I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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A/N : Same thing, comments disappeared because I edited the chapter 🥲
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"Yessie, those men are back at it again."
I kept my eyes fixed on the computer screen, not bothering to look up. The inventory spreadsheet was an absolute nightmare, a jumbled mess of numbers that didn't add up and titles I'd completely forgotten we even had. I'd been staring at the thing for the better part of an hour, trying to make sense of the chaos, and I was no closer to untangling it than when I had started.
"What men?" I asked, still typing away.
Melinda giggled from across the store, where she was unpacking a box of new arrivals. Russian translated literature, mostly. She'd been buzzing about it all morning, which was so typical of her. Melinda got excited about everything, honestly. It was one of the reasons I'd hired her, and one of the reasons I sometimes wanted to strangle her.
"MIB," she said, her voice all playful and amused.
I finally glanced up. "MIB?"
"Men in black." She nodded toward the front window, balancing a stack of books in her arms. "Your dad's friends, I'm guessing. They've been standing out there for like twenty minutes, trying really hard to look like they're not just lurking. It's not working."
I put my pen down and walked over to the window. Three men in dark jackets and black pants were hanging around across the street, all stiff and awkward, their eyes locked on my store like they were trying to bore holes through the glass. One of them was pretending to check his phone. Another was examining a lamppost like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. The third was just standing there with his arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be doing literally anything else.
I sighed. "For God's sake."
"They're really committing to the whole creepy vibe," Melinda said, dropping the books on the counter. "I almost respect it."
"Mel, I'm sorry. I know they're probably scaring customers off."
"Eh, it's Tuesday morning. Nobody's buying anything anyway." She waved it off, but I could see that look in her eyes, the curiosity she couldn't quite hide. "Your dad's pretty paranoid for a businessman."
I smiled and hoped it didn't look as forced as it felt. "He's protective."
"Protective. Right." Melinda tilted her head, giving me that sharp look of hers. She was too observant, honestly. "Most dads don't send armed guys to watch their daughters' bookstores. Just saying."
How was I supposed to explain any of this? That my father ran the Galician syndicate, that I'd grown up around violence and blood and men who'd kill without thinking twice, that I'd changed my name and ran across the ocean just to get away from all of it? Melinda thought I was Yasenia Alvárez, a normal girl from Spain with a normal father who worried too much. She didn't know I was a mafia princess. She didn't know I'd been running for three years and still hadn't managed to stop.
