Entwined With The Mafia Boss

Amelia's POV

I wrapped my hand around the pole, my body moving effortlessly as I swung myself up. The lights were low, the music pulsing through the room, and I could feel every eye on me, hungry, expectant. Just another night. I did my best to maintain eye contact with the men in the audience, my gaze flicking from one face to another. They wanted to feel seen, like I was dancing just for them. The usual crowd - older men, mostly married, some with children probably as old as me. Their eyes followed every move I made, and the sound of bills hitting the stage, raining down like confetti, kept me going.

They cheered, some more loudly than others, motivating me to do more, to push myself. It was the game we played. They pretended I was theirs for the night, and I pretended I cared about more than their money. It was always the same, the eager requests for private dances, the whispered offers of one-night stands as if money could buy anything they wanted. But no matter how much they offered, I always said no.

It wasn't because I had some moral compass about being the other woman, no. I didn't care if they wanted to cheat on their wives. That wasn't my business. I had my reasons, my own lines I wouldn't cross. Not that it mattered to them. To these men, I was jolie, the faceless stripper who ruled the night in New York. Beautiful, confident, dangerous. The kind of woman they whispered about behind closed doors, the woman their wives feared but couldn't name. I didn't give myself that title; they did. All I did was show up, do my job, and leave.

My body had broken more marriages than I could count, but it wasn't my problem. Men could barely keep themselves together when I danced, and if an hour of watching me was enough to ruin their relationships, that was on them. Not me. That's why I wore a mask. Al-ways. If it wasn't for that, I probably would've been tracked down and torn apart by jealous wives a long time ago. little did these women know that i cared less about their husbands, not just their husbands, all men, to me, men are not worth my time, finding a new boyfriend to me is like finding a new job where you don't really have to work but still get paid. Call me a gold digger, but that's just life, it isn't fair to anyone and it's unfortunate that i have to be that person to give them that wakeup call. I had my ways of dealing with men, that includes my fiancé; use, empty and replace.

Besides, this was just one part of me. I wasn't just a stripper. I had too many roles to count-college student, hacker, part-time teacher, private investigator. I could be anything for the right amount of money. Well, almost anything. I wasn't a killer or a prostitute, no matter what people might think. I did what I had to do to survive. Between tuition, rent, and my mom's medical bills, life had given me no other choice.

I finished the routine, sliding down the pole, the stage lights catching the glint of sweat on my skin. The men were on their feet, applauding like I had just given them the best show of their lives. But as I let my eyes drift over the crowd, something-or rather, someone-caught my attention.

He was younger than the others, probably in his mid-twenties. Dressed in all black, his hair styled perfectly like he'd just walked out of some high-end magazine shoot. He looked out of place, too put-together for a place like this. And unlike the others, he wasn't clapping. He wasn't even smiling. Just sitting there with an unreadable expression on his face, his dark eyes fixed on me, but not in the way the others watched. It wasn't lust. It was something else. Disapproval, maybe?

My pulse quickened. There was everything wrong about this man. Too young, too hand-some, and far too wealthy-looking to be here. This was a place for older men, the kind who thought they could buy whatever they wanted. But this guy? He didn't belong. And worst of all, he wasn't impressed.

That irritated me more than I wanted to admit.

I swung myself back up the pole, eyes locked on him as I tried again, pulling out a few tricks that always worked. But no matter what I did, his expression didn't change. It was like he was bored, or worse, completely uninterested. What the hell was this guy's deal? After a few more minutes, it hit me-he was one of those guys. The kind who thought they were too good for this, too jaded to be impressed. I hated guys like that.

Screw it. I gave the crowd one final wave and stepped off the stage, heading backstage where my manager was already waiting for me.

"Amy, what took you so long to leave the stage? There's a young man who's been waiting for you for a while now," my manager's voice cut through the hum of the backstage noise.

I sighed, tossing my hair over my shoulder. "I hope he's not asking for a private session be-cause I've got a date in an hour, and I'm not missing it for anything."

