"What the fuck do you mean my factory burnt down?"
Isabella Bianchi was furious. Her main source of income was now up in flames. The Bianchi empire had been slowly crumpling throughout the decades, and this might be the catalyst to their ruin.
Once, they were feared.
Now, they were looked down upon.
The other families turned their noses down on the Bianchi name, like they were the weak link, but Isabella knew better. She was working hard to undo the harm her father had caused their name. Her name.
If only her useless children had been born with some type of backbone. It was like they weren't even hers. With this factory burnt down and no heirs, she was one step closer to being ousted.
Her lieutenant shifted uncomfortably in front of her. He was new. Young. Her last being fired after pissing her off. Honestly, this one wasn't going to last long either.
He cleared his throat, "Sometime last night it... caught on fire and it burned through this morning."
"And how am I just hearing about this?" She clenched her jaw, "There were men working there last night. Did they just flee like cowards when the fire started?"
"Actually," he hesitated, "it looks like they died."
Isabella raised an eyebrow at him, "Did they all forget how to walk? How did fifty men die including the ones stationed outside the building?"
"The bodies we salvaged had bullet holes in the head. Execution style."
She froze. This wasn't just an attack on her factory. This was an all out assault on the Bianchi dynasty. This was meant to put her under. Isabella was meant to be there last night, but her plans changed when she met up with Patrick.
"What time do we estimate this attack at?"
"The last communication we had was just past midnight."
"I was the target."
"Ma'am?"
She scoffed, "Don't call me that! I am not my mother." Centering herself with a long exhale of breath, Isabella continued, "You will increase security around me at all times. No one gets in or out of the compound without my explicit permission."
"Where are you going?" He asked as she stood and put on her coat.
Her harsh gaze froze him. "Don't question me, boy."
Surprisingly, he squared his shoulders, "You told me we needed to reinforce your security. To do that, I need to keep an eye on you."
She studied him, "Hmm, maybe you will last."
Then she left, not objecting to him following her.
†††
Their normal rendezvous spot was in the business sector near his work. There was a private club that they could go to without anyone seeing - or caring. Privacy was the most important thing there. Enemies could be in the same room and courtesy would require them to look the other way.
Isabella had sent him a text to meet her there. It had been two hours and he still hadn't shown up.
Her anger was fast rising. Patrick Styles had always been full of himself. It was one of the reasons why she was in love with the fool, but the disrespect that he showed to her was sometimes too much for her to take. Things were always on his terms. Last night, he was the one to reach out to her for a night together. Yet tonight, when she needed him, he was taking his damn time.
Finally, after another thirty-five minutes, he showed up. He was in his usual pinstripe suit, gold cufflinks at his wrists as he straightened his tie. Patrick was always handsome, gorgeous even, but lately he had aged.
So had she, lines on her face deeper than ever, the grey in her hair becoming harder to keep up with. They were in their fifties now and showing their age.
"There you are." She drawled, sitting back in the armchair, gliding her fingertips up and down the condensation on her glass of vodka. "Thanks for coming so quickly."
He gave her a dry look, motioning for a drink from the bartender. "If you're so desperate you need me two nights in a row, then you should adjust your expectations. I have things to do."
"This isn't about that." She snapped, "I was attacked last night."
"You were with me last night."
"I am talking about a factory of mine." Isabella clenched the arm of her chair.
He looked mildly interested at that. "And what does this factory of yours produce?"
"Apparently, corpses."
An eyebrow raised, "Do tell."
"Someone slaughtered my people, fifty of them, then burned the building to the ground." She told him, "And somehow they stalled the fire department to get there after everything was already gone."
"Look on the bright side," he smirked at her, "you don't need to worry about the police seizing your products. I'm guessing they're not quite legal."
He was trying to piss her off even more, and it was working.
"Go fuck yourself, Patrick." She leaned forward, "Get off your high horse and realize what this means."
"And what does it mean?"
"It means," she bit out, "that this Cain that everyone's talking about is making his move. You're not far behind if he's attacking us."
Patrick actually had the gall to laugh.
Her eyes narrowed, "What?"
"You really think we're on the same playing field?"
A coldness seeped down her spine.
"Yes."
He gave her a pitying look, "Isabella..."
"Don't condescend me."
Patrick sighed, "You and I both know we aren't the same, Izzy. You're an easy spoke in the wheel to target."
