★★Mariella's POV★★



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"Ahh!" The sound of a body crashing face-first to the ground echoes through the room. "Ow. Guys, call an ambulance—I think I broke my nose," Santino groans. I try to ignore him, keeping my focus as I maintain my handstand.

Come on, just breathe. In and—.

"Hellllooo, did you guys even hear me?" Santino interrupts.

Still, I ignore him, my arms starting to tire from balancing my body. Luna and I had decided to do Pilates this morning, but as soon as the elevator bell rings, Santino appears behind us. I glance over at him, sizing up his outfit: tight compression shirt, shorts, sneakers, and a yoga mat in hand. His face is plastered with that grin—like a kid who just got a prize.

"Uh-uh," I mutter, annoyed. "Nope. You're not coming."

"What?.. What do you mean?" He looks genuinely confused.

"I didn't wake up at 6 a.m. on the dot like I'm some rich girl influencer," Santino says sarcastically, his tone dripping with mockery.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. Luna bites her lip to suppress a laugh. "I mean.. the dedication is there," she grins as she glances him up and down.

Santino makes a face at her, but I can see he's just trying to get a rise out of us.

"Guys, you know how many hot baddies are going to be there?" He continues, his voice almost too confident. I raise an eyebrow, bracing for it.

Oh god, here we go.

"I walked into the building once, and there was a group of smoking hot girls walking to the Pilates studio," he continues. "I swear, they all looked at me and started checking me out. They want me so bad."

Someone make him shut up.

I turn to him, hands on my hips. "If I take you, will you shut up?" I ask, deadpan.

He mimics zipping his mouth and tossing away the key with a dramatic motion. Luna giggles, and I can't help but roll my eyes. We step into the elevator, and I shake my head, secretly amused despite myself.

As I remain in a handstand, competing with Luna on my left, I hear her gasp. "Oh god," she mutters, wobbling dangerously before regaining her balance just in time to avoid touching the ground.

I keep my eyes closed, steadying my breathing. Focus, I tell myself.

"So, how's your day going?" I silently ask myself in an attempt to stay distracted.

"Oh, you know, good," I imagine myself answering. "Just hanging out—literally—trying to balance. Haha."

Now, that was a knee slapper.

The mental conversation almost makes me crack a smile, but I quickly push the thought away, focusing on my arms and core as the burn intensifies.

"While you guys do that, I'm gonna go talk to that blondie." Santino announces, his voice fading as his steps retreat down the hall.

"How you doing there, buddy?" I mock Luna, watching her struggle to maintain her balance.

She grits her teeth, still managing to stay upright. "Oh! You know, I—uh—good. How about you...buddy?" she shoots back, her voice strained but determined.

I grin to myself as the blood rushes to my head, my arms trembling slightly. "Oh, that's nice!" I reply casually, trying to mask the burn in my shoulders.

How long have we been doing this?

Luna's practically a Pilates master, especially at handstands. But I'm too competitive to back down now.

What- its my ego. I can't help it.

Luna's arms tremble, sweat dripping down her forehead as she struggles to hold on. I can see it—the second she starts losing her grip.

"You look like you're about to drop, Luna," I tease, barely holding on myself. My own arms feel like they're seconds away from giving out, but there's no way I'm losing now.

Her breath is ragged. "I-I'm not—"

Before she can finish, her fingers slip, and she crashes down onto the mat with a loud THUMP.

Victory.

"Ha! Sucks to suck," I gloat, finally letting go. The second my feet hit the mat, my whole body collapses. The blood rushes back into my arms, leaving me groaning in pain.

Luna groans next to me. "You suck."

"You suck more," I shoot back, panting.

We both just lay there, catching our breath, staring at the ceiling like two idiots. My arms feel like they might fall off, my legs burn, and I'm completely drenched in sweat.

After a moment, I prop myself up on my elbows, smirking at her. "So... ready to admit I'm stronger than you?"

She turns her head, narrowing her eyes at me. "Never."

I let out a tired laugh and roll onto my stomach, resting my chin on my hands. "Then I guess we'll have to go again sometime. You know, once you recover from that humiliating defeat."

Luna groans dramatically. "Ugh, I hate you."

I grin. "I know."

Eventually, after way too long lying on the floor, we force ourselves up and head back to the penthouse. My muscles scream in protest with every step, but at least I won. Totally worth it.

I head straight for the shower, peeling off my sweaty clothes with a grimace. The cold water hits my skin like a shock, but it's exactly what I need. As the steam rises, I close my eyes, letting my thoughts drift.

And that's when I remember him.

The stranger from the club. The one who had me pinned against the wall, his hands gripping me like he owned me. The heat in his eyes, the way his fingers burned into my skin even through my dress—

My breath hitches, a wave of heat coursing through me. I feel my thighs press together involuntarily, my stomach twisting with a mix of frustration and something else.

Get it together, Mariella.

