ANDREA

I angrily mash the button, flipping through the channels on the hotel room's TV. A simmering rage still courses through my bones from Stefano indirectly kicking me out of his apartment. I can't believe he did that - the worst part is I felt more heartbroken than angry, and I hate that. I fucking hate feeling this way.

The shrill ringing of my phone snaps me out of my murderous thoughts about Stefano. I pull the phone from where it's wedged under my thigh and check the caller ID. My blood runs cold the second I see my father's name on the screen. A million questions race through my mind. Why is he calling now? He never calls, only sends the occasional curt text. Dread settles like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach as I slowly, reluctantly, answer.

The shrill ringing of my phone jolts me out of my dark reverie about Stefano. I yank the phone from its hiding spot under my thigh and check the caller ID. My heart sinks like a stone when I see my father's name flashing on the screen. A million questions swarmed my mind like bees - why is he calling me? He never calls, only texts. Dread seeps into my bones like a cold draft as I hesitantly answer.

"Took you long enough," he growls, his annoyance dripping from his voice like venom. I'm not surprised by his tone, but it still stings that he couldn't even be bothered with a simple hello. The familiar ache of disappointment settles in the pit of my stomach like a heavy weight.

"Hi, Dad," I reply, forcing my voice to sound more upbeat than I feel.

"Why are you still in California?" he asks, his voice devoid of warmth, devoid of concern. I can't help but notice how he didn't ask how I was doing first.

"Something came up with renovations, so I'm dealing with that," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to keep the quiver out of my words.

"Something came up, or you fucking messed things up?" He barks his words, the sound like a slap in the face, stunting me and cutting deep into my heart.

I open my mouth to defend myself, to explain that I haven't, but he beats me to speak.

"After all these years, you still can't seem to do anything right. Why do I even bother with you?" he continues, his voice laced with disdain, dripping with disappointment. The words are like a razor, slicing through my self-esteem, leaving me raw and bleeding.

I flinch at his words, tears welling up in my eyes like a dam about to burst. "Dad," I manage to say, my voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. "It's not.."

He scoffs, the sound harsh and mirthless, like a cold, unforgiving laugh. "It's not... It's not what I think, ha Andrea? Of course, it's not what I think it's probably worse." He yells, his words like a whip, lashing at my soul.

I exclaim at his absolute lack of faith in me, my voice shaking with anger and hurt. "Dad!" I cry out, my heart heavy with the weight of his words. I knew he didn't have much faith in me, but I didn't realize it was this bad. The tears flow freely now, cascading down my cheeks like a waterfall, as the weight of his cruel words crushes me.

"Don't bother coming back until you've fixed this mess," he spits, his tone final. "And if you can't, then don't come back at all."

The line goes dead, leaving me alone in the deafening silence. My heart shattered into a million pieces, my soul bleeding from the wounds of his words.

I pull my knees to my chest, burying my face as the sobs wrack my body, my heart shattering into a million pieces like a broken mirror. The tears soak into the fabric of my jeans. It's like a knife twisting in my gut, knowing the one person who should care the most about me doesn't give a damn. Every harsh word, every cold dismissal from him over the years comes flooding back, each memory a fresh wound.

I've always craved his approval, his love, but all I ever get is criticism and indifference. The pain is overwhelming, a heavy weight on my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I wonder if I'll ever be enough for him, if he'll ever see me as anything other than a disappointment. The ache in my heart deepens, and I feel utterly alone.

***

I don't know how long I've been curled up on the hotel bed, my body aching from the sobs that wracked through me. My eyes burn from the endless tears, and my throat feels raw and scratchy. As I finally unfurl my limbs and stand, my muscles protest the movement, stiff and sore from being in the same position for so long.

I take a few tentative steps towards the door, desperate for some fresh air to clear my head. The cool night breeze hits my face as I step outside, providing a momentary respite from the suffocating grief that's been weighing me down.

As I walk, I can't stop thinking about my conversation with my father. The sting of his cold indifference cuts deeper than any of his harsh words ever could. Maybe I should just go home, I think. But the idea fills me with dread. Home means facing my father's disappointment again and having to prove my worth all over. And after Stefano kicked me out...I don't know if I can handle that rejection too.

An idea suddenly occurs to me - Aurora's birthday is coming up soon. Maybe I should go to Italy and help her prepare. Being around her warmth and positivity might be just what I need right now, a welcome distraction from all the turmoil. And Stefano will likely be too busy to even notice I'm there. Yes, that could work.