"Are you saying I'm weak?" Isabella asked coldly.
"Are you saying you aren't?"
They stared at each other hard, neither flinching. The cold look in his eyes unnerved her. There was something off about him tonight. Patrick was always cold, but lately it was something different. Much different.
He looked away, "You think it was Cain?"
"Who else would it be?" She asked, still studying him.
He didn't answer that.
She tried a different tactic. "I was supposed to be there last night. At the factory." Green eyes flew back to hers. "Until you called me."
"Are you insinuating something?"
"I'm simply pointing it out."
"Right."
Isabella didn't think Patrick was responsible for what happened. She did think it was curious, though.
"So," Patrick started, but took out his phone to read something. She tapped her finger impatiently until he set it down and continued, "What do you want me to do about this?"
Part of her hated asking this, but she truly did need it.
"I need your help." Avoiding his cold eyes, she said, "I lost fifty men and a good majority of my income-"
"And why would I help you?"
Rolling her eyes, she said, "You can stop with this indifferent act."
"Act?" He questioned, "Don't tell me you've misread the situation, Isabella."
She frowned, "How have I misread the situation?"
With a tilt to his head and a condescending smirk, he said, "I think you expect me to fix all your problems because I choose to fuck you every once in a while."
She let out a mirthful laugh, "Every once in a while? Is that why you were begging for me last night?"
"You were the one on your knees, Izzy."
"You really can't admit what we are, can you?" She asked coldly, sick of his attitude.
Patrick Styles was one to never admit a weakness.
"Thirty years and too afraid of your own feelings." She breathed out another laugh, colder this time, "And you pity me?"
"You have too high an opinion of yourself." He stared her down, "I could fuck any woman in this city."
"Maybe with a box of viagra."
He stood up and stalked towards her, towering over her figure. Isabella didn't move, refusing to give in to his intimidation attempt. His hand came up, and she fought not to flinch, but he tilted her chin up and stared down on her.
"Speak to me like that again, and I will slit your throat."
Isabella stood up, contempt and revulsion flooding through her. This man in front of her was not the one she loved. Or maybe it was, and she was always a fool.
He was taller than her, even in her heels, but she didn't let that impact her courage - courage that was feigning, because she knew exactly what he was capable of.
"Speak to me like that again," she threatened, "and you'll realize how the Bianchi's stole their seat on the circle."
"A knife in the back like the cowards you are."
Her lips spread in a wide smile, "You're so predictable, aren't you? The thing about me and my family of cowards, Patrick," she leaned in and whispered, "you'll never expect us coming."
Then she walked out, the smile on her face sliding away. Refusing to look back, all the memories she had of them filtered through her head. Memories she thought meant more, but Patrick was as cold and ruthless as he let people believe. He was not willing or even interested in helping her. After everything.
Isabella was truly alone. She had no one. The one person she thought was on her side turned out to be an ungrateful son of a bitch.
"Ma'am?"
Her lieutenant appeared out of nowhere, startling her.
"I told you to stop calling me that." She snapped.
He cleared his throat, "Sorry, where to next?"
"Have you ever been to The Palace?" She asked him.
His eyes widened, "Um, no?"
Not many have. The Palace was a sex club owned by the Bianchi's. Very few who worked under their banner were allowed inside. The ones that worked there were vetted and signed under contract of secrecy.
Right now, she needed a distraction. And to forget.
"Call ahead. Tell them we're on our way and to prepare my room with my usuals."
†††
Greta Bianchi adjusted her skirt as she waited. She didn't wear skirts ever, and especially not pencil skirts. Before today, she hadn't even owned a pencil skirt, but she was meeting with Harry Styles today.
That man was scary as hell. He was always in a suit or some expensive clothes, and she didn't want to feel underdressed or like she was a baby playing with the big kids.
Greta was an heir, no matter how little she wanted to be one. She knew from a very young age what she was supposed to become when she grew up. When her little brother, Angelo was born, she thought for a second that she might be able to wiggle her way out of her responsibility, but he was just as uninterested as she was.
And even more of a wuss.
Dropping her head back, she stared at the sky. Grey. Everywhere. Normally it was calming, but today her stomach was turning. The collar of her shirt was suffocating her, and every three minutes she was pulling the hem of her skirt down.
Did she look stupid? She felt stupid.
Oh god, she really was a baby playing with the big kids. He was going to see right through her.
