All Chapters of Blood Vengeance; a mafia romance story: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

“If only.”My Dad’s words ring in my ears as I hold the door handle for dear life. The urge to barge in and confront him about everything is so great, yet my feet stay rooted to the ground like a great tree that has survived each phase of human evolution, its roots so deeply sunk into the soil. The only difference is that I don’t feel that “great.”My palms feel sweaty against the handle, my heartbeat palpitating so loud; I could hear it in my ears. I need to move. I gently release my clammy hands from the door handle, forcing myself to take a couple of steps back.I’ve heard enough.I drag my heavy feet downstairs, and everything feels blurry. My body feels hot.I can’t breathe.Tears threaten to spill. At the foot of the stairs, I see Lena relaxed on the couch in the living room. She stands up when she sees me.“You don’t look too good.” She fakes care, her hand grabbing my hands.“That makes two of us.” I release my arm from her grip and turn to leave. “What—?”“Maybe a little

My throat feels like hell. Dry and cracked like the Sahara Desert. My head—what’s this excruciating pain? I grip my hair, holding it closely to my scalp, hoping it could help, but nothing. My scalp feels like it's been pricked with a thousand needles, each one fighting for a spot to stick into. My eyes are so heavy, a dull throbbing drumbeat pounding behind them, and for a minute, I feel I couldn’t open them.What is happening to me?A slow, queasy roll churns in my gut, and bile rises up my throat, making me dash to the washroom, emptying my stomach into the water closet. The sudden movement makes me feel dizzy. I feel horrible. I hate this. My sprawled hair over the pot is suddenly gathered in someone’s hand as I empty what’s left in my stomach. The person offers a tissue, I wipe my lips, and turn.Kane.“How are you feeling?” He asks, while helping me to my feet. My legs feel weak.Why is he here, and how did he get in?“I feel horrible.” I finally look around, and this room is d

The past three days have been a blur, from shopping for sophisticated office wear, lectures from Kane on company policies, my duties, and where the line between my duties ends. I still can’t believe this is happening.“You’ll be my personal assistant.” The most absurd words I have heard from Lucien’s mouth. I thought he had actually lost a screw up there, but turns out he hasn’t, because I am dressed in a tailored suit on my way to the office.Immediately, I step out of the blacked-out SUV in the underground garage, two of his men flank beside me like shadows. A guy leads the way, and I follow, the echo of my heels against the cold concrete floor announcing our presence to anyone who can hear. But that’s the thing—there’s nobody in the entire garage. With heart hammering in my chest, the dull ache of the cut in my feet from days ago, wearing the charcoal pencil skirt and silk blouse, I follow, and we come to an exit. The building looms above us, rising above the city skyline, all gl

I can’t breathe.My throat is dry, and the walls are closing up on me; they get smaller as the seconds go by. I want to vanish, run, but my feet fail me. My legs feel like they’ve been filled with concrete. Every trip. Every signature. Every authentication. Weapons? Drugs? My vision on the screen blurs, but one line stays sharp: Unaware or complicit?Lucien takes a step closer. “I d-didn’t know.” My voice cracks, sounding like it’s coming from underwater. I was just…I thought I was just—”“Authenticating art pieces. Signing custom documents. Providing verbal confirmations to officials.” He takes another step closer. His cologne overwhelms my senses, suffocating me. “You were very good at your job.”Job? A memory slams into me. A trip to Italy. Three years ago. A supposed school trip that I had to go on alone. It coincided with my father’s trip to Italy, so we went together. I remember not doing much aside from visiting museums, and it felt suspicious to do so little for schoolwork

I've gotten better at this secretarial job over the past two weeks—black coffee every morning, organizing tasks by threat levels, deciding which calls to screen and which ones to let through immediately. The role is still annoying, but I get to do something other than being locked up with nothing to do. There’s been a hold on providing information and flagging routes related to my dad; it’s just actual work-related stuff now, and for that I am grateful. But I keep waiting for that angry monster to rear its ugly head again. With his coffee set on his table a few minutes before he arrived, I sit in my office reviewing his schedule for the day. It’s packed—two internal meetings, a call with a supplier in Hamburg, and at two pm, a high-stakes meeting with a potential acquisition partner. Mercer & Holt, a firm Lucien has been courting for months. Kane had mentioned a couple of days ago as one of the most important meetings on the quarter’s calendar. I confirm the boardroom booking for i