incident with Master Stephen plagued my mind all day. I couldn’t shake the endless possibilities running through my head.Lady Roseline would be the most exquisite bow I’d ever seen, and as an archer, I dreamed of one day holding it in my hands.But Master Stephen made it clear—it belonged to Red. Off-limits. Untouchable. No exceptions.The Trip & the Shooting TestThe rest of the trip was eventful. We saw old pistols, modern machine guns, even an MI16. But nothing captivated me like that bow in the restricted room.With three days left before our shooting program began, we gathered notes on bullets, arrowheads, and other essentials. I’d already started picturing myself shooting, imagining the thrill of it.Fun, right?Wrong.We were taken to a practice room where Tier 3 was having a shooting test. Each of us received a set of headphones. For what? To listen to Lady Gaga while we fired? Or were they meant to feed us information in this madhouse filled with guns and b
Federico Di Grazia;I was trying to wrap up some paperwork before my meeting with the confraternity later today. Being a senator was no small task, and my right-hand man, James, and I had worked tirelessly—pulling an all-nighter to stay ahead. The campaign team had dropped off samples earlier: T-shirts, hats, banners—everything a politician needed.I know, it sounds like I don’t fully belong in that world. Right now, I see myself as an interim, just until I officially secure the position—which, by the way, is already in motion.A soft knock on the door pulled me from my work. I arched a brow at James, who responded with a silent I’ll check it out look. I gave him a slight nod, granting permission.He moved to the door, cracked it open just enough to peek outside, then swung it wider for the visitor—my head of security, Theo Bennett.Theo gave a small bow before stepping inside. “Morning, Boss.”“Theo,” I acknowledged, my focus still on my desktop. “Something wrong?”“Boss, you have a
Rose Sinclair;After my last encounter with Trix, we barely spoke or even saw each other. Instead, she sent her new Tier One minions to deliver her threats from a distance.But one fateful day, I decided I’d had enough. Her madness had gone unchecked for too long, and it was time to do something about it.That decision came right after our usual jogging routine—something I can proudly say I’ve improved in. At least now, I run faster than most Tier One trainees.Yeah, so, I chose to confront her. And I knew just the place where our little chat wouldn’t interfere with training—where I could finally ask her what the hell her problem was.The cafeteria.I grabbed an empty tray and joined the queue of trainees waiting for their food. Picking up an apple and a bottle of water, I turned toward the crowd, scanning the room for one particular crazy bitch.There she was, surrounded by her Tier Three minions. Lucky for me, the seat right beside her was empty.So, I did something crazy.I walked
Rose Sinclair; The resident doctor cleared me for discharge last night. By 5 AM, I was already up, showered, dressed in casual clothes, and ready for whoever was coming to pick me up. The past week had been nothing but a cycle of monotony, with the old TV in the ward playing the same fighting techniques over and over again.By now, my mind had memorized those moves—not by choice, but by sheer repetition. The more you’re exposed to something, the more your subconscious absorbs it. That’s just how the brain works.I sat on the bed, waiting patiently. By 6 AM, Mad Max Waltz walked in. His sharp eyes scanned the room before locking onto mine.From across the ward, Max held my gaze in silent challenge. The tension thickened, an invisible line drawn between us. There was nothing I liked about him—his cruelty, his demeanor, his complete lack of kindness.His piercing blue eyes seemed to drill into me, unwavering. My eyes watered slightly from the intensity, but I refused to look away. I wan
Federico Di Grazia;Her hand on me made my skin crawl. I let out a long-overdue sigh—Trix was history. I’d had plenty of "history" before, but I never got attached, and I sure as hell didn’t go back."You got something to say?" I asked impatiently, waiting for her to get out of my way."You haven’t called, texted, or even asked me over... so yeah, I’ve got something to say." Her arms crossed, bitterness lacing her voice.I let out a small chuckle, rubbing my temple with one hand while the other rested on my waist. "You knew the rules—no strings attached. Why would I do any of that just because we had a few nights together?" My tone was sharp, deliberate.She scoffed, disbelief flashing across her face. She looked away for a moment before locking eyes with me again. "That twerp in there is why you’re acting like this, huh? That weak-ass, dumb-ass had you running back in here?" She accused, like she had some claim over me."You sound entitled, Trix… or should I say Beatrice?" I watched
Federico Di Grazia;The Godfather had arranged a meeting at an exclusive golf club. Golf wasn’t exactly my game—I’d barely played—but on a bright, sunny day, surrounded by the city's wealthiest and most influential men discussing business and politics, I couldn't ask for a better setting.Stepping onto the pristine green, I knew that making a strong first impression was crucial. I had done my homework, studying the habits and interests of the businessmen and politicians I was about to meet. Confidence, trustworthiness, and the ability to listen—these were the currencies of power in this world, and I intended to use them wisely.As I approached the group, I offered firm handshakes, meeting their eyes with measured curiosity. The game had yet to begin. Senator Moretti, a man in his late seventies, regarded me with a hearty laugh. Dressed in an all-white ensemble, he looked every bit the seasoned statesman. He might have aged, but there was no mistaking his power—half the city’s politica
Rose SinclairA sharp ringing tore through my skull, drowning out the world. My vision swam, my eyes burned, and the roar of the crowd faded in and out like a bad signal. But I didn’t need to hear them to know what they wanted. Their faces said it all.They wanted me dead.I forced myself to focus, but my head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Across from me, she stood with a smirk, fists clenched. Trix. She was studying me, waiting. Then I saw it—every time she attacked, she shifted her weight onto her back leg. A habit. Maybe even a weakness.Her stance tightened. I barely had time to react before she lunged. My body moved on instinct—I jumped onto her front leg. Bad move. We both went crashing to the ground."Ouuu!""Damn!""Shit!" The crowd’s shouts cut through the haze.Trix recovered first. She shoved me off, sending me sprawling onto my back. Pain exploded through me. Before I could even catch my breath, she was on me, straddling my waist.Then the punches came.I bare
Rose Sinclair"Hi, I'm Marvel. Tier 2."The girl who had earlier advised me to fall in line whispered just loud enough for me to hear."I'm Rose. What’s Tier 2?" I asked, my voice low. I had no idea what she meant.She didn’t answer right away, her attention flicking back to the two men engaged in hand-to-hand combat. They moved with precision, anticipating each other’s attacks like they had memorized each other's fighting styles. Every punch, every block, every counter seemed sharper than the last, the blows landing with bone-crunching force."In here, we’re ranked in four levels—tiers," Marvel finally explained. "Tier 3? Might as well be beginners. They have no special skills, just basic combat training. Tier 2 fighters—like me—are stronger, faster. We have specialties, something that makes us stand out. Then there's Tier 1, the best of the best. They don’t just fight in the war grounds—they go on missions for the Don. You don’t mess with them."I kept my gaze on the fight, trying t