SHAWN POV
"Hey, what's up, little brother?" Jack grinned as he pulled up and parked the car in front of me. "How was school?"
I clenched my jaw. "School." That word alone was enough to set my blood boiling. Seven years. Seven damn years since I dropped out and moved to Italy, immersing myself in the underworld. Seven years since I left behind pointless lectures for real business. Yet, Dennis had me back here, stuck in a college classroom, like some punk who needed guidance.
Why? Because it took me that long to hunt down the man who killed my mother? Or was it something else? Was Dennis scared—scared I'd take his place? The old man always liked control.
"Scoot over," I muttered as I yanked the car door open. "I'm driving."
Jack raised a brow but slid into the passenger seat without argument. "Isn't Natalia coming?" he asked casually as I shifted gears.
"Why?" I shot back sarcastically, "You miss her?"
Jack smirked. "You guys broke up already?"
"How many times do I have to say it?" I growled, racing the car forward. "She was never my girlfriend."
People love to assume. Sleep with a woman for more than a week, and suddenly she's the love of your life. Truth is, I don't believe in love. It's all transactional. Lust wrapped in manipulation. Natalia was no different. Just another woman looking to cash in. They all think stripping down makes them goddesses when in reality, they're dime-a-dozen leeches. Love? Commitment? Relationships? They're just words people use to mask the betrayal.
I don't care about love or relationships anymore. And honestly, I blame her for that. She twisted everything I believed in, showed me the brutal truth about this world, and turned me into the man I am now—the ruthless right hand of my father. I didn't just step into the underworld; I reshaped it. Now, people whispered my name with fear, and our enemies learned the hard way that I wasn't just my father's son—I was his weapon.
Miranda. My dear old Miranda.
The story takes me back to senior high. She was the golden girl—the transfer student with sunlit blonde hair, a smile that could stop hearts, and the title of a goddess in everyone's eyes.
"Dude, chill out," Jack's laugh snapped me back to the present. "You look like you're ready to kill someone."
I ignored him. "Is Dennis back yet?"
"Yeah, he got in this morning," Jack replied. "But he's leaving for New York in a few hours."
Perfect.
I pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and stormed inside. My voice echoed through the halls as I yelled, "Dennis!"
The old man stepped out of his study, "Show some manners," he said, lighting a cigar as if I hadn't just shouted his name like a lunatic.
"I'm not going back to college," I declared, stopping a few feet away from him.
Dennis exhaled a cloud of smoke and arched a brow. "You can only take my place when you finish college. But if you don't want to," he added with a smirk, "I'm sure Jack would be happy to take the reins."
Jack grinned. "You serious, sir? 'Cause I'm game."
"Dennis, stop playing games," I said through gritted teeth as I stepped closer. "I'm ready. You just have to trust me."
"No, son," he said, sinking into the sofa. His tone was final, as though the subject wasn't worth debating. "You can't take my place until you learn to control yourself."
"College isn't going to teach me how to behave," I argued.
Dennis took another drag from his cigar, "End of discussion. You're not leaving college."
I wanted to say so much. I wanted to punch him square in the face, but he was lucky he'd already left the room. These institutions always brought back memories of her—the only girl I had ever loved. The hurt and the awful memories came flooding back, and no matter how much time passed, I couldn't escape them. What happened back then haunted me. Because of my choices, my family's lives were on the line. The guilt, the regret—it clung to me like a second skin, refusing to let me move on.
She was the daughter of Dennis's greatest enemy at the time. Whatever we had was a lie, her mask so convincing that I let myself fall deeper and deeper until the day she had a gun pointed at my head.
I never liked the mafia world. For a 16-year-old boy, it felt impossibly dangerous. Growing up in a house where every breath was borrowed and every moment came with the fear of death looming—it was no way to live. But everything changed that day. I saw a man fire a bullet into Dennis's chest.
That was when my vision cleared. Dennis survived, but my innocence didn't.
For the first time in my life, I had blood on my hands. I killed her. I stabbed her over and over again, watching the life drain from her eyes. I killed her entire family—alone. I was just 16. But life didn't care about my age. The underworld didn't care. It had claimed me, shaping me into something I never thought I could become.
Natalia's voice dripped with seduction as she leaned against the doorframe. "Looks like someone missed me..." she cooed as her gaze swept over me as I emerged from the bathroom after a cold shower.
I ran the towel over my head, "What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I could feel it," she purred as she stepped closer. "You wanted to see me." Her fingertips brushed against my bare back as she stood behind me.
Grabbing her hand, I turned to face her, "I made it clear you're not needed around me anymore."
"Babe," she whined, "I can't bear to lose you."
