Page 3 of Galen

He was a rat in a trap and knew it. Galen and his brothers had their resources spread wide throughout the city. Hell, this city belonged to them, and everyone knew it.

“Boss, it’s clear,” Benny reported back to him after a few minutes. “The old mafioso’s holed up in his office. He isn’t alone. He has a girl with him.”

“A girl?” Galen asked, furrowing his brows.

“A woman,” Benny corrected. “He wouldn’t tell us who she is. Seemed protective of her.”

“I’ll make him talk,” Galen said, his voice cold as he walked up to the garden gate that Benny and the others had already forced open.

It was time to have a chat with his old mentor. The garden, overgrown and wild, was eerily silent as Galen stepped through it. He kept his footsteps quiet, even though Mario was expecting him.

Memories of Mario’s betrayal still weighed heavily on his mind. But there was no room for sentimentality now. He had a job to do, and an Arrow never faltered.

As he approached the door, Galen’s grip tightened on his gun. He pushed it open and stepped inside, the darkened hallway welcoming him like an old comrade. It was time to confront the man who had once been his mentor and now was nothing more than a traitor.

Chapter Two

“So how’s work? I’m assuming you still work at the art gallery?”

Bianca set her spoon down, the clatter of metal against porcelain echoing in the empty dining room. The soup, some bland concoction she barely had the appetite for, sat untouched.

She leaned back in her chair and glanced at her father, Mario, who sat across from her, already several glasses of wine deep. His question hung in the air, loaded with a feigned interest that did little to mask the disinterest she had come to expect from him.

“Yes, Mario. I still work there, and it’s fine,” Bianca replied curtly, her tone clipped.

The use of his first name, instead of “Dad,” was intentional—a small act of defiance that barely scratched the surface of the frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior.

She was already second-guessing her decision to stay with him until she found a new apartment. It had seemed practical at the time—her mother was off on yet another honeymoon, this time with husband number four (or was it five?), and the idea of crashing on a friend’s couch had been less than appealing.

But now, sitting in this oversized, eerily quiet house with a man who was more a stranger than father, she wondered if she had made a mistake. Mario swirled the wine in his glass, his eyes unfocused as he gazed somewhere over her shoulder, not really seeing her.

“And why did you decide to break up with Tim? Weren’t you with him for five years?”

Bianca felt a sharp pang of irritation, her grip tightening around the stem of her wineglass. Thank you for that reminder, she thought bitterly.

It wasn’t just the question that stung, but the casual, almost indifferent way he asked it, as if her entire world hadn’t crumbled when she discovered Tom’s betrayal.

She forced herself to take a breath, to keep her voice steady.“His name is Tom. I found out he was cheating on me with my best friend,” she said, the words slipping out with a practiced detachment, as though she were talking about someone else’s life.

“I see. That’s unfortunate,” he muttered, his attention already drifting back to the glass in his hand.

Bianca watched him for a moment, her stomach churning with a mix of anger and sadness.That’s all you can say?she wanted to scream at him. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. What was the point? They were practically strangers, after all. He hadn’t been much of a father to her, even when he was around, which wasn’t often. He had always chosen his work, his organization, over her and her mother. Time and time again, he had made it clear where his priorities lay.

Her mother had tried to explain it to her when she was younger, how Mario was a powerful man with important responsibilities. But even as a child, Bianca had seen through the excuses. He simply hadn’t wanted to be a father.

She poured herself another glass of wine, the rich red liquid swirling around the glass like her tangled emotions. The house was too quiet, too empty. Her mother had mentioned once, in passing, that Mario used to have a full household staff, even an entire security team at his beck and call. But now, it seemed he was all alone in this enormous, echoing mansion. Maybe he liked it that way. Maybe the silence was his penance, or perhaps his refuge.

Bianca took a sip of wine, the bitterness on her tongue mirroring the bitterness in her heart. She had thought staying here, just for a week or two, would be easy. They could ignore each other, pretend they were simply housemates instead of estranged family.

The house was big enough for them to avoid each other entirely. But it wasn’t that simple. Being here stirred up too many old memories, too many unresolved feelings she had buried long ago.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here,” Mario said suddenly, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “I can arrange something for you. A hotel, maybe. Or a rental.”

Bianca looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since she arrived. His face was lined with age, his once sharp features softened by time, and perhaps regret.

She wondered if he was uncomfortable with her presence, if having her here was a reminder of all the ways he had failed as a father.

“I’m fine here,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt.“It’s just temporary, until I find a new place.”

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