I pull out my phone and quickly text Aurora, not surprised when she enthusiastically agrees to have me come. As I slip the phone back into my pocket, the sudden screech of tires jolts me from my thoughts. I blink in surprise as a car pulls up in front of me, and my eyes widen as I recognize the driver.

"Miss Andrea, please get in," Samuel says, his voice laced with urgency.

Confusion clouds my mind as I ask, "What are you doing here?" Samuel steps out of the car, his expression inscrutable as he replies, "Mr. Costanzo tasked me with ensuring your safety. But I need to be elsewhere urgently, so you'll have to come with me." He moves to pull open the passenger door,

"He asked you to keep me safe?" The words tumble out, laced with shock. Samuel's jaw tightens, his response clipped. "Yes, ma'am, but that's not important right now. Please get in." He continues urging, leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, I consider demanding an explanation, but one look at Samuel's worried expression tells me now is not the time for questions. The mystery will have to keep for later. Swallowing my protests, I obey.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, my heart pounding.

Samuel's only response is a terse, "We'll find out when we get there."

I sit in tense silence, my mind racing with unanswered questions as the city streets blur past the window. Whatever is happening, I can't help the growing sense of dread that settles in the pit of my stomach.

STEFANO

I trudge through the day, attending meetings and catching up on work I'd missed the previous week while focused on uncovering the bastard who sent me that ominous scarf and attacked Andrea. My mind still seethes with anger and frustration, but I push it aside, focusing on the task at hand. I'm on my way to the last meeting of the day as I approach the back entrance of the club and identify myself to the bouncers before stepping inside.

The narrow hallway is dimly lit, the sounds of clinking glasses and muffled laughter growing louder with each step. I push open the heavy, unmarked door, and a wave of stale cigarette smoke and sweat washes over me. The air is thick with the scent of desperation and greed.

The room is a den of vice, with round tables scattered about, each one a battleground for high-stakes games of poker and blackjack. The green felt is worn and stained, a testament to the countless nights of excess. Stacks of cash and chips tower above the players, their faces set in determined lines, their eyes fixed on the prize. The chandelier above casts a yellowish glow, highlighting the tension etched on their faces.

I spot my contact, a man, only a few years older than me, with umber skin and hazel brown eyes, his tattoos on full display.

He approaches me with a confident stride, his eyes locked on mine. "Not here," he whispers, his voice low. "My office." He turns and walks back toward a door, expecting me to follow.

The thumping bass from the club's speakers vibrates through the soles of our feet as we step out into the dimly lit hallway. My heart races with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. He leads the way, his broad shoulders cutting through the hazy air thick with the scent of smoke and spilled drinks.

We ascend a narrow flight of stairs, the metal treads groaning under our weight. At the top, a heavy door looms before us.

He pauses, turning to face Samuel, who has been trailing closely behind. "He stays outside,"

"No problem," I reply, though Samuel seems poised to protest until I shake my head. This man may not be a trusted ally, but desperation led me to him. I understand Samuel's hesitation at leaving me alone, but Mr. David won't dare lay a hand on me.

As we enter his office, he gets straight to the point. "I did as you asked." He slams a picture on the table. It's one of the attackers meeting with someone in an abandoned building. We allowed him to escape to track his movements. I hired Mr. David to tail this person because if my men were caught, it would ruin everything. But if David's were spotted, the assailant wouldn't immediately trace it back to me. I feel a surge of hope mixed with a healthy dose of anger.

"Who is the person he's with?" I ask my voice tight with tension.

"Unknown - we couldn't see his face. But they're meeting again tonight."

"You bugged their conversation?" A spark of hope flares - we may catch the bastard tonight.

"Yes, here's the recording. But first..." He holds out an expectant palm.

I quickly transfer the payment from my phone. "Location?"

Mr. David slides a piece of paper across the table, and I pick it up, my heart pounding in my chest. I stand up, my eyes locked on his.

"It's nice doing business with you, Mr. Costanzo," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

I nod, my jaw clenched in grim determination as the adrenaline courses through my veins. "You too, Mr. David." The words come out low, almost a growl, as I turn and stalk back down the stairs.

Each step echoes with purpose, fueling the white-hot anger simmering in my gut. Tonight, I will finally get closer to the bastards responsible for the shitstorm that has consumed my life lately.