I grabbed my backpack, ready to head into the dressing room and change into something more appropriate for a normal human interaction when my manager chimed in again. "He's offering $5,000 for just a one-hour private session. You wouldn't want to-"

"Of course I wouldn't miss that!" I interrupted, flinging my bag to the floor without a second thought. "Where is he?" $5,000 for an hour? That's more than most people make in a week. All I had to do was give him a lap dance, maybe throw in a few spins on the pole. Easy money. And let's face it, I wasn't going to say no to good cash.

I strutted into the dimly lit room where my client was waiting, the familiar red glow casting long shadows across the space. As soon as I stepped inside, my eyes landed on him-the same guy from the audience earlier. The young one. The one who hadn't even bothered to clap, let alone look impressed. A part of me was surprised he'd pay so much for a private session, considering how unbothered he seemed.

"I thought you hated my performance on stage," I said, arching a brow as I walked further into the room.

He didn't hesitate, his voice deep and laced with a thick accent I hadn't noticed before. "I did. It was boring. I'm giving you another chance to redeem yourself."

Rude much?

"You've got an accent," I said, trying to be polite. "Where are you from?" I let my eyes roam over his face, taking in every detail. Sharp jawline, thick brows, striking blue eyes, full lips, and dark hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. God, he was hot. Probably the most attractive man I've ever laid eyes on, but there was something off about him. Some-thing...cold.

"Take off your mask," he ordered, ignoring my question altogether. His voice was calm but commanding, like he was used to getting what he wanted.

"Sorry, can't do that. Security reasons," I replied smoothly, grabbing a rope from the table as I made my way to his chair.

"What are you doing?" His brows furrowed, eyes narrowing as I approached.

"I'm tying you to the chair," I said matter of factly.

"Why is that necessary?"

I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered, "It's for your own good. So you don't get tempted to touch me." My voice was soft, seductive. I felt his body stiffen beneath me, but he didn't stop me from tying his wrists to the arms of the chair.

I climbed onto his lap, straddling him. "So, what's a good-looking man like you doing in a strip club?" I asked, moving my hips against him in slow, deliberate circles.

His eyes didn't waver. "I was curious about the famous faceless stripper," he said, his voice low, intense. "Is Jolie your real name?"

"No," I whispered, smiling slightly. "Jolie is French. It means 'pretty.'"

He scoffed. "So, you think you're pretty?"

I let out a small laugh, placing my hands on his chest, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric. "Absolutely. It's not up for debate. It's a fact."

"For someone who hides behind a mask, do you really think you deserve that title?" he shot back, and I could feel the challenge in his voice. He was trying to get under my skin, trying to provoke me into taking off my mask. But I wasn't playing his game.

"Who do you think you are to question me?" I asked, my patience wearing thin.

"I'm someone you should never get to know," he replied darkly. His words felt more like a warning than anything else.

I trailed my fingers from his chest up to his neck, my eyes fixated on the eagle tattoo just above his collarbone. I was about to touch his face when, suddenly, his hand shot up and grabbed mine. I flinched, my eyes darting to the rope on the floor-shredded. How the hell did he do that?

"I thought I tied your hands," I said, shocked.

"You're not allowed to touch my face," he replied calmly, his grip firm but not painful. With one effortless shove, he pushed me off his lap and stood up, brushing himself off. "This was a waste of money," he muttered under his breath, glancing at me with mild dis-dain. "Keep the money. I'm not asking for a refund."

And just like that, he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there, stunned. No one had ever hated my performance that much. I tried everything, but he just seemed... untouchable. Was it me? No, it had to be him. Maybe he was gay. Yeah, that had to be it.

I stormed back to the dressing room, shaking off the weird encounter. As I picked up my phone, my heart sank. Twenty-one missed calls from Josh. Oh no. My fiancé.

Panic set in as I realized what time it was-8:15 p.m. I was supposed to be at his place by 8:00. I rushed to change into a corporate outfit and heels, practically running out of the club and hailing a cab.

By the time I arrived at Josh's place, it was already 9:00. I didn't bother knocking, just walked straight in. The scene that greeted me made my stomach drop-Josh, sitting at the dining table with a bouquet of roses in front of him, looking pissed, and... my mom? Eating silently at the same table.

