Rome//Italy

18, that's how many days Natasha had to sleep on the stone-cold floor of an Italian jail cell. 15, the number of times she had to listen to some drunk idiot sing the national anthem. 12, it was 12° degrees inside a cell because the air conditioning was broken. 9 was the time Nat and her prison mates got fed stale bread and sparkling water. 6 times a day, she begged the officer in charge to use the restroom. 3, at night, she would wake up from a recurring nightmare of her near death.

In Natasha's terms, those 18 days in jail were a living HELL! Life was dull and hopeless, but it wasn't long before the sound of keys came to her cell, and a prominent male officer unlocked the cell and asked;

"È lei?"

Nat looked up to see a familiar face standing next to the officer.

"Sì, è lei," said the person

Nat smirked at their comment. Within 5 minutes, Nat's bail was paid, and she was free to roam in the sun again. Yet the moment she was out of her cell, two tall men in all black escorted her out of the station and into a white limo parked in front of the building. Sitting opposite her was the person from before they didn't look pleased.

"You sure took your time freeing my ass," Nat teased as the limo pulled away from the police station, "Let me guess, Mother wanted the whole house cleaned before you brought back the plague nice to know where I stand,"

The other person didn't reply. He only crossed his arms and gave a cold stare that read; 'Explain yourself.'

"What's there to say? Got expelled, then blew off steam, simple as that," said Nat, laying back on the leather seat

The cold brown eyes of Natasha's rescuer continued to stare at the chillax teen. It's not like this ever happened before, yet her behaviour is sewn into her blood. After thirteen years of backtalk and causing never-ending trouble, our mystery person gained grey hairs weekly from all the stress.

Nat sighed; "Look, I only sustained one broken finger and a dozen scars on my arms, other than those - and a non-stop headache, I'm completely fine. I'm tougher than I look, Bob,"

Bob's eyes softened a bit but still gave the parenting scowl.

"Are you going to be a dick the whole trip to wherever we're going, or are you going to say something?" asked Nat

Bob unravelled his crossed arms, gestured to his ear, and mouthed; 'Sorry, can you repeat that?'

It finally clicked! The whole time she was blabbering on and on, her so-called butler wasn't wearing his hearing aids. This annoyed Nat for it was Bob's way of messing with her.

'Oh, screw you!' she handed sighed, Bob chuckled under his breath.

****

The trip back to Madrid, Spain - Natasha's birthplace, took no time and was relatively peaceful, but the drive from the airport to La Llorona and Co.'s head office was the worst. It's that feeling of being sent to the principal offices or being led to your execution. The modern office building stood tall with two stacked glass blocks, each six stories high. Short hedges flanked the entrance, alongside old-fashioned street lamps. Above the glass doors, the company's logo glowed in a light purple, the CEO/founder's favourite colour. Nat hesitated as she arrived, not due to fear or excitement, but simply reluctant to leave the comfort of the limo. Glancing at Bob for reassurance, he gestured for her to proceed, and so sticking out her tongue at him, she reluctantly exited.

Meeting her mother at this spot was like a chore for Natasha. Her mother remained locked away in her office all day, their interactions limited and when they did talk, it was always fighting and swearing. The cycle persisted for years, the path to her mother's office etched in Nat's mind the front desk, left, elevator to the top floor, through glass doors, right, another elevator, and there, the destination awaited. Initially, it appeared more like a cosy apartment than an office. Given the Pierce family Foundation's substantial wealth, Nat's mother could've had an entire floor tailored to her liking. Everything was brand new, designed exclusively to suit her mother's tastes. Not a single detail hinted at Claudia J Pierce having a daughter. Unpleasant memories resurfaced, particularly one of six-year-old Nat expressing her profound hatred for her mother's early spark of rebellion.

"Disculpe querida," said a sweet voice

Behind her, a woman in her 60s pushing a cart of cleaning supplies strolled in.

"Lo siento señora," Nat said, stepping aside - well, it seems Mrs. Lanzo stayed after all.

That's when she heard it, very soft moaning sounds. Following them to another glass door at the other side of the room, Nat opened the door so she could peek through to see flashes of black and purple.

"What the hell," she whispered

Feeling a wave of sickness and rage, she forcefully swung the door open and shouted; "¡Puta patética!"

Inside, Claudia J. Pierce was entangled in chaos, sitting on her office desk locked in a heated kiss with a man, his suit jacket missing and shirt undone, they only stopped when Natasha spoke again; "¿Quién sigue, eh? Vas a joder al Papa por el dinero de los impuestos o al Rey para ser su Reina perra?!" her voice dripping with disgust

"Ah, Qui est cette petite fille?" asked the man in a French accent

"A French guy, wow, that's low, even for you," said Nat not giving two shits

"Sérieusement, qui est cette fille? Est-ce que tu la connais?" asked the man again

"Est-ce que je te parlais, coureur de jupons?" replied Nat in French

"Surveillez vos mots, mademoiselle-," began the man, but the third person in the room spoke;

"Enough! You go wait outside!"

"But he-,"

"¡Ahora, niña!"

Nat stormed out of the room in anger. Minutes later, Mr. Womanizer - as Nat called him, emerged from the office, shirt fixed and suit jacket on. He glanced at Nat, who sat on one of the Chesterfield sofa close to the main entrance. She gave him the finger on his way out.

"Oye, mi virginidad perdida," called her mother

'Let the games begin,' thought Nat leaving the sofa 

The minute Nat's mother closed the door, she slapped her daughter in the face.

"Que carajo?!" yelled Nat rubbing her red cheek

"Eres un idiota tonto, I could've signed an international contract with Cuisine Cargo," her mother yelled back

"And screwing their CEO was your plan," Nat said

"In business, always have a plan B," said her mother walking over to her desk

"What was plan A?!" Nat asked

"Plan A was running the Spanish International Trading Stocks, yet being a mother got in the way,"

"So I ruined plan A as well, seems everything is my fault,"

"Lo dijiste tú, no yo,"

"You bitch,"

"Hey, no uses ese tono conmigo,"

"Oh, ahora empiezas a actuar como un padre, where was this woman for the past 16 years,"

"Building a company from-,"

"From €2 in your pocket, yeah I know the whole frickin story, Claudia,"

"You should be grateful missy, if I hadn't done what I did, we'd be leaving on the calles sucias, eating cucarachas and smelling like mierda,"

"Maybe then you could tell the world I'm your biological child, instead of spreading lies,"

"That was for your safety,"

"Mi seguridad?! Everyone thinks I'm some charity case, the niña adoptiva solitaria who Ma'dam Claudia J. Pierce took frickin pitty on!"

Nat reached for the china figurine on her mother's desk and threw it to the ground.

"Tu niño estúpido!" yelled her mother, "Do you have any idea how much that cost?!"

"Maybe you can screw some merchant to buy you another one, you seem to be pretty good at getting laid," replied Nat

The pair continued to argue about how shitty their relationship is like it was their daily routine, an ugly routine.