I wake to the morning sun, my eyes sticky and puffy from my un-interrupted sleep. I am not a morning person.
I groan upon hearing my father's and his men's shouting. What the hell are they complaining about this early in the morning? I take a large pillow from next to me and smush it on my head in order to drown out the noise, and in doing so, further disheveling my already very messy hair.
When my attempts to go back to sleep prove futile, I slowly slide out of my bed and into my bathroom. I sigh as I stare at my unkempt appearance, yesterday's seemingly waterproof makeup that hadn't come off from the shower is smeared on my cheeks, and presumably my sheets as well. My slightly brown hair, it's blonde and brown waves normally cascading down my shoulders, find its place in a knotty bun at the top of my head. The mascara speckles on my cheecks and create quite the smokey eye, my green eyes bloodshot from the unnatural irritation of the makeup.
After brushing my hair and teeth, and washing my face, I return to my bedroom and change into my outfit. Tight leather pants, halter top, and my signature boots with a slight, skinny heel.
Her signature boots:
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As I walk out of my room, the shouting from earlier just amplifies. I enter into the living room where the noise is coming from, only to find my father and his two most trusted men, Eugene and Lee, screaming at each other at the top of their lungs.
I stare at them in disbelief for a good minute or two before speaking up.
"Enough!" I shout, clearly surprising them as they had been unaware of my presence beforehand. "You three are among the most dangerous and ruthless men in the world, yet here you are whining and shouting like little boys who couldn't play with their fucking fire trucks. Pull yourselves together for fuck sake." I scold.
The three share glances with each other, silently debating among themselves.
My mind begins to wake up and race with ideas as I remember my mother's unsettledness last night.
"Dad," I start, my brows furrowing. "Is that what has mom so worried? What the fuck is going on?" I inquire, looking between the three of them with an accusatory look.
"Ivy..." My father begins.
"Don't." I interject, making a small gesture with my hand. "Dont bullshit me with some crap about how 'everything's fine' or I 'don't have to worry'. I'm the heir to this fucking mafia and I deserve to know when something's wrong, and more importantly, if me and my family are in danger." I retaliate sternly.
"Do you remember that raid we did a couple of months ago on that small Russian gang?" He asks warily.
Flashback
"We have a small gang trying to hack into our databases and get our weaponry information. They are set in Russia, and only go by their leader's last name. The Ivanovs." My father informed.