My purse slipped from my hand, landing with a thud as the tension in the room thickened.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice edged with irritation as I shot her a scowl.

"Amy! You're finally here," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness. "Why would you keep this young man waiting?"

I crossed the room in a flash, eyes narrowing. "You haven't answered my question," I said, my patience hanging by a thread.

She leaned back in her chair, completely unbothered. "You wouldn't tell me who your fiancé is, so I came to find him myself. And we had a really nice talk." She flashed a smug wink at Josh, whose face was still etched with disappointment, his eyes avoiding mine.

"Mom, you need to leave. Now." My tone was sharp as I grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her chair and practically shoving her toward the door. I locked it behind her before she could cause any more damage. The second I turned around, I saw Josh, still seated, his eyes glued to his phone.

I stood there for a few moments, not knowing what to say, waiting for him to speak first. Finally, he did.

"You didn't tell me you'd be working late," he said, his voice cool, almost detached. His eyes didn't leave his phone.

"Uhmm... yeah, my team had a midnight operation," I said, the lie slipping out effortlessly. "It came up last minute, so I couldn't call you. I'm sorry."

Josh finally looked up, his eyes piercing mine with a look that sent a chill down my spine. "I just called your boss," he said. "He said you left the office at 4:00 this evening. Where did you go after work, Amelia?"

My throat tightened. "Oh, well, I was with Tasha, but I went back to the office after..."

"You goddamn liar!" Josh shouted, cutting me off. His voice was raw with anger, his hand raking through his hair in frustration. "How long will you keep lying to me?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but he tossed his phone toward me. I caught it instinctively, and as I glanced at the screen, my heart stopped. There I was-dancing half-naked in the strip club, my mask firmly in place, but there was no mistaking that it was me. For a moment, my lips parted in shock, but I quickly wiped the expression off my face and tried to play dumb.

"She's got a really nice ass, though," I said with a nervous laugh, feigning ignorance.

Josh wasn't amused. His expression hardened. "And I'm sure she looks familiar," he said bitterly. "I bought you that lingerie on your birthday, Amelia. This is how you repay me? Prostituting yourself even when we're engaged?"

My heart clenched, but I shot back without thinking. "Josh, I'm not a prostitute! I'm a strip-per. They're two different things."

"Don't you raise your fucking voice at me, you whore!" he yelled, his words slicing through the air like a blade before his hand came down hard, slapping me across the face. Pain exploded across my cheek, but the shock hurt more. "you're a greedy person! It's impossible to please someone like you!" His voice dripped with venom.

I could feel my blood boiling. "You don't have the right to call me that. I am not a whore!" I screamed back, rage making me lash out, my hand slapping him just as hard. The sting of my palm against his skin rang through the room like an echo. How much has this bastard given to me to make him think he could raise his hands on me?

Josh's eyes widened, filled with disbelief, he probably didn't think i'll ever be able to hit him back. He looked at me like he couldn't comprehend what just happened. And then, slowly, he shook his head.

"You don't deserve this," he muttered under his breath, grabbing my hand roughly. In one swift motion, he pulled the engagement ring off my finger. The coldness of his touch and the finality of the gesture stung worse than the slap.

I scoffed. I wasn't surprised, not really. The second I saw my mom sitting at that dining table, I knew it was over. My mother is mentally unstable, so she says shit most of the time, i've been trying to raise money for her medical bill but i've barely been able to raise enough for us to survive on.

"Fine. Let's break up." I said it like it was nothing, turning my back on him, heading for the door. But just as I reached for the handle, his voice stopped me.

"I also want back the car, the phone, the house, the debit card-everything I've ever given you."

I froze, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I swallowed hard, my entire body going rigid, but I didn't turn around. I just stood there, letting his words sink in.

It was all falling apart-everything. And for a moment, I wasn't sure what would be left of me when it was over.

Amelia's POV

Tasha walked into the room with two glasses of wine, setting one on the table before plopping down on the bed beside me. I could feel her eyes on me, and it didn't take long for her to roll them in irritation when she realized I was still crying.

