War of Prey

21)She Who Knows No Mercy

"And all those who stood against her were slain by her, even the little."

***

"Mucho tiempo, ¿sí?"

"Ah, Jakoda! Two years, man, and look at you, ladies' man, I see," Lucas answers and pulls the other man into his arms for a rough hug and pulls back to punch him on the shoulder.

"And who is this?" Jakoda asks, licking his lips as his eyes undress Rhea.

She sticks her hand out, and he shakes it all too eagerly. "Sàvia. Sàvia Lorenzo."

"Sàvia? The Mafia's daughter? Damn, you are just as hot as they say if not more. A pleasure to meet you Sàvia. My name is Jakoda, Oda for short," Jakoda smiles, his mouth brushing a kiss across Rhea's knuckles. She sends him one of her flirty smiles and straightens her spine while leaning in to whisper in Lucas's ear.

"I am going to get a drink. Would you like anything?"

He slips his arm around her waist and leans into her. "No...but don't stay away for too long." He plants a small kiss on the side of her throat. She pulls away and makes her way to the bar, watching all the people in the room. Someone taps on her shoulder, her hand idly resting on her Ruby Dagger in the sheath on her thigh, one that no one pays attention to, thinking it is part of the dress.

"I'm sorry to bother you but are you Sàvia Lorenzo?" a girl asks. She looks to be around seventeen, her curly brown hair pulled into a bun, her green dress modestly hugging her curves.

"I am. Why?"

"Bitch," she spits and raises her hand to slap Rhea. With her impeccable reflexes, she catches the girl's hand and pulls her close, whispering into her ear.

"I am the bitch, and I would not do that if I were you, sweetheart. Now, I will let you go running back to your friends, but if you try to pull another stunt like this, you will not return to them again," Rhea hisses in her ear, not missing the way goosebumps raise on the girl's arms. "Run, little mouse."

She releases the girl and watches as she prances away, her three-inch heels clicking against the marble floor of the hall. The hall is a beautiful place, modern and clean with vintage furniture and paintings, a white marble floor lines the whole room, crème colored walls laced with gold and silver lines. The girl stands with a group of three girls and one boy; the boy has his arm wrapped around her waist, hand resting on her butt. In sync, the group turns to Rhea and glares, the girl making a finger gun and firing it. How juvenile, Rhea thinks, remembering the gun Soren told her would be hidden in the first potted plant on the right. The same pot sits behind Rhea. "What can I get you?"

She turns to the bar where a girl with a nose piercing and a sleeve of tatts faces her with a bottle of Scotch. "A bottle of champagne." It has been so much easier to get a drink since she reached drinking age at seventeen; she no longer had to rely on her charms and her looks for alcohol. A minute later, the girl pushes a small bottle of pink bubbly liquid into Rhea's hands and walks away; Rhea drains it in one go.

"Impressive drinking skills. I have never seen a girl who can drink like that," a male voice whispers in her ear. A boy with orange hair sits next to him. His orange blazer and pants make him stick out like a traffic cone, and his striking green eyes and soft face make him seem very young, no older than twenty.

"You learn after a while," she replies, toying the bottle in her hands. Nice weight to bash someone on the head with.

"Where are you from?" he asks, raising his hand for the bartender. "Beer, please."