Page 10 of Bad Little Bride

We’re the kids of murderers, drug runners, and more, for fuck’s sake. No shit we’re terrible at following the rules.

My invitation into Greyson Elite Academy, the accredited school for the blood of bad men, royalty, and upscale gang members my sister helps lead, was meant to whip me into shape, but so much good that did.

Where do you think I found the guy that helped me track down the man who wanted to kill my father and take his place? Son of the go-to family for PI work? Of course he goes to Greyson Elite.

It’s funny, though, being around the spawns of the most notorious criminals in our world, you see firsthand the difference in expectations we all had—or have - held over our heads.

My dad wanted his daughters to be strong leaders, perfect on the outside and even more so on the inside—soldiers in sapphires and satin—where other power families trained only the men. The females were raised to be submissive, to never meet the eye of a man and bend to their every will. To be soft, sweet, and basically a virginal weakling doomed to be traded for opportunities she grants a man.

I had issues, and my father knew it just as I knew my sister was the future for our family, so it made sense he didn’t breathe down my neck like he did her. That meant I had to figure out which version of a mafia princess to be and that was difficult when I hated both options.

I’m a terrible listener and I do things out of spite.

They think I’ll try to steal the show—I steal it or I don’t show up at all.

They think I’ll give little effort—I give zero or I upstage everyone.

It’s easy to be what people expect and the fun part is everyone expects something different, so maybe I’m the lazy brat they assumed me to be, and then in the next second, I’m collapsing with overexertion. It makes for an interesting shit-talking session at the galas, others taking bets in what theothertwin will or won’t do since no one can say for sure which role I’ll play when the moment arises.

If my mother were alive, she would have helped me find my way, but she isn’t so I found what makes me feel less like a piece on a chess board—you can’t back a girl into a corner if you’re unsure whether she’ll cower or claw her way out.

I knew with my mother dead, the promise my dad made to never force us to marry had died too, so with my sister taking over the family name, that meant I would be treated like the other heiresses to powerful men. I’d be given to whomever offered my father the most incentive.

There was no way Father would go to his enemy, the only man who had the power to burn my family’s empire to the ground; he was way too proud for that.

So I went to him myself, thinking it was the smartest move I could ever make.

If my sister got the power of the name we were born into, I would find one just as supreme.

It was a fool’s way of thinking, but I’ve been called worse.

Looking down the long drive, I watch as a sleek silver car comes into view, curving along the giant paved path, and again, my heart beats a little faster.

Finally, a tiny hint of freedom. I don’t even care where he’s sending me, but at least it’s not in a cell with four blank walls and no room to dance in, let alone zero means to play music to dance to.

My lips curve up the smallest bit as the car slides between the giant beams, pulling to a stop a few feet from the glass door I stand behind. I watch as a gorgeous woman with long dark hair and bright red lips steps out, her skirt tight across her thick thighs and heels so high her feet are damn near pointed.

My eyes fall to the black flats at my feet, and I wince as I curl my toes within them.

Clearing my throat, I stand tall, waiting for the elderly man to open the door so I can step out and join this woman for whatever the hell Enzo planned for me…but as I stare at her, she faces forward, her smile spreading, her tongue flicking out to run along her upper lip.

I scoff, swallowing it, and I swear the man at my side bounces with silent laughter. My eyes slide his way, to find him smiling ahead, and mine breaks free.

Tired of waiting, I go to pull the door open, but my hand freezes on the giant, swirling handle when the red-lipped woman opens her arms as if in greeting.

The person she reaches for appears a moment later.

Enzo.

He steps from the small conclave, having exited through a door I can’t see from here, and he doesn’t stop until he’s right before her.

She says something that makes him smile, and it’s an unexpected punch to the gut. The man will hardly look at me. He ignored me for months before I left, locked me in a room since the day I was dragged back, and here he is. Smiling and chatting freely with the gorgeous woman that is closer to his age than I am.

His hand slides along her lower back and he stares into her eyes as he responds to whatever she said.

She winks, climbs back into the car, and a hollowness I don’t understand blooms behind my ribs as Enzo slides in beside her.

“Come, dear.” My head whips around to find the woman from this morning behind me.

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