A car pulled up in front of her. A black SUV with tinted windows. Someone got out, a large figure with dark skin. Greta was pretty sure his name was Griffin. Harry's lieutenant.
Her spine straightened. He was huge, intimidating, and mysterious. His expression was always so stoic that she wasn't even sure he could smile.
Walking around the car, he opened the back passenger door and held it open for her. If she squinted, she could see the outline of him.
"Ms. Bianchi." The lieutenant said, prodding her forward.
"Oh, yes, um," Greta swallowed her nerves, "thanks."
It came out as a whisper, her voice failing her. Shit, she had to get herself together and fast. Harry Styles didn't have time to deal with a little girl who couldn't find her voice. Where had all her bravado gone? She was the one who called the meeting, for fuck's sake.
Somehow, she got her feet to work. They carried her forward, towards the car. This very well could be the walk to her death.
Harry wouldn't kill her, would he?
She had technically caught him, but she was like the least threatening person in this city. At least, by their standards.
Her lips turned up in an awkward smile as she slid inside, watching the door shut her in. An overhead light turned on, illuminating the back of the car.
"Hi!" She squeaked out, staring at Harry.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. He didn't even say anything. He didn't have to. That face said it all.
Clearing her throat, she straightened her spine and started, "Thanks for meeting with me."
"I can't say I wasn't surprised." His voice was deep, assured, like he hadn't doubted himself once in his life.
"Yeah, well," Greta fumbled for her thoughts, "I thought we should check back in with each other."
He was sent for a long moment. Then, "Check back in?"
"You know, because we said we could work together." Her heart was pounding in her chest. The words coming out barely made any sense. "Last fall? Before your engagement party?"
He stayed silent.
"After the shooting?"
"Right." He said slowly, keeping his eyes on her. "And that's it?"
They stared at each other, his unblinking and perceptive, hers wide and freaking the fuck out.
Finally, she burst out, "I caught you spying on me."
"Spying?" He didn't give her any inkling that he was surprised. "You caught me... spying?"
"Yes?" Greta said slowly.
He raised an eyebrow, "You seem unsure of yourself."
"No." She quickly remedied, "I know you were."
"And why would I do that?"
She huffed impatiently, "Look, I know you had someone look into our records. I have alarms in place to let me know when they are messed with."
Harry studied her for a long moment until, "You have alarms that my people set off?"
"Yes," she told him, "and-"
"My people don't set off alarms."
She frowned, "Well, they did-"
"Who put those alarms in place?"
"I did."
"What systems?"
"They're, like," Greta sighed, "undetectable bells and whistles I have connected to trigger words. It's not really that hard-"
"Undetectable?" He interrupted once more, leaning in, "I have the best of the best when it comes to cyber security."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," she waved him off, "anyways, I want to know why you were trying to-"
"Will you show me?"
"What?"
His face was serious. "Will you show me your systems? Or rather, my guy."
Greta was lost at this point. How had this devolved so quickly. "Uh, no?"
He frowned, "Why not?"
"Okay, what is this?"
"Call me impressed." He shrugged.
"You're..." her brows furrowed, "impressed."
"There's not many people who can detect my people." He explained, "Quite literally, it's never happened before. Do you mind if I ask how you learned how to do that?"
She just blinked at him. He stared at her, patiently waiting for her to say something.
"So, you aren't going to kill me?"
Harry actually laughed at that. Greta's eyes went wide in surprise, shocked at how different it made him look. Much more welcoming.
"Why would I kill you?"
"Because I caught you?"
He tilted his head, "Greta, I don't just kill people left and right."
"You don't?"
"That seems like an easy way to gain enemies."
"You seem to have an abundance of enemies." She blurted out, slapping her hand over her mouth right after.
He chuckled, "Sadly, I do, but I think that more has to do with my last name. I am not here to hurt you in any way. I was intrigued as to why you called this meeting, and I'm glad I came. I thought my man was undetectable, but you've proven that wrong."
"I mean, no system is undetectable." She said, "Everything leaves a trace on the web, some are just really hard to see. To be fair, whoever you have is, like, really good. Basically, a ghost."
"I'll be sure to tell him."
Greta cleared her throat, "So, why were you looking into me?"
"I've been curious about you." He said, "You've been virtually out of this game your whole life, then after the shooting, you pledged your loyalty to me. I wanted to know if that was really your doing, or if your mother had anything to do with it."
