3- Lucille

"Are you seriously not going to report this?"

I glance over at Damien, who is practically vibrating with annoyance. "What's there to report?"

"She's emptying a billion-dollar black card, that's a crime!"

I pause, momentarily shifting my attention from the cars parked in front of the hotel from the balcony we stand on to stare at Damien. His wide eyes scream that he thinks I'm insane— As if that was news. My face, however, remains impassive, my eyes dull. "And? How do you even know it's a she?"

Damien’s face immediately looks like he was about to burst a blood vessel, clutching his chest dramatically. To anyone else, he looks like he belongs on a runway rather than dealing with me, but as much as he enjoyed dressing up and looking pretty, he didn’t trust me to be on my own.

I didn't trust myself either.

"Because, my darling," Damien begins, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Any being buying a million dollars’ worth of Gucci and Prada in a second has to have a vagina. A demon even.”

I barely hear him there. It is easy for me to drift off during these conversations, especially when they don't hold my interest. The deadpan expression on my face, the one I wore right now, usually pisses Damien off, but why should I care? I never used the card in the first place. If she wanted to spend, let her.

I had ten more.

“She doesn’t seem like the type though,” I mutter, the wind tugging at my hair as I stare down at the men below, my eyes narrowing as I focus on the people walking in. "Why are they here?"

Damien follows my gaze, his expression growing cold. "Who knows? Maybe because someone went to Italy, managed to convince the Italian police there’s a serial killer on the loose, and gave his credit card to a maniac?"

I don’t answer immediately as I start to walk away. "You worry too much. You’ll go gray soon."

He is right on my heels, exasperated. "And whose fault is that?"

I ignore him, shoving my hands into my pockets as I make my way downstairs. My brain calculates, thinking ahead of what to do. The moment we reach the lobby, the guards stationed there immediately bow their heads. I don’t bother with them, keeping my eyes locked on my step-siblings.

"Lucy!" One of them cheered. George, I think his name was. I couldn’t remember. Didn’t care. "It’s so nice to see you. How was your… trip?"

Like a switch flips in my head, I grin, my entire demeanor shifting in an instant. Now I look like an angel, my smile charming and disarming. "Nice to see you as well."

Damien who stands next to me now probably thinks I am a psychopath with how quickly I change faces. Funny after these years, it still unnerved him when I flipped between personalities like that.

"Father says he never authorized you for any trips," Basil, the older one, spoke up.

George nodded along. "Yeah, he couldn’t recall sending you anywhere."

Basil and George Hellfire. The legitimate sons of New York's Mafia Chairman, our dear Father. Smart, sure. Good with numbers, business, and stock investments for the sake of our Family but that’s where their skills ended. They couldn’t stand the sight of blood, much less kill anyone.

That was my job.

I grin wider, like a dog baring its teeth. "There was a meeting we weren’t invited to, so I went and killed them for daring to ignore us. Don’t worry, no one left alive can say they saw me."

The room falls into an awkward silence. George's eye twitches while Basil purses his lips, trying to maintain composure. If anyone else had said that, they’d assume it was a lie. But I was Lucille.

I thrived on blood and it didn’t matter whose. The only person who ever survived unscathed around me was our father, the head of the Hellfire Family, also the only one who could control me.

Basil clears his throat, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here then l waves a hand forward. One of his personal guards approaches me and holds out a picture. Collecting it, the pleasant smile I’d been wearing breaks as I lay eyes on the photo.

In the background, I hear George’s voice droning on. "We heard from a client that the Don of the Italian Familia is hosting an event. His daughter will be there. Eve Bianchi."

Basil continues, "Father wants you to go and… use your charm. Get her to tell you what we need to know."

I translated that in my head; Sleep with her, get the information, and expand our territory.

But that wouldn’t work. Not with her.

The woman in the picture has long, straight blonde hair that cascades past her shoulders. Her hazel eyes warm, almost innocent like a lamb. A newborn holy lamb.

But I had seen the wolf under all that wool bare her teeth before.

"I see," I mutter softly.

It was her that had taken out the bullet and as I realize this, I also realize that she wasn’t blowing through my money just for the sake of it. She was doing so to get my attention. Like an invitation to this same event that we were not publicly invited to.

A personal invitation to come find her. Like a game of hide and Seek.

My favorite game.

I feel the smile blossoming on my face growing even more as I look back at my siblings, a sudden growing need to consume everything about this mystery woman swimming through every vein in my body as I say softly, bowing my head to them in respect. “By all means.”