"Are you still crying?" she asked, sipping her wine. I didn't bother to respond, just kept staring at the floor, my tears falling silently.

"Why exactly are you crying?" she pressed. "I still don't get it. Are you crying because he broke up with you, or because he took everything he gave you and left you broke?"

My throat tightened as I choked out my answer. "I just lost my only opportunity to raise money for my mom's surgery. Josh was going to pay for it after we got married, but my mom showed up and ruined everything. She ruined my one chance to save her fucking life!" My voice cracked, and the tears came harder.

Tasha shook her head. "I'm glad you guys broke up, honestly. I mean, Josh is hella abusive. Why would you risk your life trying to get him to pay for your mom's surgery? I'm sure she wouldn't want that for you."

"I don't even know how my mom found him," I mumbled, wiping my face. "I feel like hating her, but I can't."

Tasha sighed. "You're just 24. Marriage isn't something you should jump into because of your current financial situation. You don't want to regret it later. Live your life, don't let any guy ruin your mood."

Her words made me laugh unexpectedly, and I could see the surprise in her eyes. "Do you even hear how dumb you sound when you try to play the motivational speaker?" I teased, shaking my head. "Girl, you're just a year older than me and already sound like my mom."

Tasha grinned, clearly pleased with herself for making me laugh. "We should probably go out and have a drink later," she suggested.

"I'll be working late. I don't even know if I'll get a taxi that late, considering I don't have a car anymore," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Just give me a call. I'll come pick you up. The strip club, right?" Tasha asked casually.

"No, I'll be at the cybercafé," I corrected her, taking a sip from my glass. Tasha nodded in understanding.

"Speaking of the strip club, you won't believe what happened yesterday," I started, feeling the need to share.

"Spill the tea!" Tasha's excitement was instant.

"I met this guy at the club. And he wasn't like the usual bald-headed grandpas I see every day. He was so hot, like really cute. But he was also ridiculously arrogant. I still can't believe he called me 'overhyped.' He even said he hated my performance." I scoffed at the memory, the insult still stinging.

"He's probably one of those jerks trying to get you to notice them," Tasha said, but I shook my head.

"No, he didn't seem like that. There was something different about him. From his looks to the way he carried himself... he screamed authority. I've never said this about anyone be-fore, but he's my own definition of perfection." The thought of him lingered in my mind, and I found myself lost in it for a moment.

Tasha raised an eyebrow. "I think you're forgetting something," she teased, bringing me back to reality.

I blinked, trying to figure out what she meant. "Oh!" I laughed. "He looked like someone who's really rich."

We both burst out laughing, the sound filling the room.

"There you go, girl! I knew you wouldn't find a broke guy attractive," Tasha added with a knowing smile.

And just like that, for a brief moment, the weight on my shoulders didn't feel so crushing.

**********

I was on the phone with Tasha, laughing between sentences, my eyes fixed on the TV. Loud music filled the room, and I had a bowl of popcorn by my side. I was in my usual lounging outfit-black sweatpants, a black hoodie, glasses, and my hair thrown up in a messy bun.

"A client called earlier," I said with a mouthful of popcorn, "and he sounded like he might have a big offer for me."

"Do you know who they are?" Tasha's voice crackled through the phone.

"No, I just know they're clients," I shrugged, propping my legs up on the table.

"You shouldn't let random people into your café if you don't know them. What if they try to hurt you?" Tasha's voice took on a worried tone.

"Relax, Tasha. I know it's risky, but I make the most money from these gigs. And seriously, no one's going to kill me. I'm not a celebrity or anything," I said, grabbing my soda and gulping down half of it.

"Just call me when you're done. I'll come pick you up," Tasha replied before hanging up.

I tossed my phone onto the couch, picked up the popcorn, and continued munching quietly. But suddenly, the music cut off, and the room fell silent. I froze, turning around slowly, only to find three men dressed in black standing in the doorway.

"How did you get in?" I asked, my hand instinctively reaching for the emergency button under my chair.

"That won't be necessary," one of the men said before i could hit the emergency button, his tone calm but firm. "We contacted you before coming. We knocked, but you seemed... preoccupied, so we let ourselves in."

