Under Her Rule

The wind's icy fingers grip my bones, my hoodie doing little to protect me from the season's first cold snap. I yank my sleeves down over my hands, shifting my weight as I try in vain to keep warm. The sour stench of wet garbage wafts through the alley as I wait. This has never been the most glamorous spot, but the rain really kills the vibe.

I check my phone again, still nothing. Dahlia told me her friend is always late, and honestly I wouldn't care, but I'm freezing my ass off.

I pull out my phone again to call her, interrupted by the crunching of tires on wet gravel. Oh good, she's finally here. I put my phone away, sidestepping a puddle as I approach the SUV. The passenger door opens, followed by the driver side.

Oh God. That is not Dahlia's friend.

Out step two men—large, intimidating, and far too well dressed for this dingy downtown alley.

Every instinct is screaming for me to run, but I'm cornered, and there's no way I'm outrunning these guys. I don't know them, but I know the type.

"You—" says the taller of the two in a gruff voice that makes my palms start to sweat. "You been selling around here?"

"I— uh, what?" I stammer, confused.

"Don't play stupid," the other growls, "we know you've been slinging on De Luca turf."

De Luca? Oh my god. The De Lucas. Everyone knows about them but I don't, like, know them. It never even occurred to me that they had like? Specific territory? I'm not some large scale drug dealer. I sell blow and molly to college kids to get by; I'm hardly the cartel.

"Look, there's been a mistake," I can feel the nervous ramblings ready to spill out. "I only sell, like, independently. I'm just trying to pay my rent. I was never trying to like, step on anyone's toes, it's just like, my friend and some of her friends but it's not like—"

"Enough." His voice, commanding and rough, renders me silent. "Doesn't matter to us. The boss would like a word with you."

Before I can respond, the tall one has my arms in a vice grip and I'm being escorted to the SUV. I jerk back instinctively, . "Hey, get your hands off—"

"Get in," he orders, unwavering despite my efforts.

"What? No way. I'm not—"

"Yeah, we're not asking," the other one growls, yanking me forward. "Stop fighting and you won't have to get hurt."

I'm stunned by his words, but they're effective. I'm clearly not going to overpower them.

Reluctantly, I climb into the backseat, trying to ignore the panic surging through my body. As soon as the man steps away from the door I try to open it but it won't budge. Child locks. Of course. Before I can even consider another method of escape, we're moving. I barely notice the engine roar to life over the sound of my heart beating through my rib cage.

My mind starts to race as we round a corner and the street lights disappear. I turn around in my seat in the hope of finding something to protect myself with and instead come face to face with another burly, menacing looking man.

"Yeah, you're not going nowhere," he smirks, taunting me. "Just relax, you got it easy. I mean you ain't tied up or nothin."

Horrifying, but I guess he makes a good point. There's no real solace in the revelation, but maybe if I'm compliant everything will work out? Either that, or delusion is the only thing keeping me from a full spiral.

As the SUV comes to a stop, I can't help but look around, grasping for some semblance of where we are. Can't see much out of these windows anyway, so the cover of night makes it pretty much impossible.

"Don't even think about it," the backseat goon threatens, the finality of his voice leaving me frozen in place.

The next moment, the door opens and I'm being yanked out of the seat, the chills up my spine punctuated by the bite of the cold night air. One man on each side of me, they both hold an arm and direct me through an empty garage and to a pair of steel double doors. My heart thunders so loudly in my ears I fear it will start to echo off the weathered concrete. What the hell is this place?

Inside, the air is warm and laced with smoke, the first sensation of comfort I've experienced since entering the alley this evening. Dim lights reveal a long table and its audience of empty seats. At the head of the table sits a woman, one leg crossed over the other, holding a cigarette between her polished fingers.

Donning black slacks and a tailored blazer, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, she looks refined but still stunning, exuding a powerful energy I'm immediately intimidated by. She probes me with her eyes, her gaze sharp yet inquisitive.

"This her?" she asks, her voice low and smooth. A rhetorical question I dare not answer.

"Caught her over on Flaxton with this in her pocket" one of the men says, pushing me forward. He holds up the bag I had for Dahlia's friend. I stumble but catch myself, glaring at him but resisting the urge to reach for the bag I hadn't realized he'd taken. Swallowing my pride, I turn to face her. We've never met but there's no doubt in my mind who she is.

Isabella De Luca. Head of the De Luca crime family; she took over when her father died a few years ago and from what I've heard, she's completely ruthless. She's also completely breathtaking, pinning me with her sable gaze, smoke billowing from her full lips. I'm as captivated as I am afraid.

"So," she says, leaning back in her chair. "You're the one who's been taking my customers."

The calm, almost casual way she states it makes my blood run cold. I swallow hard. "I didn't know," I say quickly. "I swear. It was a mistake. I wasn't trying to—"

"Save it," she interrupts, raising her hand. "I don't care about your intentions. What I care about is my business. And you've been cutting into it."

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die before they're uttered. Her commanding presence crumbles any rebuttal I might have had, so I fight for what little strength I can still exhibit, taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders. At least she won't see me break down.

"Here's the deal," she says, her soft lips encasing the cigarette as she takes another drag. I've never been so jealous of an inanimate object before. I'm admittedly scared for my life right now, but there's something shamefully titillating about mortal danger imposed by the hottest woman you've ever seen. "You've got two choices. Either you stop selling completely and we call it even, or you work for me."

I blink, stunned. "Work for you?" She must be joking.

She smirks, a dainty puff of smoke escaping her lips. "That's right. You've got potential, Sunny. But this is how it works. You can play by my rules or not at all."

The room falls silent, the weight of her words pressing down on me. I don't know how she knows my name, but that's the least of my worries. This is too much, too fast. I just wanted to pay my rent, not get entangled in a criminal empire.

My words catch in my throat, and I find myself fighting to say something, anything, but it's like trying to roll a boulder uphill. I stand here frozen, a statue of cowardice, unable to do anything but notice how incredibly fucking awkward I'm being. She cocks a brow, and I swear I see a smile dance wryly across her lips before her eyes grow cold.

"I... I need to think about it," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nods, as if she expected that answer. "You've got twenty-four hours. After that, I expect a decision."

With a wave of her hand, she dismisses me, and the men haul me back to the SUV without another word. My mind runs circles around itself as they drive back to the alley where Dahlia's friend still has not shown up. By the time I step out onto the muddy gravel, all I really feel is numb. I can't wrap my brain around what just happened.

I can't work for the De Lucas. That's crazy. But even if I walk away and stop selling, there's no guarantee they'll actually leave me alone. I mean they obviously know my name and where to find me. I fear I don't really have a choice.

I pull my hoodie tighter around me, trudging back to my car. When I pull my keys out of my hoodie pocket, a little bag falls out onto the wet gravel and the blood drains from my face.

They put the drugs back in my pocket? I stare down at the seemingly benign piece of plastic, little capsules of molly peeking out from behind the tiny pink hearts that line the bag. All I can hear is Isabella De Luca's voice in my head. "You can play by my rules or not at all."

This is definitely a test. I'm not fucking with that. I pull out my phone to tell Dahlia I will not be meeting with her friend after all. Oh, and to be way more punctual with her next dealer. It's unforgivable that De Luca and her lackeys were more considerate with my time than this random sorority girl who will not, in fact, be rolling tonight.