As the only daughter to one of the most powerful Mafia families, Shay has sought to figure out her own path despite the overbearing pressures from her Family. After a family dispute leads to Shay and her mother to go into hiding, Shay attends Elite academy--her own perfect Hell. With an incredibly awful (or ingenious) disguise, Shay's new identity is going well until Jacob Smith shows out of nowhere. Not only does he seem to know every right button to push, but he also seems to know everything about her. Shay's seemingly normal school life explodes with a new set of problems. Old and new enemies are coming for her and she needs to choose whether she will carry the Ricca name. Goodbye Nerd Disguise, hello old identity, old life, old friends, and new enemies. It's the Family business, where plotting someone's assassination is just part of the daily duty. (Unedited first draft) FYI title may be misleading at first.

Highest Rank: #1 in Action Cover by: @victori- ========================================================================== "You're quite expensive for a thief." He whispered back. "That's cause I'm the best." I looped my fingers through his belt, pulling him flush against me. "Are you?" "At everything I do." I whispered huskily glancing at his lips with a smile as I brought up my hand up to his view. His leather wallet sat in between my fingers. ========================================================================= "Hey there munchkin, how's the kids?" I asked loudly, propping my chin on my hand with a large smile. He scowled at me which only made my grin widen. "Oh, and don't bother pulling that gun out, basically everyone is watching the big bad wolf, and their phones are on speed dial, just waiting for you to huff and puff." His scowl deepened as he looked around, noticing for the first time everyone watching him. He slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket. "So what can I do for you, Johnny?" I said imitating a gangster boss and leaning back on the chair, resting my hands on my belly. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ========================================================================= Avaline Jones is the best thief in the business. There's nothing she can't steal. According to the FBI, she doesn't exist. She's the best at what she does and nothing can stop her, not even the most intricate security in the world. Hayden Knight is the leader of the SilverKnives. Tall and brooding, intense but has the libido of a teenage boy. As sexy as he is ambitious, his current goal is to break into the most secured museum in the world. When these two come across each other, what will they find out?

This is not a revenge story. This is not a breakup story. This is how the blood running through our veins turned into poison. And killed the rest of the world.

Love is a messy kind of art.

"Now tell me, Cynthia. How do these voices in your head make you feel?" Dr. Waters, my new psychiatrist who insists that I call her Amy, asked me as if I were a six year old with imaginary friends. "Dr. Waters, I told you. The voices aren't in my head, they are all around me- like you or my dad or my annoying physics teacher. They are voices of real people that we just can't see, and that you can't hear. My mother can-could- hear them before she... you know. That is how I know it's not in my head. It's real." I said as nicely as I could possibly manage- which wasn't very nice at all, but I had to try. Dad would kill me if he had yet another shrink tell him that I was "mentally unstable", "beyond reason", or, my favorite, "best off in the care of an asylum." "Honey, I told you, call me Amy. I don't want you to feel awkward about talking to an adult about your... problems. Think of me as one of your friends. Now, Cynthia, about your voices-" Dr. Waters said, so sweetly it made me sick, before I cut her off. "No offense, Amy, but 1. I don't have any friends and 2. If I did, I wouldn't pick you to be one of them." I got out of the "comfy chair", walked over to the coat rack standing by the door, and grabbed my white leather jacket. I slipped it on and flipped my long, straight, sun-bleached blonde hair over my shoulder and looked back at Dr. Waters. She tried so hard to look sympathetic and upset, but she just tried too hard. She looked like a seven year old who didn't get what they wanted. It was pathetic. This story was written three years ago, and is undergoing editing, and is a little rough.