I exhaled slowly, forcing a smile. "Oh, sorry about that. Please, have a seat." I stood, trying to collect myself.

"You said you'd be coming at 9:00 p.m. I wasn't expecting you so soon..."

"Can you get the job done in 20 minutes? We don't have time to waste," the man who seemed to be the leader cut me off, his tone sharp.

"Twenty minutes?" I forced a nervous laugh. "That's plenty of time. I could get it done in less than 10."

"I've heard you're not only the best underground hacker, but you're also great at covering your tracks-leaving no evidence. Is that true?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, that's me," I said, trying to sound confident. "What exactly do you need done? I can hack security cameras, open vaults, install spyware-whatever you need."

"We want you to hack into this account and transfer everything in it," the man said, sliding a piece of paper across the table.

I glanced at the paper, the details blurring as I hesitated. Hacking into bank accounts wasn't my style. I avoided monetary fraud at all costs. But after Josh dumped me and left me broke, I needed cash. And fast. Rent wasn't going to pay itself, and I didn't want to keep de-pending on Tasha.

" 'Kai Ale...ssandro'? Is this the name of the account holder?" I asked, squinting at the pa-per.

"Yes, Kai Alessandro," the man confirmed.

My heart skipped a beat. Kai Alessandro. I knew that name all too well. He was the leader of one of the biggest Italian mafia groups-the Alessandro family. His reputation was legendary, and not in a good way. Ruthless, merciless, infamous for his revenge tactics. I'd heard the stories, seen the headlines. He wasn't just any mafia boss; he was the mafia boss. And he had a reputation for making people disappear in the most painful ways.

If this was his account, hacking it would be signing my own death warrant.

"Wait, is this the infamous Kai Alessandro? The one from the Alessandro family?" I asked, my voice shaky as I started typing on my laptop.

"Yes," the man answered casually, like it was no big deal.

My hands froze. Fear surged through me. "I think you'll need to find another hacker," I said, tossing the paper aside and closing my laptop. There was no way I was touching this.

"Five hundred million dollars. If you get it out, you get five percent," the man whispered, leaning in.

The offer was tempting-more than I could ever dream of. But no amount of money was worth dying for. Not even five percent of five hundred million.

"I'm serious. You need to find someone else. I'm not doing it," I said, standing up to leave.

But before I could move, I felt something cold press against my neck. A knife.

"Sit," the man ordered, the blade digging slightly into my skin.

I gulped hard, my body trembling as I sank back into the chair. "Turn on your laptop and start the job. Don't try anything stupid," he growled, his voice low and threatening.

With shaky hands, I reopened my laptop, my fingers clumsy as I began typing in the account details. In less than ten minutes, I broke through the security barriers, transferring every last cent into the separate account they'd provided.

Each click of the keyboard felt like a countdown to my own destruction.

"I'm done. You can send the money to the account details on the screen," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. I knew the truth-I was living on borrowed time. These men wouldn't let me walk away from this, not after what I just did. But some small, desperate part of me still clung to the hope that maybe I'd get paid, use the money to live what little life I had left to the fullest.

The leader smirked, his eyes cold as he checked the balance. "Clean up the mess. If Kai tracks you down, he'll have your head," he warned, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

My fingers moved automatically, clearing traces of the transfer, erasing digital footprints like I had done countless times before. But this time was different. This time, the weight of my actions hung heavy over me. I wasn't just erasing data-I was erasing the only chance I had at survival.

As I worked, one of the men stepped closer to the leader, whispering something, but his words cut through the air loud and clear.

"Boss, are we going to let her live? She's useless now," he muttered.

A cold wave of fear washed over me, making every hair on my neck stand on end. I froze, barely daring to breathe as I waited for the leader's response.

"Keeping her alive would be one of the biggest mistakes we'll be making," he replied calmly.

My heart pounded in my chest, the finality of his words sinking in. I'd known this was coming, but hearing it-hearing him decide my fate so casually-made it all too real.

I swallowed hard, trying to think of something-anything-that might save me. But the silence that followed was suffocating, and I could feel the walls closing in, the cold reality of death inching closer with every second.

