chapter 2

Ruby’s POV

The hospital room was stuffy, filled with air that had been trapped too long. I hadn’t left the bed in four days, barely eating and barely speaking. I didn’t want to.

I hadn’t even turned on the TV. But when I finally did, I wished I hadn’t.

The news reports rolled across the screen, detached and polished, delivered by a woman with too-perfect hair. A massacre, that’s what she called it. My father, my mother and my older brother Gabriel. All gone. The footage blurred, but I caught enough. Yellow tape, a broken window, blood smeared across marble floors. Then my name. The reporters said I was dead too.

My stomach was tying itself in knots just watching this, but the next part made my heart turn to ice. The company had already replaced my father. A new CEO had stepped in already, barely a week after his death: Richard Harlow. And right beside him, standing like he belonged there, was a face I knew too well.

Jason.

I gasped and gripped the remote so hard that a few buttons popped. He wore a suit I had seen before, the one he always said made him feel like he owned the room. And now he did. He wasn’t just standing there; he was the vice president. He had taken everything.

The rage came fast, burning through my grief like fire over dry grass. It wasn’t just loss anymore. It was fury.

I quickly turned off the TV, as Richard and Jason laughed at a joke the reporter made. The screen went black, but my hands were shaking.

"You shouldn’t be watching that," a voice said.

I didn’t look, even though I knew he was there. He had been there the entire time. A stranger who wasn’t really a stranger, but I had refused to acknowledge him. After what had been done to me, I couldn’t.

"You can hear me," he said and walked closer to my bed. "And you need to listen to me."

"Why?" I stared at my hands and balled them into fists.

"Because I know what happened," he continued. "I know what was taken from you, and I can help you take it back."

He moved a hand, and I flinched. But he didn't stop; he reached out, his hand brushing against mine. I shoved it away instantly. "I didn’t ask for your help."

The man said nothing. Then finally, I looked at him.

"Kairo Siegel!" I breathed out.

His name felt strange on my tongue, like something I had only heard through a screen. Because I had. He was infamous, a name spoken in places where people disappeared without a trace. A man who didn’t offer help without a reason.

He was a part of the Italian Mafia based in Los Angeles: the Siegel family. My father used to speak about him with awe and the slightest bit of fear. They'd done business before from what I'd heard, but my father always liked to keep his distance from the mafia.

Kairo's face was blank, his black eyes looked dead. This was the look of a man who had seen and done unspeakable things, things that would keep me up at night. Long, obsidian-black hair tied at the nape of his neck, pale face marked by an even paler scar that ran horizontally over his forehead. Thin, severe lips that looked like they weren't capable of smiling.

And this was the man who had saved me on that night, when I'd almost bled to death.

Kairo didn’t react to my shock. Instead, he snapped his fingers and the door opened. Another man stepped in and handed me a folder before slipping away.

"That," Kairo nodded toward it, "is your future."

I stared at the file beside my bed like it was a plague. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I’m adopting you."

I almost laughed. "Adopting me? What am I, a child?"

"It means you’ll be protected and have power." Kairo continued like he didn't hear me. "No one will touch you again."

I shook my head. "I don’t need protection."

His brows lifted slightly, and the pale scar went slightly darker. "No?"

I lifted my chin. "What I need is training."

That caught him off guard. He inclined his head as he studied me.

"I don’t want to be safe," I explained, trying to keep eye contact with him. "I want to learn how to fight. I want to learn how to kill, how to make them pay." I gestured towards the blank TV.

Kairo Siegel smiled slowly. "Blood for blood?"

"Exactly."

For the first time, something shifted in his eyes. It was acceptance and approval. He understood me.

"You’re sure?" he asked. "Because I can promise you that training won't be easy."

I didn’t hesitate. "If the world thinks I’m dead, then good. I’ll be their ghost. I’ll haunt them until they feel what I felt."

Kairo nodded, turning towards the door. "Alright."

But before anything else, I had one demand. "I need to go to my parents' funeral."

He paused and turned back to me. "That’s a mistake."

"I don’t care."

"It’s too risky."

"I said I don’t care!"

He watched me for a moment with that same blank look that I was starting to find annoying.

"You’re going to take me there," I muttered savagely. "Or I will tear off these IVs and go there myself."

At first I thought he would refuse. But then he pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Get the car around to the hospital," he commanded. "We’re leaving."

**********

An hour later, I stood far from the funeral, hidden under the shade of an old tree. My black shirt and trousers made me all the more inconspicuous.

The cemetery was lined with so many reporters. My family had been powerful, so their deaths had become a spectacle. I couldn’t step too close. To the rest of the world, I was dead.

A few yards away, Kairo Siegel waited in the car, giving me space. He hadn’t spoken much on the drive here. Maybe he knew there was nothing to say.

I watched as people gathered near the graves. Strangers who had never cared suddenly wore sorrow like a mask. They whispered, nodded solemnly and shook hands with each other. I wondered how many of them had helped to tear my family apart.

My parents’ graves lay at the center of it all, surrounded by mourners draped in black. Some were family friends. Others were business partners. None of them mattered.

Cameras flashed as reporters moved like vultures, whispering into their microphones, eager to capture every detail. My father’s name still held weight even in death.

A pastor stood at the head of the graves with a small, leather-bound bible in his hands. His voice rang out over the hushed crowd.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. As we lay these souls to rest, may their spirits find peace in the arms of eternity."

Peace: the notion was almost laughable. My parents hadn’t known peace when they died; a number of the people present here made sure of that.

I turned my head, unable to listen anymore. The pastor continued. The caskets were lowered into the ground. One final prayer, one final goodbye.

A few quiet sobs broke through the silence. My mother’s sister dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. My father’s old friend lowered his head, his lips moving in prayer. But none of them had done anything when it mattered. None of them had fought for my family when they had the chance.

I saw Richard Harlow, Jason's father, standing near the front. His hands were clasped in front of him, his chin slightly lowered. The perfect picture of a grieving friend. Jason stood beside him, also with his head bowed low. He had always been good at playing a part.

A reporter stepped closer to them with a microphone in hand.

"Mr. Harlow," she started, "you were one of Daniel Whitmore’s closest associates. What are your thoughts on his passing?"

Richard lifted his head. "A devastating loss," he replied. "Daniel was a brilliant man, a leader and a visionary. The city will not be the same without him."

Liar!

"And Jason," the reporter turned to my ex boyfriend, "your relationship with the Whitmore family was well known. You and Ruby were high school sweethearts. Can you share your thoughts?"

Jason nodded slowly, the corners of his lips pulling downward just enough to mimic grief.

"Ruby was..." He hesitated. "She was an incredible person. Losing her, losing all of them, it’s..." He trailed off, then sighed slowly, as if overcome with emotion. "I can’t even begin to describe how much this hurts."

Look at the way he spoke about me as if I were a distant memory. As if he hadn’t watched me bleed, as if he didn't watch as his father's men raped me.

The crowd began to disperse but Richard and Jason remained, standing by the graves as if they really cared.

"For every pain you have made me feel," I whispered, "you will feel ten times more."

The wind carried my words away.

"I will make sure every member of your family feels the same pain and torment you forced upon me."

I stepped back, further into the shadows.

"The sins of the father," I murmured, "will be visited upon his children.”