Dark Twisted Love

Beverley

Everyone kept a hidden truth. Some secrets were simple, but others were dark and complicated. In all honesty, my entire existence fell into each category precisely. My destiny was predetermined before I could even blink, and the prospect of a normal childhood was never on the table for me. I wasn't exactly a wanted presence, and I certainly didn't choose to exist. Yet, in my mother's eyes and as the spouse of a made man, she was obliged to fulfil her expected role and provide her husband with offspring. And, for once in her life, she didn't disappoint.

She bestowed my father with three kids. However, we weren't truly children, were we? We were his little puppets, manipulated at his whim and discarded when he deemed us no longer useful. I wasn't a child. My upbringing was far from normal, and I was considered obsolete by the time I reached thirteen.

My last name, while only being a goddamn surname, weighed more than anyone could possibly imagine. Being a Rizutto was a curse more than it had ever been a blessing, and the day that I was forced to understand what that really meant was also the day that I saw the world for what it really was. Harsh, cold, and cruel And just about everyone was out to get me.

There was no good in this world, and the people who thought they were good were just lying to themselves.

I realised that my father's betrayal of the Boka Civente turned the ones closest to him into targets, and I was seen as a traitor by default. I wasn't safe here in Chicago, and if it weren't for the promise I intended to keep to my sister, I would've hightailed my ass out of here a long time ago. My childhood was built around the ways of the mafia, and it was all I knew until it wasn't.

I'd asked myself many times what I was without the protection of my family, without my papa, without any morals or honour, and then, just as quick as the question came, it left my mind. I knew exactly what it meant. It meant that I was free.

My freedom was the most important thing to me—it always has been. I didn't like being told what to do or how to do it. The life I was born into wasn't one I wanted, and I knew that this was my time to redeem myself. If there was any redemption left for me,

My nose twitched in disgust, and it had little to do with the stench of blood and body odour in the air and more to do with the scene in front of me. One would think that after working here for so long, my revulsion for this place would be long gone. The same thing happened each and every night, and yet I still found myself in the same position.

I watched the man across the room as he licked blood off the bottom of his lip and smirked at me. His arm was draped over a girl as he slowly took a sip of something cold from a glass, his eyes gleaming with pride. They told me words that he couldn't exactly say from where he was.

I sucked some spilled-over booze off my middle finger, smirking around my digit as his grin fell, replaced by a harsh glare. His bloody knuckles tightened around the glass he was holding, and I laughed to myself.

He was just another man who thought he could do whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted without there being any consequences. Like it was his right.

In his eyes, women were objects and men were emperors.

Well, I couldn't wait to paint that vision of his black.

It took every ounce of self-control I had inside me not to go over there and shove one of my coworkers stiletto's down his throat.

I braced my hands on the bar and watched as blood trickled out of his nose, spilling onto the brown wooden table he was sitting at. The booth was small and crowded with men and two of my coworkers as they congratulated him on his win.

I turned my head and looked at the caged ring on the other side of the bar, grimacing in disgust as I took in all the blood. It was everywhere, and I swallowed thickly at the reminder that I would have to help clean it up tonight. Underground fights were held here almost every night, and my boss, William, got a heavy profit from his little side business.

It was most likely the reason why this job came so easily to me. William was an ex-con turned 'business' owner looking for someone to work the bar at his pub. I didn't see any problem with that, especially when he refrained from asking me anything about my background.

He worked for some bad people—bad people who put their money into these fights and expected a good outcome. Which was why when the prick sitting across the room cornered me on my break and groped my ass through my pants, he still got to fight tonight and walked away with a good sum of money.

The fucker had claimed that 'If I didn't want attention, I shouldn't wear jeans that hug my ass.". He also made it a point to demand that I be fired for punching him in the mouth, when really he should be thanking God that I didn't skin him raw.

William ended up offering him more money than he was initially supposed to get tonight, double the bets, just so that he wouldn't walk out on the fight and William wouldn't have to lose his bartender.

In his eyes, it was a win-win situation.

It was bullshit.

If it weren't for the fact that I was elbow deep in debt and had a shitload of bills to pay, I would've quit working at this dump a long time ago. I've been here a while, and I knew the downs that came with it. I'd done my research on this place before I stepped foot in here for the first time, and I was aware that a place like this wasn't exactly friendly for most girls.

You had to have a backbone and a high level of tolerance to put up with the shit that went on here.

I knew how to handle myself, but that didn't mean I was willing to take anybody's sh*t. I'd been silenced and tormented all my life, and I refused to let it happen again. Not if I had any say so.

Silence was the most horrifying scream of them all.

It was petrifying to have your voice stolen from you.

"Did you watch the fight?" I was torn out of my thoughts by a velvety, deep voice to the right of me. Looking up from the glass I was drying, I twisted my head and glanced at the man sitting at the end of the bar. He was wearing a dark hoodie over his head, preventing me from seeing much of his face, but I got half his profile: an angular jaw and sunken cheekbones with hair so dark that it almost appeared blue.

His hands were intertwined on top of the bar, and he cocked his head to the side, grinning from ear to ear. I took a look at the tattoos on his hands and then looked up at his face again. This guy obviously had no good intentions; I could practically smell it from a mile away.

"I didn't watch." I replied honestly, lifting my shoulder in a careless shrug. It was the truth; I didn't find that foolishness amusing.

"No?" He raised his eyebrow. "Well, you didn't miss anything." He paused. "Not enough blood. Those fuckers moved around each other like two scared pussies, and the other one taped out before anything good happened."

I held back my laugh. "I thought so."

He licked his teeth, nodding. After a few seconds of him staring at me like a weirdo, I slowly tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. "Is there something you wanted? Like, um, I don't know, a drink?" I asked pointedly, rapping my knuckles against the bar. I may have been coming off as a bitch, but I wasn't here to make friends.

Pretty Boy pouted, as if I'd hurt him, and put a hand over his heart. "Rude. Well, Bev, there is something you can do for me."