Captured By A Bastard

“Is Papà waiting for me?” Cara asked, her grip tightening on the door handle, her pulse quickening.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say, but she knew she needed to. She could almost hear his words in her mind: ‘Cara, you’re my only child now. By my side, you’ll hold the future of this family in your hands.’

She could almost feel it; the weight of her life shifting, closing in, as the heavy responsibility of carrying the family's future fell onto her shoulders.

They weren’t just any family. They were La Rosas. Power and blood, it was the foundation they were built on. She had known it since before she could even speak: Trust no one. Don’t back down. Never apologize.

But tonight, everything felt different. Agata, her sister, was gone... taken by the war. Now, the Gambinos, the Da Costas, the De Lucas… they were coming for them. And they would come for her next, to destroy what was left of the family.

“Miss Cara, your father has been waiting,” Her Papà’s assistant said, opening the door to his study. The thick scent of cigars and leather hit her, familiar and comforting. But tonight, the air felt different, tense, sharp.

“Daughter,” Her Papà’s voice greeted her. It was gravelly and emotionless, like stone grinding against stone.

“Are you alright?” Cara asked, forcing strength into her voice, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

Papà sighed, the sound heavy with everything unsaid, his hard gaze settling on her. “Sit,” he ordered, but she remained standing in the dim light of the study.

“I’m sorry about Agata,” she said softly. Her heart clenched, but her expression remained stoic. Agata had been more than just her sister. she had been her other half.

Papà didn’t respond. He never did. Death was something they didn’t dwell on. It was survival that mattered. And tonight, survival was in question.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low, cutting. Cara nodded, bracing herself as she stood at attention, waiting.

“You’re all I have left,” he began, each word heavy as though weighing his next move. “My strong daughter, my only child.” There was raw determination in his voice. Cara knew there would be no arguing with him tonight.

She opened her mouth, about to tell him she was ready to carry the family forward, to take her place in this war. But his words cut through her, sharper than a blade.

“Cara,” he said, each syllable deliberate. “You have to leave. This home isn’t what it was anymore.”

For a moment, she was frozen. It wasn’t what she expected. But leaving? It wasn’t an option. Not for her. Not for a La Rosa.

“What do you mean, leave?” she asked, her voice controlled but her heart pounding in her chest. “You think I’ll run because the Gambinos or De Lucas want to finish us off? I’m ready, Papà. Let me stand with you.”

He looked at her, staring into her eyes as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t understand. “The issue isn’t the Gambinos or De Lucas,” he said, his voice dropping to a grim whisper. “It’s the Yakuza.”

The Yakuza.

The name hit her like a knife to the gut. She’d suspected it, piecing things together from the deals she’d glimpsed at the other day; papers half-hidden on his desk, unfamiliar names, blood-inked signatures. But hearing it confirmed... it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath her.

“The Yakuza?” she whispered, her voice steady, though her mind raced to process it. “You’ve been working with them?”

Silence. His silence was confirmation enough, and it was deafening.

A wave of fury rose inside her.

“You think they care about loyalty?” she snapped, letting the anger rise. “They don’t walk like us. They don’t think like us. They're Japanese and we’re Italians, Papà, and you know as well as I do that they’ll come for us. They’ll take everything we’ve built if we don’t fight back.” Her voice lowered, steadying. “I can handle this. You’ve kept me in the shadows for too long. This family, this war.. it’s mine as much as it is yours.”

He shook his head, steel in his gaze. “No, Cara. You don’t understand. The Yakuza doesn’t bargain, they take. I’d rather not give you to them.”

She felt the gravity of his words settling in, but she refused to show any weakness. She was a La Rosa. More than a daughter. She was a force.

“Papà, I can fight them,” she insisted, stepping closer, feeling defiance rise in her chest. “I won’t leave, not now. If the Yakuza want to come for us, let them. I’ll be ready.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, but she saw it, the flicker of something. Regret. But not for her. Not even for the famiglia. Something darker, something she couldn’t understand.

“I’m not sending you away to protect you, Cara,” he said, his voice low, tight. “You have no choice.”

She stepped closer, heat rising in her. But he wasn’t himself. He wasn’t sending her away because he thought she was weak. He was sending her away because he was. That’s what she thought.

“I won’t leave,” she said, her voice sharp, trembling with frustration. “You trained me to be your equal, Papà. I won’t hide.”

“Listen.” His hands clamped down on her shoulders, his voice cracking, raw. “I made a mistake, Cara. You don’t understand, and I’m... sorry.”

For a heartbeat, she saw him, the real him, lined with fear and guilt. It wasn’t the man who had built this empire. It was a man who was breaking. And that only fueled her.

“Then let me stay,” she barely breathed the words. “Let me fight.”

His hands tightened. “No. Foolish child.”

The silence between them was thick, cutting deep with everything they couldn’t say. Then, suddenly, a loud bang! Glass shattered. The entire house rocked.

“Run!” he shouted, but she was already moving, tearing out into the storm.

Cold rain slammed down as she sprinted into the dark, but she barely felt it. She didn’t get far before footsteps closed in. Too fast. Too close. She didn’t dare look back. She knew what was coming.

Ambushed. On her father’s own turf.

Zzt! A jolt of pain hit her from behind, electric and burning into her spine.

“Cazzo!” she gasped as her legs buckled, vision blurring. Not like this. She deserved to see who had done this, who the hitman was.

She forced her head up, catching one last glimpse. Warm mink-brown eyes under a battered, coffee-brown hat. He was unfamiliar. He smelled strange, like mist from a salt coast.

She clung to that image as darkness swallowed her whole.

He was strange.

A strange bastardo.