Roses Rising Above the Thorns

“GREENLEE!” my uncle calls, trying to wake me up. It’s Monday morning—school time. I hate Mondays, but what can I do? It’s my senior year of high school. My life isn’t hard, but it sure isn’t easy either.

“GREENLEE BRUCO! WAKE YOUR ASS UP AND GET READY FOR SCHOOL!”

“I’M UP!” Ugh. Guess I have to. Did I mention how much I hate school? It’s not that I get bullied or anything like that—I just can’t be myself. I mean, I’m 5'5", with curly fire-red hair, deep blue eyes, and a slim body. Well, mostly. I’ve got D-cup breasts and my mother’s round ass. Looking at me, you wouldn’t guess I’m from an Italian family. But I get my red hair from my dad—well, sperm donor is more accurate. He was never around. Not when Mom was sick, not when she died. I was five. Uncle Sal, her big brother, took us in—me and my brothers.

I’m grateful for him. I know it was hard at first. Uncle Sal had lost his wife and two-year-old son a year before—to The Russian. He says we saved him. But the truth is, we saved each other. We became a real family. A little broken, but that’s okay.

“Good morning, Uncle,” I say as I walk into the kitchen. It’s just the two of us now. My brothers moved out—they wanted nothing to do with the family business. So that leaves me. Which is why I have to hide who I truly am. No one can know what I am or what I can do. And who I am? That’s my greatest achievement.

Because I, GreenLee Bruco, am the true boss of the Bruco Crime Family.

“Buon giorno, fiore mio,” my uncle greets me, setting his paperwork aside. (Good morning, my flower.)

No matter what was happening with the business, we always had his full attention.

“What’s happening with school this week?”

“Well…”

“Fiore mio?” he warns.

“It’s nothing really, Zio. I just have three or four tests and a zoology lab on Friday.”

“I see. And what subjects are the tests in?”

“I have an English Lit test today. Umm… American History on Wednesday. Then Friday’s my big bang to start the weekend,” I giggle.

Uncle Sal raises an eyebrow, waiting for more. I sigh and roll my eyes.

“Friday I’ve got AB Calculus and Algebra back-to-back in the morning. Then my zoology lab after lunch.”

“What are you cutting up this time?”

“A shark.”

“Well then, have you studied for everything?”

“Almost. That’s why I took off this past weekend—and this week—to study.”

Uncle Sal always told us school comes first. So I take mini vacations to study.

“You know I only have a few more weeks of school left.”

“I know, sweetheart. And I’m very proud of you. Now go to school. Oh, and we’ll have visitors this weekend. They’ll be here Thursday.” He kisses the top of my head and heads to his office.

You see, even though I’m the boss, Uncle Sal is still the face of the family. In public, he’s the boss. But in the family? That’s me. Nobody knows—not even at school. I blend in, keep my head down. Well, I try to. I don’t stand for bullies. If someone’s getting picked on, I help.

That earns loyalty. If all goes well, I bring them in. The guys I build up—train, work out—they run things for me or work at my clubs. Yes, clubs. I own three. Two nightclubs and one strip club. So when I help a girl out, if she wants, I give her a job at whichever one she chooses.

“That test was horrible!” Sam, my best friend, whines as I shut my locker.

“Did you even study?” I giggle.

“What?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing, Sam. Come on, let’s go to lunch.”

After lunch, we have art and history. Art is my all-time favorite—I get to unwind. History’s a close second. I sit by the window overlooking the student parking lot. We’re learning about WWII—one of my favorite time periods. The 1940s.

“Miss GreenLee? Hello? Earth to GreenLee?” my teacher calls from across the room.

“Huh? Sorry, what was the question?”

“Pearl Harbor. When, where, why?”

“Right. December 7, 1941. Pearl Harbor Base in Hawaii was attacked by the Japanese Air Force…” God, I hate sounding like a nerd, I think as I finish my answer.

“Correct. That’ll be on the test Wednesday.” The bell rings. This is my life. Well, for a few more weeks, I keep telling myself.

“So… daydreaming again?” Sam asks at my locker.

“Huh?”

“In class. You spaced out.”

“Oh, right. Thought I saw someone.”

“Who?”

“Nobody. Just seeing things.”

Sam’s been my best friend since I was seven. I tell her everything. But this? How do I tell my BFF I’ve had a creepy old man stalker since I was eleven? That was the first time I met him—The Russian.

FLASHBACK

I met him at dinner with my brothers and Uncle. It was my 11th birthday. We went to my favorite Mexican restaurant. We were laughing, joking, having the best time—until he walked over.

