I moved from the bed and walked to the corner where I kept the only thing I still had from that night: my sneakers. After Chance threw me down here, one of Lucian's cleaning ladies brought me a change of clothes and told me to take a shower. There was a small bathroom attached to the room, and even that was bare, aside from the basics: a toilet, a shower, and a sink.
I followed Chance up the basement steps with my body feeling heavy. We entered the kitchen, and to my surprise, it smelled like a happy home. The aroma of eggs, bacon, and something sweet wafted across my face, making my stomach growl. I rubbed my stomach, then heard a soft giggle. Looking in the direction of the angelic hum, I saw the prettiest face I've ever laid eyes on. She stood near the stove, hair in a big puffy bun on top of her head, and skin glowing like warmed honey. She looked so out of place that I almost thought she wasn't real,and that maybe she was a dream sneaking into my nightmare. I pinched myself to wake up, but I wasn't asleep. I was wide awake, witnessing an angel on the devil's playground.
"Wow," I murmured, licking my lips.
Her beauty wasn't loud. It was breathtaking… the kind that upsets you, like a song playing right before the emotional climax of a movie.
What's she doing here?
The thought plunged into my mind as I slowed my stride. She wasn't supposed to be here… in this predator's world. Yet, there she was cooking and making this horrid mansion feel like a small, cozy cottage.
God must've stopped listening to her prayers, as he did mine.
The longer I watched her, the less I searched for awhy. Her presence in this fucked up mansion was sunlight breaking through stone. She was so out of place that her presence had to be divine. She didn't need a reason to be here. Shewasthe reason. Her almond-shaped eyes found mine, and for a second, I felt exposed. My throat went dry just as Chance shoved my shoulder forward.
"Keep it moving."
I picked up the pace and continued out of the house. Out back, Lucian had a makeshift gun range. Guns, targets, basically a bunch of fake war game bullshit. His son, Talon, stood at his post, holding a rifle like it was covered in shit. I laughed to myself because this had to be the pussy son I heard Lucian mumble about the day after I arrived.
On my second day here, Lucian grabbed me from the basement for what he called training. He forced every weapon he could into my hands and demanded I hit the target. I put little effort in, pissing Lucian off. Every time I missed a target, he had Chance backhand me. We stayed outside until the sunwent down, and Lucian finally gave up. As he walked off, I heard him mumble something about me being pussy just like his son, Talon. I laughed that shit off 'cause if I wanted to, I could've hit the targets, but what's the point? Lucian didn't hold up his end of the bargain, so why the fuck would I?
"I don't wanna do this," Talon muttered.
I stood back as Lucian took in his son. He didn't show an ounce of emotion, but I saw it coming. Had Talon noticed, he might've been able to move fast enough to dodge the slap. He didn't, but that nigga felt it though. The spit flying out of his mouth was proof.
"Then die slow," Lucian gritted, "but don't wear my name while you do."
Talon stumbled, and Chance moved quickly to get between father and son.
"Relax, you know Talon isn't—" Chance started, but it was pointless.
Lucian moved with precision, shoving Chance out of his way and slapping Talon again.
I shook my head as they argued and moved closer to the table. My hands slid across a handgun that wasn't too big nor too small. I saw a few niggas around my way carrying one similar. I flipped off the lever and slipped the gun into the band of my sweats and made sure my t-shirt hid the weapon.
"Talon, get the fuck in the house!" Lucian barked, his chest heaving as his pale skin turned red.
"Fuck you!" Talon bayed, moving quickly before his father could strike him again.
"Chance, go with him and make sure he doesn't leave this fucking house!"
Chance nodded and took off, but Lucian's rant was far from over.
"That fucking boy is supposed to be a Mancinelli, but he's scared to hold a fucking gun." He spit on the ground, jaw tight with disgust.
"Un figlio debole fa sembrare il padre ancora più debole." (A weak son makes the father look even weaker.)
I didn't know what language Lucian spoke or what he'd said. It didn't matter, as whatever it was, it wasn't meant for me.
"I'm running an empire, not a fucking daycare. If the rest of the Sovereign Circle finds out my bloodline's gone soft, I'll lose respect. Those under me will no longer fear me. And do you know what happens once they stop fearing you?"
He looked dead at me, answering his own question.
"They start aiming for your head."
I smiled. A devilish grin that didn't reach my eyes because it was the kind you wear when you have nothing left to lose.
"Then I guess this is fitting."
