2. Chapter 2

two

Clara

Nine years later

“ G od, no! Make it stop—it fucking burns!”

To anyone with half a brain, the screams and the stink would be enough to turn their stomachs inside out.

The air in the warehouse is thick with the stench of blood and burning flesh, but I’ve grown accustomed to it over the years. It’s just another day in the life of Clara Caldwell.

Taking a long drag of my cigarette, I let the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling slowly.

I glance down at the pathetic excuse for a man tied to the chair in front of me.

Lionel Calpadi, one of my father’s so-called loyal underlings. The fucker thought he could go behind our backs and start his own little operation.

Big mistake.

“You know, Lionel,” I say, my voice dripping with mock sweetness, “I really didn’t want it to come to this. But you just had to be a greedy little shit, didn’t you?”

Lionel whimpers, his eyes wide with fear. “Please, Clara. I didn’t mean to—”

I slam my fist down on the table, making him jump. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Lionel. You knew exactly what you were doing. And now, you’re going to pay the price.”

I nod to Stephan, my father’s second-in-command and the man who’s been mentoring me for the past nine years. He hands me a pair of pliers, a grin on his face.

“Let’s see how long you can hold out, shall we?” I say, gripping the pliers tightly.

Lionel’s screams echo off the walls as I get to work, tearing off his fingernails one by one. The sound is music to my ears, a twisted symphony of pain and suffering.

“Just give me the name, Lionel,” I hiss, leaning in close to his face. “Who put you up to this?”

But Lionel just shakes his head, his eyes rolling back in his head as he slips into unconsciousness.

Pathetic.

I drop the pliers and wipe my hands on my jeans, turning to face Stephan. “He’s not talking.”

Stephan shrugs, his eyes cold and calculating. “Then we’ll just have to try something else. I have a few ideas.”

I nod, a cruel smile spreading across my face. “Do what you have to do. I want answers, and I want them now.”

As Stephan gets to work, I let my mind wander back to the events that led me here. My father, once a powerful and feared Mafia boss, reduced to a shell of his former self after the death of Jake. He pushed me away further, burying himself in booze and self-pity, leaving me to fend for myself.

Fucking cock coward.

But I didn’t let it break me. I turned my pain into strength, my anger into power. Thinking of the day I can finally slice off the head of those fucking Ravens.

I trained with Stephan day and night, honing my skills until I became the deadliest weapon in the Caldwell arsenal.

And now, here I am, taking out the trash and proving my worth to the family. My father may have given up on me, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone else do the same.

I’m brought back to the present by the sound of Lionel’s renewed screams. Stephan has moved on to more… creative methods of persuasion.

“Ready to talk yet, Lionel?” I ask, my voice cold and unfeeling.

But Lionel just whimpers, his body convulsing in agony. I sigh, shaking my head in disappointment.

Suddenly, the old metal door creaks open without a knock. I glance up, my eyes narrowing as I see Mitch limping into the room.

He looks scary as hell, his face drawn and his eyes sunken—like death warmed over. Those five bullet holes had shredded him. Sometimes, I can’t shake the feeling that Mitch still blames himself for what happened to my brother.

Mitch’s gaze flickers over the scene before him, taking in Lionel’s broken, bleeding form and the various instruments of torture scattered around. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I think I see a flash of sadness there.

But I quickly look away, not wanting to see the pity or disappointment that surely lies beneath. I don’t need anyone’s fucking sympathy, least of all his.

Mitch clears his throat, holding out a phone. “It’s your father,” he says gruffly. “Wants to talk to you.”

I roll my eyes and reach out for the phone. “Hello.”

The second I place the phone on my ear, Dad’s voice blasts through, no hello. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I grip the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white as I try to keep my temper in check, realizing that, just like always, he will tell me that I shouldn’t have done anything without his permission. Every time I tried to impress him, he always found one complaint or another. I’m tired of trying to prove to him that I can be of good use.

“I’m not gonna just sit on my ass and watch our business get fucked over, Dad. Someone had to step up and handle this shit!” I yell into the phone.

“Watch your tone, Clara.”

“Or what?” I snap back, my patience wearing thin. “You’ll ground me? Take away my allowance? I’m not a fucking child anymore, Dad.”

“You’re sure as hell acting like one,” he growls. “Running off half-cocked, stirring up trouble. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I seethe. “I’m trying to save our goddamn business while you sit on your ass and drown yourself in whiskey.”

“Enough!” Dad roars, his voice so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Stephan can clean things up. I want you back home where you belong. You’re 24 years old, Clara. It’s time for you to start thinking about settling down, getting married. I don’t want you out there trying to parade yourself as something you’re not.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “Married? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not getting married to any of those pompous assholes you keep trying to set me up with.”

“You’re of marriageable age,” Dad insists. “It’s time for you to start taking your future seriously.”

“I am taking my future seriously,” I argue. “I’m supposed to handle the business, just like Jake was going to before—”

I cut myself off, my heart jerking painfully at the mention of my brother.

It’s been nine years since he died, but the wound still feels as fresh as ever. He was only 27 when Dad started giving him more serious responsibilities within the organization.

Barely older than me at this point.

“You are not your brother,” Dad says, his voice cold and unfeeling. “You never will be. And if not for his death, I wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense you’re pulling.”

I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. Taking a deep breath, I pull the cigarette from my lips and throw it to the floor, crushing it beneath my boot.

“Yes, Father,” I say, my voice flat and emotionless. It’s completely useless to fight against him.

I end the call and throw my phone at Mitch, who catches it flawlessly.

“Give him some time, Clara,” Stephan says, stepping forward. He always knows just what to say to calm me down.

“Sometimes, I wish you were my dad,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

Stephan laughs, the sound warm and rich. “I’m too young to be your dad, kid.”

“At 48, you’re ancient to me,” I say, rolling my eyes but cracking a small smile. “Besides, you’re way better at it than he ever was.”

Stephan grins, his blond hair glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. At 6’2”, he cuts an imposing figure, his broad shoulders and square jaw giving him an air of authority. But it’s his eyes that always get me. Deep blue and filled with a quiet intensity that makes you feel like he can see right through you.

“It’s like he doesn’t even want me to do anything,” I complain, beginning to pace back and forth. I spot Lionel, still tied to the chair, his fate undecided. “I really would like to clean up this awful piece of shit.”

Stephan pats my head, his large hand engulfing my skull. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. Don’t worry about it.”

I sigh, knowing Stephan always gets things done. No matter how messy or complicated, he finds a way to make it all disappear.

I head toward the door, suddenly feeling suffocated by the stench of blood and sweat permeating the room.

“Heading home?” Stephan asks, his eyebrow raised.

“We both know the answer to that,” I reply immediately. “The night is young, and I might as well enjoy it before I return to my cage.”

“Then I might suggest a nice place for you to go,” Stephan says with a smile. “At least to calm yourself down before you go fight with your father again.”

“I know you’ll see my side in this.”

Stephan hands me a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. I thank him and head to my car, where Mitch is already waiting.

“Home?” Mitch asks as I slide into the passenger seat.

“Hell, no. We’re stopping at the shopping mall first. I need to get a dress.”

Mitch raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “And why’s that?”

I flash him a wicked grin, my eyes glinting with mischief. “Because, dear Mitch, I’m going clubbing.”