I shake my head and quickly finish my shower, refusing to let myself get lost in that memory. I don't even know his name.

Dressing in an oversized t-shirt, I towel-dry my hair and start brushing it in front of the mirror. My reflection stares back at me, and I sigh.

Then—a knock on my door.

As I'm brushing my wet hair in the mirror, the faint sound of knocking at my door breaks my focus. I glance up and mutter, "What?"

"Don't what me. Can I come in?" Enzo says, his voice laced with annoyance.

I groan, rolling my eyes. "Sure, why not?" I say sarcastically.

Enzo opens the door and storms in, looking at me with that usual pissed-off expression. He's dressed in a business suit—probably just got back from handling some "business." Business, like negotiating with CEOs for the Italian mafia. I know exactly what that entails—Enzo's been handling business in New York for our father since he's in Italy taking of things over there.

He walks over to me and hands me his phone. I glance at it, then back at him, already knowing what this is about. I groan in annoyance.

I take the phone and press it to my ear. "Ciao, papa! (Hello, Papa)!" I say, forcing a cheerful tone.

"Ciao? Bellezza? Tesori, perché non mi avete chiamato? Stai bene?(Hello, beauty? Sweetheart, why haven't you called me? Are you alright?)" His voice is sweet, warm, and soothing.

His words make my heart soften, and I take a deep breath, trying to push aside the feelings rising within me.

"Certo, padre. Mi conosci, penso sempre a me stesso." (Of course, father. You know me, I always look out for myself.) I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He replies back, his tone concerned yet commanding. "Allora, come mai te ne sei andato così all'improvviso per andare a New York City? Non è sicuro lì. Devo tornare in Italia, questa volta per favore." (Then, how come you left so abruptly to go to New York City? It's not safe over there. I need to return to Italy, this instance, please.)

I roll my eyes and lightly bang my head against the doorframe as I close my eyes.

Enzo looks at me like I've lost my mind. I glance back at him, "What?"

"Padre, dai. Sto bene. Sono perfettamente sano. Ho anche il lavoro di...prendermi cura...di..." (Father, come on. I'm fine. I'm perfectly healthy. I—uh, also work to...take care...of...) I scramble for words, my hands flailing in the air, trying to think of something that'll make sense, but it just looks like I'm casting a spell, my fingers moving in the air as if summoning the right excuse.

I glance over at Enzo, who's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking and shaking his head at my frantic attempt to cover up the truth.

I can't help but feel a tad bit...ridiculous.

My father doesn't know what I do. No one does. And it's going to stay that way.

When I was eleven, my mother went out with some friends. She was supposed to come home. She never did.

A group of drunken men stole her from us that night. They raped her, beat her, left her to die like she was nothing. She fought. She survived—for a while. But in the end, the damage was too much.

That night didn't just take her life. It tore ours apart.

That's why I do what I do.

I don't kill for money, for power, or for sport. I kill the ones who deserve it. The ones who destroy lives and think they can walk away untouched. The ones who prey on the weak, the innocent.

I make sure they never get the chance to do it again.

I don't care who they are.

If they're on my list, they're dead.

"Beh, non è il caso di discuterne. Domani mattina presto programmerò un jet privato. Capito Mariella?" (Well, it's not up for discussion. I'll schedule a private jet first thing tomorrow morning. Understood, Mariella?) he says harshly.

"Sì, papa. (Yes, papa)" I try to keep my voice steady.

Then he hangs up. I groan out loud, my frustration bubbling up, and look over at Enzo, who's biting back a laugh. He lifts himself off the wall and walks toward me, clearly enjoying this like it's some kind of comedy show.

"Wow, Mari. What a performance," he grins.

God, if I could punch that smirk off his face. "I'd give it a 4.5 stars. You need to work more on your lying though," he adds, snatching the phone from my hand.

I stick my tongue out at him and mock his stupid grin.

He smirks back and says, "Yeah, well, if I were you, I'd stick to pretending to be innocent. Lying's clearly not your strong suit. Maybe you can take an acting class... after you call your father back to apologize for 'forgetting' about the jet."

He looks at me, locking eyes, like the answer to all my lies is within.

This dumbfucker. Over my dead body will he find out.

"I'm not telling you if that's why you're still in my room," I say, pissed.

He smirks again and says, "Don't worry, I'll find out."

Then, without missing a beat, he turns and walks out of my room, closing the door behind him.

I flare my nose and let out a heavy breath, my chest rising and falling with frustration. If someone took a photo of me right now, I probably look like a toddler who just found out they can't have candy before dinner—face all scrunched up and ready to throw a tantrum.

And I probably will.

I kick the wall with my barefoot, but at that moment, a painting falls. I manage to catch it just before it shatters. "Okay, maybe not the best idea," I mutter, feeling a little dumb.

Alright, probably not.

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Oop. welp.

New location unlocked. ;-;

* favorite sad movie or show?*

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