Page 5 of Danica's Revenge

I guess I can’t blame Luca.What role model did he have?Our father was never one for affection, especially not after our mother died.I’m not sure he'd ever wanted kids.He did it for her.Nobody had planned for the great, cruel boss to be left to raise two young kids alone.So, he didn’t.He brought his parents over from Italy and that was that, we hardly saw him.He was very much of the children-should-be-seen-not-heard generation.

Luca was too young when our mother died—only two years old.He doesn’t know what it was like before.I had just turned 10.I remember how it felt to be supported, to be loved unconditionally.She had the most beautiful smile…I'd felt so safe then.

Our father hadn’t taken much interest in Luca.Sure, he'd beat the crap out of him, out of both us, on the regular.Discipline was very important to him.But other than that, he'd let Luca roam free to get up to any mischief he wanted.

I never had that luxury.I was only 16 when he pulled me into the business.There was no time to be a kid.That stopped when our mother died.When my father went three years later, cancer, it all fell to me.All the responsibility.The business.The debts.The feuds.The endless power struggle with other families—new and old to the turf.

Luca was 12.He didn’t give a fuck.He spent his teenage years setting buildings on fire and torturing small animals, forcing me to bail him out more times than I can remember.

I clench my fists, enjoying the satisfying sound of my knuckles cracking.I should really work on not getting so aggravated.It’s not good for my health—or so the doc says.

I reach for the little rake on the side of the Zen garden Danica gave me to try deal with my anger issues.It seems so out of place on my desk, yet I’ve grown so attached to it.I like watching the neat paths form in the sand as the rake weaves from side to side in twisty motions.

It’s not enough to calm me today though.

I smack a little black rock with the tiny rake, sending it flying to the floor.

Fucking family.

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Chapter four

Kneel

Iwakeupwitha start, gasping.Nightmares, again.They’re becoming more frequent for some reason.

I know none of it is real, but the uneasy feeling remains even after the details start to fade.All I remember is that I was young in the dream, probably nine years old, running through the field that had been my childhood backyard and, at the same time, through a forest.The twins were chasing me—my older brothers—threatening to lock me up in the shed again.

The rest of the story quickly evaporates from my mind.I’m not mad.The memories from those days are painful enough, I don’t need dreams to remind me that my perfect childhood wasn’t, in fact, perfect.

I pick up my glasses and reach for my phone, my brain slowly processing the sunlight filtering through the slit in the heavy curtains that cascades down from the high ceilings.Dante always opens them a little when he gets up.Maybe he hopes it will rouse me sooner, but he should know by now that I’m not a morning person.If I’m up before noon, it’s a miracle.He, on the other hand, has lived a whole life before the sun is even up, starting with his 5 AM workout with Emilio.

The notifications on my phone hold little of interest—the usual spam emails, a message from my mother asking when I'm bringing my “new boyfriend” home for dinner, and a bunch of other things I swipe off my screen without even looking.

My mother has been nagging me to meet “the new man” ever since I moved out of home.I'd only given her vague details about where I was relocating.The buff men (bodyguards) who had swiftly moved my belongings into unmarked black vans probably hadn’t done much to put her at ease either.But how do you tell your mother you’re moving in with one of the most renowned criminals in the city?It wouldn’t take much digging for her to realize who Dante really was…

I put the phone down, sighing.My mother has always been a bit overbearing.Maybe because I was the youngest—a full seven years younger than the twins.Always so overprotective…Yet she couldn’t protect me then.

I crawl back under the fluffy blankets, trying to find the motivation to start the day.Coffee.I need coffee.

I fling the duvet off and swing my feet into the fluffy slippers waiting beside the bed.I don’t feel like getting dressed, I still need to wash my hair anyway.(Girl math.)

So, I throw on the short black satin gown hanging over the chair.It does little to cover my hefty cleavage, but who am I hiding it from anyway?Everyone on the property is under strict instructions never to lay a finger on me.

The thought makes me smile.His possessiveness is almost cute.Which is bizarre considering how off-putting it was in my ex.But Dante isn’t just any man…His possessiveness doesn’t make me feel trapped, it makes me feel powerful.

I brush my teeth on the toilet, still lazy in my reawakening.I am under no illusions that I’m nothing like the elegant women Dante is used to having around, the ones with proper breeding and pedigree, the ones who know how to get on a private jet and look unfazed—but I'm not bothered for a second.I know they can’t give him what I give him.

I don’t even bother with underwear.The gown barely covers the top half of my thighs as I exit the master bedroom, confidently making my way to the study down the hall.

Nobody tries to stop me or say anything.They’re used to me and my night-owlish ways by now.Nobody except Emilio that is.

“You can’t go in there, Miss Matthews,” he says sternly, guarding the door.

“Good day to you too, Emilio,” I grin.“Please move.”

“I’m under order to not let anyone in,” he maintains, crossing his arms.

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