ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

02: Two Names for Two Bullets

ROMAN

Life is Tough.

But life as the Antonio Alessi's daughter is even tougher. Her father's affluence and prestige come with a great price:

Danger.

She needs more than a helmet if she doesn't want to end up in a casket. That's why I need to hit the nail of toughness on her head; otherwise, the danger our organization emanates is going to drive a nail into her coffin.

She has a long way ahead. A path of needles is her future for the name and blood she carries on.

"Listen to me, Cara," I say, wiping her tears away and pulling her into a hug. "I didn't mean to make you cry, but you can't expect me to say you're doing well when you're not."

"Why?" The question slips from her trembling lips.

One word. One question.

Yet its weight is like a ton of brick, crushing down on my back. Because her question pulls me back — back to a time I'd rather forget.

The time I saved my sister.

She was barely clothed. What she wore couldn't even be called garments — they were torn and filthy. But what infuriated me the most was the forced company in her.

She was being mounted by a bastard like an animal, her body jerking back and forth like a lifeless rag doll as he abused her.

I roared, fury exploding from every cell of my body, as I advanced toward him, ready to strike. Grabbing him by the neck like the mongrel he was, hurling him against the wall with all my might.

Then I looked at the woman on the filthy mattress. Her eyes mirrored mine — yet they were so haunted and hollow.

My jaw clenched, rage coursing through my veins, as I turned my full attention back to the mutt who had violated my bloodline.

And only a tinge of satisfactory surged through me, soothing my demons, when I ended him the way he deserved.

That's why the weaker sex in the family needs to toughen up, be ready to fight. Because men can be worse than animals.

"Uncle Roman?" Cara's voice pulls me from the depths of my dark thoughts, grounding me back in reality.

I blink, finding her staring at me, head tilted, a frown of confusion shadowing her seraphic face.

"Are you here?" she asks.

"Yeah, yeah..." I nod, signing that I'm present, that I'm listening. "My mind wandered for a second — must be the drugs. What were you saying?"

"I asked why," she repeats softly.

"Because crying won't sharpen your skills, Cara. Hard work will. I only want the best for you. I need you to be strong, strong enough to protect yourself. And praising your poor shooting skills won't make you any better."

Then I encourage and motivate her. "But I can help you improve by being strict and honest. And when you do get better, you can come back and shoot me in the ass!"

Sniffling, she giggles and shakes her head, the sadness leaving her eyes with the breeze of the wind in the backyard.

"I don't want to shoot you in the ass," she mumbles, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. "And I'll practice more, I promise, mommy says practice makes the best..."

"Well, I'd appreciate that," I say with a soft chuckle, patting her back gently before pulling away and looking at her with a grin.

"Your mommy is right. And if you're a skilled shooter, you can teach Seraphina, she wants to learn how to protect herself from those witches in the princess movies, right?"