"And I can't bear to stand you," I growled, "Not now, not ever." My jaw tightened as I leaned in slightly. "I wanted to fuck you. You wanted someone to pay your bills. That's all this ever was."
Her lips curled into a sly smile as she pushed me back against the wall and pressed her body against mine. "We're even then," she whispered as her lips brushed my ear. "We're both getting what we want. Isn't that enough?"
I let out a cold chuckle, brushing a strand of her hair aside. "I can fuck any girl I want," I spoke in a low tone. "But not every man is going to want to pay your bills."
Her expression shifted, a flash of anger crossing her face. "So that's what you think of me? That I'm using you?" she yelled, storming toward the bed and turning her back to me.
I stalked toward her slowly, "Isn't that why you're here?"
She didn't respond, but her silence answered my question. I placed a hand on her arm, leaning in to press my lips softly against her neck. "Tell me," I murmured, "what else do you want from me?"
Natalia turned to face me, looking into my eyes. Her hands moved deliberately, tugging at the towel until it fell away, pooling at my feet. Her lips curled into a seductive smile. "I want whatever you're willing to give me," she whispered.
Before I could respond, Jack decided to show up.
"Shawn!" Jack's voice filled the room, followed by an awkward cough. He immediately turned away, shielding his eyes. "Seriously? Ever heard of a thing called door?!"
I smirked, picking up the towel as Natalia's eyes burned with irritation. Wrapping it loosely around my waist, I leaned into her, my lips grazing her ear as I whispered, "I have nothing to give you."
Her face fell as she let out a sigh, "What?"
I stepped back, dismissing her with a slight push. Ignoring her protests, I grabbed my clothes from the dresser and disappeared into the dressing room, slamming the door behind me.
"You heard the man..." Jack said with a half-smile, turning to Natalia. "Time for you to leave."
"Jack..." Natalia darted toward him, clutching his arms desperately. "I love him!"
Jack raised an eyebrow, pulling himself free from her grip. "Yeah, but..." he said flatly, "He doesn't have mutual feelings."
"Please, Jack, I'm begging you," she cried, "You have to make him understand!"
Jack sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Natalia," he said, "I've told you before—he's not into anything serious. None of us are."
Just then, I stepped out of the dressing room, adjusting the cuffs of my white dress shirt beneath a tailored coat.
Jack burst into laughter. "I thought we were headed to the club! Why are you dressed like you're about to close a real estate deal?"
Ignoring his jab, I glanced at Natalia, who immediately rushed toward me, grabbing my arm. "Shawn, you can't just leave me here!" she pleaded as her nails dug into my sleeve.
I let out a long, exasperated sigh, yanking my arm free. "Watch me," I said coldly, shoving her backward. She stumbled, landing on the edge of the bed.
I needed to clear my head, and there was only one place that could dull the storm brewing inside me—a strip club. Alcohol, drugs, and women—my trifecta of distraction. It was predictable, chaotic, and just enough to keep me from wanting to kill someone.
But then, everything blurred the moment I saw her.
A woman in blue with a glittering mask covering her eyes. I hated blondes—after Miranda, I never let one near me, let alone in my bed. But she, she was something.
The blue lingerie she wore hugged her curves like a second skin. The crystal heels she wore clicked against the floor with precision as she moved, serving drinks, swaying to the music, and spinning around the pole. She wasn't like any stripper I'd ever seen. She wasn't like anyone I'd ever seen.
For hours, I sat there, unable to tear my eyes away. I was mesmerized by the way she moved, the way she smiled.
Unable to resist anymore, I gestured for her to bring me a drink. As she turned toward me, my chest tightened, and my heartbeat quickened like it hadn't in years. Fear? No. I'd left fear behind long ago.
So why did this woman make me feel it all over again?
I got up to my car to get my checkbook before getting back in my seat in the club. knowing exactly what I was about to do, I opened it, signed the bottom, and set it on the table in front of me
When she returned with the drinks and her eyes immediately landed on the check placed on the table in front of her. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she glanced at me.
I took a glass from her tray, raising it slightly in a silent toast. "Take the check," I said smoothly.
Her lips parted slightly as she picked it up, staring at the blank space where the amount should go. "But it's blank..." she murmured.
"Write whatever number you want," I replied as a smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I took a sip.
Her expression changed as she smirked, "What if I write one million on it?" she teased as she leaned in a bit.
I met her gaze and spoke in a low husky tone, "Write two million if you want to."
She held my stare for a beat, then a sly smile curved her lips. Without another word, she turned away. Before she could take another step, I called out, "Wait. What's your name?"
She paused, looking over her shoulder with a mischievous grin.
"I'm Cinderella."