War of A Rose

War of A Rose • Chapter 2

Chapter two
Rosaelia

I remember the women that worked for my father. As a child, I had zero respect for them only because of how I perceived them. To my eyes and many others, they were whores. To my ears, from words, my father spoke. They were dirt and merely lucky to even be considered as a man's, let alone his, possession. After a successful job, my father's men would guide them back to their bedrooms. For a "reward."

I remember seeing slightly or completely torn dresses: broken heels, and smudged red lips. And the line of wet mascara from escaped tears that were supposed to stay captive. All of this was after a job. After, they made themselves vulnerable and open to anyone who pleased. They were sent to use their bodies as distractions while my father's men did the dirty work.

In my childlike mind, I called them cowards for allowing these men to control their bodies as if they were simple pawns. Only as I got older did I realize who the actual puppets were. These women were able to play their victims like violins. They used their bodies to their advantage. They manipulated men to their deaths. They were not whores. They were women.

Our society could disregard them as nothing more than whores, but in my family, they were essential. They were strong, even more so than some of the men. My father and other families could oppress them and force them to use their bodies against their will, but I will never do that. It was one of my most important rules. One that all of my men had to follow. No woman of mine would work against her will. They were informed of the task beforehand, and everything that followed was of their own free will.

Mostly, they were baiters. They would lure the target out while someone else finished the job. I had already formed a select group of them who did not need a man to finish the job. Liliana showed enough potential for me to consider allowing her to be a part of that. She could play the broken girl as long as she wanted; I could see the hunter behind her doe eyes.

"Gabriele will show you to your room until I can move you into your new place."

"You will be allowed to come and go as you please as long as you aren't given specific tasks by Gabriele, those appointed, and of course myself. There is a tracker in your car and phone. If you were to try and remove them by some chance, I'd know." There wasn't a need to elaborate, and I'm sure she could imagine what I would do or have someone do to her.

"Wait," The doe-eyed girl caught my arm just as I turned away from her. Realizing her mistake, she dropped her hand back to her side and dipped her into a bow, "Thank you."

I send a look to Gabriele as he leads her down the hall. Keep an eye on her. My cousin only looked at the blonde in response. He would.

A a new white envelope sat on my desk. I didn't need to open it to know what it contained. It was the same letter I had been avoiding for weeks now. I tossed it to the end of my desk as I sunk into my chair, "Mattia?"

"Sì?"

"Did someone take care of that cop?" Mattia nods from the back of my office. Finally. That pig has been scoping out one of our clubs for months now. He couldn't even find a better disguise than a fucking investor. It was honestly amusing how dedicated he tried to be to his job considering he didn't even come close to speaking with anyone of importance. Only drunk clubgoers.

He had been the first one in a while even to come close to us. Now he was dead, and his efforts to pin something to me were in vain. To all of New York and the rest of the world- I was just a spoiled bachelorette, born heiress to a gold throne. In this city, my father was known only as a multimillionaire businessman, with chains of different businesses scattered across the east coast.