Amelia's POV

"Boss, are we going to let her live? She's useless now," the man whispered, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle in dread.

The leader turned toward me, his cold eyes locking onto mine. I could already feel my body trembling. "Keeping her alive would be one of the biggest mistakes we'll be making," he said, and my heart sank.

"Thank you for your help, but we would have to break our promise. Kai might find you and use you against us." He pulled out a knife, the blade catching the light as he ran his fingers along its edge.

My breath caught in my throat. "Wait! You can't kill me yet, you haven't paid me for my service!" I blurted, that was dumb, but i said it anyways.

The man chuckled, a cruel sound that sent shivers down my spine. "You're about to get killed, and all you care about is money? Dead people don't spend money, do they?"

I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. "My mother... she's about to have surgery. Could you at least send the money to her?" My voice wavered as I begged, knowing it was probably pointless.

"Too bad you'll be dying before her," he replied, lifting the knife with intent.

I braced for the inevitable, but then, a sharp voice rang out.

"Drop your weapon!" Tasha's voice cut through the tension like a knife, and the man froze. She was standing there, holding a gun, her expression hard.

"You're under arrest for attempted murder," she added, trying to sound authoritative. One of the men raised his hands in surrender, but the leader just scoffed.

"Seriously? You're going to surrender to a woman?" He sneered.

Tasha's gaze didn't waver. "There are over 20 cops waiting outside. You'd be doing your-self a favor by surrendering and not trying anything stupid."

The leader hesitated, and I could see him calculating his odds. Slowly, he lowered the knife, but Tasha wasn't done.

"Or," she said with a smirk, "you could pay me, and I'll tell my colleagues you escaped. I'll let you go." She waved her gun toward the table. "Each of you, place a $100 bill on the table and escape through that window."

For a moment, the men just stared at her, confused, unsure if she was serious. But when Tasha's eyes narrowed, they reluctantly fumbled into their pockets and tossed money onto the table. One by one, they slipped out through the window.

Once they were gone, Tasha grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the building without a word. I was still in shock as we got into her car, my mind racing. She didn't speak until she parked in front of her apartment, her forehead resting on the steering wheel as she caught her breath.

"Tasha, what the fuck did you do back there?" I asked in disbelief, my voice dropping low

She looked up at me, her face a mix of exhaustion and relief. "Isn't it obvious? I was saving your ass."

I stared at her. "What if they found out you weren't a real cop? That your gun wasn't even real? You could've gotten yourself killed!"

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Well, what did you expect me to do after you suddenly went quiet on the phone? Call an actual cop so they could save you and arrest you for running an illegal business?" she shot back, her gaze hard but tired.

I had no response. She had a point, even if her plan was insane.

"That was a risky move you took back there. You should never do that next time," I said, my voice softening as i realized i could've been dead if she hadn't pulled that move

She turned to me, her eyes hard yet protective. "Of course, I would never do that again be-cause you'll be quitting that dirty job today," she said, getting out of the car before I could even respond.

"Tasha, I would not-"

"Shut up and come have dinner inside," she cut me off, her tone sharp as she walked toward her apartment, leaving me sitting alone in the car.

I sighed, watching her storm away. I knew she meant well, but quitting wasn't as simple as she made it sound. Still, I couldn't ignore the fact that tonight could have ended in disaster. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to leave this life behind-but how?

****************************

"Why the fuck did you let her go?" the man yelled, his hoarse voice echoing around the room. Three men knelt before him, their heads bowed in fear.

"We got caught by the police, but we were able to bribe our way out," one of the men answered, his head still bowed.

"How are you sure it was the cops?" the man asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I'm sure. She was holding a gun, and there were cops outside," the man replied.

"Do you think she would call the cops? That was a fucking hacker's hideout! If she calls them, she'll be screwed too!" the man shouted. The men went quiet for a while as they stared at each other, realization dawning on them.

"We never thought of that," the man mumbled.

"Of course, you didn't, because you're all fools!" the man scolded, pointing a finger at each of them.

"If you had entrusted us with guns, we probably wouldn't have screwed up. These knives were useless," one of the men said, his head still bowed.