She couldn't hide the distaste on her face. "My mother doesn't control me."
"I also wanted to see who you had been in contact with over this last year."
"And what did you see?"
His eyes were striking, a knowing gleam in them that made her shift, "Nothing. Almost no contact with anyone outside your family. Namely, your brother."
Greta didn't know what to say to that. It was true that she doesn't really talk to anyone.
"Well," she said awkwardly, "what does that mean for me? Am I trustworthy?"
There was something about the way that Harry was looking at her. It wasn't pity, but something close. It made her uncomfortable, not able to keep direct eye contact.
"I'm hesitant to trust anyone." He told her, "We'll see if we can work together first, before I make that final judgement."
"So, how do we do that?"
"Work together?" He asked, "I'd like to introduce you to my guy, first. If I can strengthen that part of my operations, that would be ideal. Is there something you would like from me?"
Her mind drew a blank. "I don't know."
"You don't have to answer me right now, Greta. This doesn't have an expiration date."
This could be a mistake. A really big one, but there was something in him that made her trust him.
"Okay." She agreed, "Set up a meeting with your guy. I'm basically always free."
Harry held his hand out for her to shake, a deal being struck.
Then, she was back out on the curb, watching the car drive away, wondering how the hell she just brokered a deal with Harry Styles and didn't die.
Greta walked back home, taking as much time as she needed to sort through everything in her head. If her mom ever found out she had made this deal - had met with Harry at all - without her knowing or express permission, she would be locked up in the house for good.
It was one of the reasons why she didn't have anyone besides her brother. It was why she hadn't gone to college at Queenstown University. Her mother liked to keep her locked up in that house. She thrived on the control she had over Greta and Angelo, and then had the gall to wonder why neither of them were willing to step up and become head of the family. True heirs.
If Greta had it her way, she would personally destroy the Bianchi empire. Let someone else take their territory and spot in the circle. They were already known as the weakest, and if history could predict the future, that meant that their downfall was imminent. A coup would take place and they would all end up as dead as any of their predecessors on the circle.
Why not bow out gracefully? Neither Greta or Angelo would care, and as a bonus they could keep their heads. Something she would very much like to do.
"Where have you been?"
The sharp demanding question made Greta jump. Her house had been quiet this entire time, she had almost thought she were alone.
Her mother stood at the top of the stairs, blocking Greta's path to her room.
"I've just been for a walk." She said casually, the lie slipping off her tongue easily.
"Don't speak to me like that, child." She snapped.
Dread filled Greta as she realized the state her mother was in. She knew too well what she looked like drunk and high out of her mind. She had probably spent most of the night at The Palace.
Isabella continued with a sneer, "Did you hear what happened?"
"No?" Greta hesitated.
"My factory was burned down." She scoffed, "My men murdered by some coward."
Her stomach dropped.
Sharp eyes speared Greta. "You knew I was going to be there last night, didn't you?"
"What?"
"You knew," she descended down three steps until she was standing directly in front of Greta, "I was supposed to be there last night. You saw me leaving, asked me, and now people are dead and our product is gone."
With a pounding heart, Greta asked in a whisper, "What are you tying to say?"
Isabella's thin hand grasped Greta's jaw, tilting it up to look directly at her. She squirmed, but knew better than to move too much.
"Do you think I'm an idiot, girl?" Her mother's pupils were blown. "Who are you working with?"
"Mom, I don't know-"
She jostled Greta, almost tipping her backwards off the stairs, "Don't you dare lie to me! You're plotting behind my back. Of course you are! You conniving little bitch!"
"Mom, calm down and think about this-"
Her hand came out of nowhere, slapping Greta's cheek. A resounding crack filled the dark stairway while Isabella grabbed hold of the front of her shirt to hold her up. Whatever drugs she had taken tonight had given her more strength, because she pulled up until Greta was balancing on her tiptoes.
"You think I haven't noticed your sudden interest in what we do?" She hissed, "I've foiled people like you, vying for my rightful position, for years now. I know what it looks like. Pathetic little girl, thinking she stands a chance against me. I raise you and this is how you thank me? By hiring someone to take me out while you're safe at home, ready to inherit our fortune?"
"Mom!" She cried, but it was too late.
Isabella Bianchi leaned in, and whispered a cruel, "You're not safe here, though, are you?"
Then she let go, pushing Greta backwards down the flight of stairs.