Daughter of the Don: Not a Girl To Cross

The stench of disinfectant was sharp, laced with a faint metallic tang of blood—this wasn't a regular hospital, but an underground clinic affiliated with the DeLuca family.The light was dim, save for the harsh beam of the surgical lamp cast across my bare arm. The flesh there was torn open, the skin curling outward, a grotesque mixture of burns and glass cuts."Lucky you came in time," said the "nurse"—a woman in a white coat with a weapon discreetly holstered at her waist. Her movements were practiced, efficient, and utterly devoid of tenderness. "Second-degree burns, deep. The glass caused lacerations. You'll need stitches. Bite down."I bit my lip, refusing to make a sound, only managing a stiff nod. The amber light above made my vision swim. I'd been here, in this safehouse clinic, for two days.No encrypted calls.No coded messages.No "Are you all right?"No "It was a mistake that night."Nothing.They hadn't even bothered to feign civility. Not a single meaningless lie of comfo

Every joint and muscle in my body still ached faintly, as if I'd been crushed under some invisible weight.So instead of leaving as originally planned, I stayed in the safe house, letting the deep, bone-penetrating pain keep me trapped in bed—like a punishment that had arrived too late.I didn't cry.The tears had long since evaporated in the flames that burned my past to ashes.When I finally broke free from another chaotic dream, harsh sunlight filtered through the blinds covering the bulletproof window, casting striped shadows across the cold metal floor.At the foot of my bed stood Tad and Leo."Morning." Tad offered a slightly awkward smile, holding a tray. "We brought you something to eat."Without a word, Leo set the tray on my lap. On it were a few pieces of dry toast, a greasy, cold portion of scrambled eggs, some not-so-fresh fruit, and a murky glass of orange juice.Half-hearted. Lifeless."Figured you needed your strength back," Leo added, sitting casually at the edge of my

They all gathered around Celia as if protecting some priceless treasure.She cradled her hand—barely scratched—as though it had been severed at the wrist.Her performance was flawless: shimmering tears, trembling lips, gently quivering shoulders. Every gesture calculated, every expression designed to elicit the deepest sympathy and protectiveness."Couldn't you stop her?" Tad snapped at me, eyes blazing. "Her wound hasn't even healed yet! How could you let her touch dangerous things in the kitchen?""I clearly told her not to," I replied quietly but firmly. "She insisted on coming in. How is that my fault?"Leo's gaze was like a poisoned ice shard, sharp enough to pierce straight through me. "You could've been firmer. You know her body's weak—she can't handle any stress. You're supposed to be the responsible one here, Nancy."And what about you? I wanted to scream. I barely survived that car crash too. Do my injuries mean nothing?But no one heard. Or rather—they chose not to."From no

"Yes," my voice came through the encrypted line, calm and devoid of a single ripple. "List it immediately. Begin all sale procedures."Silence hummed on the other end before the broker—the one who handled the DeLuca family's gray assets—spoke with careful precision."Understood, Miss DeLuca. Just to confirm… you're selling Safe House No. 7 entirely? Should I notify the current … residents?"I let out a slow breath, one that seemed to have been trapped in my chest for years."Yes. All three—Leo, Tad, and Celia. They've lived there for years. I want the formal notice delivered only after I've left."She hesitated. "Have they signed any lease or protection agreement?""No." My tone was flat, detached. "They've always lived there free of charge. It was meant to be temporary—never permanent."Safe House No. 7 sat atop a downtown high-rise, equipped with its own security system. It was a gift from my father when I turned eighteen. At first, it was a modest two-bedroom refuge. After Tad and L

When I came to, the air smelled sharply of disinfectant. The rhythmic beeping of medical monitors echoed faintly.The ceiling above was blindingly white.Pain pulsed everywhere, but miraculously, I was still in one piece.A nurse in a white uniform walked in, her gaze sharp and assessing."You're awake," she said. "You're lucky—no fractures, just some bruises and a mild concussion. You'll need rest."I blinked slowly, trying to clear my vision."Was… someone here with me?"She tilted her head slightly, studying me."You don't remember?""I… think there was a man. Maybe I imagined it."Tad? My heart betrayed me with a faint, pitiful flicker of hope."Not your imagination." Her lips curved slightly, a trace of amusement in her eyes. "A man named Eric brought you in. Paid most of your bill. Stayed with you all night. Didn't leave your side."My chest tightened, as though an invisible hand squeezed it."Eric…"That name—he always appeared like a ghost whenever I was at my lowest."Yes," sh