I saw my uncle’s face first. If looks could kill, that man would’ve dropped dead.

“Ivan Balakin. You’ve got some nerve,” my uncle said coldly.

Ivan raised his hands and smiled creepily at me. “Oh, don’t be so cold, old man. I heard it’s someone’s birthday. I just came to say—”

“You need to leave. NOW!” John yelled before Ivan could finish.

“Easy, big brother. No need to shout.” His eyes never left me. I wanted to throw up.

I knew it wasn’t good for him to be here. I didn’t want a scene. So I did what I thought was best. I looked him straight in the eyes, trying not to show fear, smiled brightly, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Balakin, for the birthday wishes. But as you can see, my family and I are trying to enjoy a nice dinner. I hope you understand.” I grabbed Uncle Sal’s hand on the table—not sure if I was calming him or myself. Either way, he gave me a small smile and nodded.

“Of course. I’ll leave you to it,” Ivan said, with an even creepier smile, walking back to his table. Fuck, I thought, looking across the room. He was still staring at me.

I needed a minute. I did something I hadn’t done since I was eight—I asked John to walk me to the restroom. No questions. He just nodded and walked with me. He stood outside the door and waited. Even walking back, he never asked why.

After that day, Ivan sent me birthday cards, flowers, gifts, and notes. I burned them all. It pissed Uncle Sal off to no end—but he only knew about the cards and gifts. I never told him or my brothers about Ivan’s men following me. Standing outside the school parking lot. They never said anything. Just waited. But when they try something, they’ll realize they fucked up.

They think I’m just a quiet, sweet, innocent girl. I can be all that. But I’m also a killer.

My first was when I was twelve. One of Uncle’s enemies tried to kidnap me. I played the scared little girl. And when his guard was down, I put two bullets in his head—just before my family walked in. Took me two hours. I laugh every time I think about it.

END FLASHBACK

“Good morning, Zio,” I say, walking into the kitchen. It’s Thursday morning. Our guests will arrive this afternoon. I’ve tried all week to get Uncle to tell me who’s coming. All I get is: They’re from Italy.

“Buon giorno, fiore mia,” he says, sipping his coffee.

“So… who’s coming this afternoon?”

“Straight to the point today, I see,” he chuckles.

“Uncle,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “I need to know things. Be prepared.”

“You need to worry about your studies. You still have two tests and a lab. If I remember correctly?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. I’ve got this handled. You’ll know more this afternoon.”

“Ugh, fine. You win—this time.” I kiss his cheek and head to school.

It’s an easy day. No tests, at least. I got my results back from earlier this week—all A’s. Last period, I’m staring out at the parking lot. And guess who I see? Ivan’s men. But something’s off—there are four of them instead of the usual two.

I text Uncle, telling him I’ll be late. Something about staying after to prep for my zoology lab. He’ll want proof, so I grab the book I need, check it out, and head to the parking lot. I walk out into the nearly empty parking lot. Just my car left. And four men standing around it like they own the place.

“Boss wants to see you. Get in—I’ll drive,” says Ugly Guy #1, leaning against my car like he’s doing me a favor.

I laugh. “First of all, no one drives my baby but me. Second, what makes you think I’d just go willingly?”

Ugly Guy #2 smirks. “Listen, little girl. Do as we say and we won’t hurt you… much.”

I laugh again, louder this time. “Look, boys. I’m already late. So if you don’t mind, move away from my car before someone gets hurt.”

Ugly Guy #3 cracks his knuckles. “Only one getting hurt is you, sweetheart.”

They start walking toward me.

“Okay,” I say, setting my bag down. “Have it your way.”

Ugly Guy #1 grabs my arm. Big mistake. I twist, drop him to the ground, and snap his arm with a clean crack. He screams.

Ugly Guy #2 rushes me. I use his momentum against him, flipping him hard and breaking his leg in the process.

The other two hesitate—finally noticing I’ve snagged a gun from Douchebag #2’s waistband. I fire once, hitting Ugly Guy #3 in the arm.

That’s all it takes. The last two take off running, leaving their buddies writhing on the pavement.

I glance around. No witnesses. Good.

I pop the trunk, drag the two injured ones over, and toss them in. Then I slide into the driver’s seat, rev the engine, and head home.

On the way, I play a little game—speeding up, slamming the brakes, letting them bounce around back there. Just a couple times. I need them alive.

I want answers.

Uncle Sal is going to be pissed.