Page 3 of Wretched Choices

I look at Gabriel, my dear friend and right-hand man. We now know there are still traitors, members of the family who have something against me.

“We need to lure them in. They want to know your business? Give them an opportunity.” He leans back in his seat on the sofa, one arm hanging over the side holding his amber drink.

“What are you suggesting?” I ask.

“A party, a gala, a fundraiser. Whatever, just open your doors. Everyone knows Lotus is yours, but they also know you own a hotel under the same name. And that since its opening five years ago, you are cautious about who enters it. More so than here, and this is an exclusive, A-list club.” A smirk shows on his face.

“The hotel is big and luxurious. It’s the perfect place for a party. Then I would say no guards on your private entrance, just Dante here.” He glances toward him, and Dante smirks, knowing he will enjoy pulling the information from whoever he catches. He has been on edge lately, his thirst for violence starting to become apparent. “Dante lurking in the shadows waiting to catch whoever appears for the show, and of course, just a few of your most trustworthy men watching the crowd. Let them come to you.”

Let them come to me.

That is exactly what I will do.

two

Isabella

“This is what I found.”

I pass my boss the USB stick full of pictures and documents I collected from investigating for the last couple of months.

“It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.” I smile at him.

Donovan Hall is CEO of Hall Media, a small media house. Mr. Hall never expanded, staying local, but most importantly, his company always searches for the truth, no matter the consequences. That’s the reason I like working for him.

He narrows his eyes at me, a wary look in his gaze. “And you are sure you’re not in any kind of trouble? No one is going tofollow you home like last time?” he asks, reminding me of my previous field job.

I investigated a story about a senator who was accused of raping a young woman who worked for him as an intern. When she came forward, she was accused of seducing him and the blame was put on her. She ended up in a rehab clinic. I came across the story by accident and knew something was off. Why would she have a breakdown if she was lying? After visiting her and hearing her side of the story, I could see the injustice, so I took on the challenge and discovered more than twenty women over the last decade had been in the same position as her. Some of them didn’t want to speak, but many did. After a few months, the senator was exposed live on our channel and arrested the same day, as soon as we delivered the evidence and statements from the women to the authorities.

I, on the other hand, was attacked at my home by someone saying I destroyed the future of the good people of America.

I don’t think people need a rapist for a politician.

“I’m sure. And if so, I know how to defend myself, and I installed a better security system and cameras at my house,” I say, shrugging.

“That’s not what I meant.” He twirls the USB stick between his fingers. “These people are not the same as a rapist politician. They are killers and very dangerous men.”

“I know. That’s why I went undercover. Don’t worry.Youwouldn’t even have known me if you saw me.”

I wouldn’t have known me.

Sighing, he plugs the stick into his computer, and I use this as an excuse to leave his office. Saying goodbye, I walk out, closing the door behind me, and I head toward my desk in the open area. Firing up my own computer, I search for my next victim.

At eight p.m., I sit on my couch in my apartment with a glass of wine in my hand and watch my handiwork on my laptop.I worked long months undercover, wearing a blond wig and serving men of Camorra drinks. Luckily, they all are getting arrested tonight, and I won’t be linked to their arrests. I did, however, have an advantage while investigating; I understand how they think. My former life has yet again come to use.

Live images of the police raiding the Camorra family boss’s villa fill my screen. He is arrested with tens of other men. This will cause chaos between the crime families; I know that in my heart. It will cause commotion in the Commission and its members. They will point fingers and search for the rat amongst them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they kill each other. I didn’t find any proof of the existence of the Commission, however, I know that they exist. Once, I overheard someone speaking about them. Unfortunately, I was at the end of my investigation and couldn’t risk all my work for another. Better one bastard in prison than none at all.

I put my glass on the coffee table and turn the news off, standing and walking toward the window of my apartment that overlooks Manhattan. City lights illuminate the buildings in front of me. The buzz of the traffic and the vibrant dynamic of the city make me feel alive. There is no darkness, no distant sounds of the wilderness.

I love living here. My two-bedroom apartment is one of my favorite places in the world. I worked hard to be where I am today. So different from the place I grew up in, and so different from the place I found my solitude. This place is mine. It’s my safe place. It has been for a while now.

There is no going back to my previous life, to the place I grew up in and loved so much until I discovered the true price of being there.

Sometimes, I feel lost. Sometimes, I feel nostalgic. Mostly, my vision blurs and the heat overwhelms me when anger takes over. Anger that I couldn’t save her, sadness that she couldn’t get out.Anger that I ran away and couldn’t fight. But it was the only way for me to survive, to not end up likeher.

The walk from my childhood house and through the small walkway between the trees of the vineyard and to our destination wasn’t long, but when we arrived at the place where the car was hidden under a tree, our momentary reliefwas taken away the instant the car door swung open and we were met with the angry face of my father. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were black and hard.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His nostrils flared as his voice seemed to cut through me. My mother’s hand trembled in mine, and I squeezed hers, trying and failing to take some strength from her.

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