You should see the market

Sherry, who had earlier in the master bedroom felt a flicker of excitement when instructed to wear the elegant dress draped across the bed, now appeared dull and faded like a crushed flower in a world of violence. The thick fabric clung to her, a constant reminder of her lowly status in the presence of the five figures seated around the imposing mahogany table, their gazes heavy with judgment before shifting to Dallion.

There was a girl at the dining table, who seemed to be of her age but steeped in the cruel elegance of pureblooded mafiosos, broke the silence. “I can’t believe you brought a mere servant into our home, Dallion,” she sneered, her eyes narrowing at Sherry as if she were a rat that had dared to invade their territory.

The woman beside the man at the head of the table spoke next, her voice laced with authority. “We don’t allow strays in here, Dallion.” Sherry recognized her as Rose, their mother’s younger sister, a woman molded in the same ruthless mold. With their mother long gone, the family had twisted into something more sinister. Rose mirrored the cold beauty of their mother—blonde hair framing a face that was both alluring and menacing, her crimson lips curled in disdain.

“Don’t worry, she’s not a servant,” Dallion replied, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of danger. He moved around the table, ready to take his place, only to stop when he noticed Sherry frozen in place, a deer caught in headlights. “Are you just going to stand there?” he demanded, a glint of annoyance in his dark eyes. She hurried to where he stood, her heart pounding.

“Why don’t you say something, daddy?” Rose whined, irritation etched across her face. She stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor, a sound that sliced through the tense atmosphere.

“Rose,” warned their father, a man whose presence loomed large but whose authority felt weak in the face of family discord. But Rose paid him no mind, stalking over to Sherry and brutality seizing her wrist with her perfectly manicured long nails, a cruel smile playing on her lips. Dallion, noticing the confrontation, tightened his grip on Rose’s hand as if it were a fragile twig.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, eyes narrowing, a fierce protectiveness over Sherry sparking to life. The pressure on Rose’s wrist was enough to draw a whimper from her, but she wouldn’t let go. Sherry stood like a statue, longing for the sanctuary of her ankle chained on the bedpost instead of this hostile arena.

“Let go of my hand, you brute!” Rose hissed, her fury evident.

“Only if you let go of her,” Dallion countered, his voice low and menacing. He flicked his gaze between his sister and Sherry, the tension thickening the air around them. “Unless you want to see how a real brute operates,” he added, his threat hanging ominously in the air.

“Let the servant leave,” Rose spat, her patience evaporating. “We’ve never had one join us for breakfast.”

“Nickison,” Dallion called, summoning the ever-present butler.

“Master Dallion?” the butler appeared, ever loyal.

“I need a glass of Green tea before I finish my meal. And make sure it’s prepared well; I don’t want any remnants of the last meal in my cup,” Dallion ordered, deliberately ignoring his sister’s protest. He seated himself at the table, the tension easing as he settled into his role.

“Dallion,” their stepmother chimed, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “you don’t actually mean to let that… girl sit with us, do you? She belongs in the kitchen.”

“Do you wish to acquire another servant, dear?” their father interjected, barely glancing up from his plate.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” she replied, a wicked smile gracing her lips. Dallion’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Are you growing bored with your husband, then? It must be the years,” he teased, earning a chuckle from his father while the tension simmered.

“Can we just enjoy our breakfast without all this drama?” their father muttered, slicing into the steak on his plate. The unspoken rules of the mafia family loomed over them, a mix of loyalty and disdain binding them in this dangerous dance.

Mars, the eldest, tried to steer the conversation, her voice soft. “Are you heading to the council today?” she asked, attempting to dispel the growing unease. Dallion shrugged, taking a bite of bread smeared with thick jam, it looked bloodied in the eyes of Sherry.

“I’ve been barred for a week. There are other matters to deal with,” he replied, coolly dismissing the council’s authority.

Just then, Nickison returned with the steaming Green tea, placing it in front of Dallion. “Keep it warm,” he instructed, before turning to Sherry, who stood awkwardly by the wall.

“Sit,” Dallion commanded, nodding toward the floor.

Sherry hesitated, fully aware that the floor was unforgiving, but the way Dallion’s eyes glimmered with mischief made it clear there would be no escape. This family may tolerate her presence, but she knew that her status as a servant—no, a mere captive—would always render her invisible. The chilling silence wrapped around her as she lowered herself to the ground, longing for a meal that never came, the aroma of gourmet dishes tantalizing her nose yet torturous in its allure.

“You really had us there for a moment, Dalli,” their stepmother laughed, the sound empty, devoid of genuine mirth.

Dallion smirked, “You should see the markets. They’ve got plenty more where she came from.”

“Are you really turning this family into a circus?” Rose interjected, her fork halting mid-air as her eyes bore into Sherry.

Sherry felt their gazes on her, the weight of their disdain suffocating her once again. All she wanted was to disappear, but in this twisted family drama, she was but a pawn, caught in the crossfire of loyalty and cruelty.