"Yes, we know we're newbies, but we would've done better with firearms," another man agreed.

"How dare you talk back at me?" the man shouted, storming toward the first speaker and grabbing him by the collar. "Are you blaming this on-"

"Rocco, that's enough," a harsh voice, laced with a thick Italian accent, came from the back of the room.

"Mariano, they were able to get the money, but they failed to kill the hacker," Rocco responded, his head lowered in respect as Mariano entered the room.

"They didn't fail, but you did. I gave you a simple task, and you sent trainees to handle it. Once again, you took my orders for granted," Mariano said as he took his seat.

"perdonaml, After I found out the hacker was just a girl, I thought the trainees could handle it so I could focus on bigger tasks," Rocco explained, but Mariano's temper flared. He lunged at Rocco, grabbing him by the throat.

"Listen to me. Find that girl and kill her! If Kai finds her before you do, you're screwed," Mariano snarled through gritted teeth.

"Yes, boss!" Rocco gasped, struggling for air.

"For now, kill the useless trainees. They'll never be part of us if they can't complete simple tasks," Mariano ordered.

****************

Amelia's POV:

"So, what's the correct answer to this question?" I asked with a warm smile, watching the little girl in front of me as she contemplated her response. It was a Monday morning, and here I was, in my classroom. Besides being a stripper, hacker, and private investigator, I was also a fifth-grade math teacher. I took this job not for the money but because it felt like a step in the right direction. I didn't want to spend my life just spying on people, hacking into accounts, or taking money from older men at the strip club. Teaching kids gave me a sense of purpose, something positive to balance out my life of guilt.

"I think it should be this," Clara answered, pointing at an option in her textbook.

"Nice try, Clara. That was pretty close, but I think you should try again," I replied, smiling as I pushed a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. Just then, my phone began ringing loudly, cutting into the classroom atmosphere. I excused myself and stepped outside to take the call.

"Amy, where the fuck are you?" Tasha's voice blared through the phone.

"Where else could I be on a Monday morning? I'm in school," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"So you're telling me you're busy teaching fifth graders while your own education is literal-ly falling apart? Girl, what the fuck! You haven't even graduated college yet!" Tasha shout-ed into the phone.

"I'll be skipping class today. I just want a break from everyone, including you," I answered, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Since the beginning of the semester, have you even stepped foot in psychology class? You'll be failing this course if you miss more than 50% of your classes. I hope you know that!" Tasha's voice was sharp.

"That's why I've got you! You could probably help me sign my attendance if I don't show up before the end of class," I replied, but I could hear Tasha scoff on the other end.

"You'll probably have to miss class again because there's no way I'm covering for your ab-sence," she said, sounding truly disappointed.

"Chill out, girl! Why do you sound like my mom right now? Jeez, do whatever you like," I said, hanging up the phone. As I turned to head back inside, I noticed a group of men in black clothing and sunglasses walking into the school. They looked just like the men who had attacked me a few days ago. It was easy to tell they weren't there as parents; this was a small school, and I knew all the familiar faces.

"Do you know those men? They look suspicious," I asked one of the homeroom teachers, who had been sitting quietly in the corner.

"I think I've seen them before. I'll go speak to them," he said, standing up with a smile as he walked toward the exit.

"Or you can just ask the security to talk to them instead," I suggested, shrugging.

"Don't worry; I can handle it," he replied with a wink, making me cringe.

I stood by the window, watching as he approached the men. One of them pulled out a portrait, and I squinted to see what was happening. My heart stopped for a moment when I saw my own face on that picture. They were holding out a photo of me, which meant only one thing: they weren't there to pick up any kid; they were there for me.

As I peered at the intimidating men through the window, panic raced through my mind. Why did they have a picture of me? What did they want? Was I risking my life by stepping outside to confront them? Were they really as bad as they looked?

My questions were abruptly answered when one of the men pulled out a gun and shot the homeroom teacher. I stared in shock at his lifeless body crumpling to the floor, my eyes darting back to the men, finally locking onto the leader, who made direct eye contact with me.

There's only one right thing to do now; run.