My heart Surrendered to the Boss

The Shadow of Sophia club was busier that night. The thick cigar smoke from the VIP area was suffocating, making it hard to see clearly and navigate between the tables while balancing that damn tray, but it was also where we got the best tips.

Just thirty more minutes.

That was all I needed to endure from those rich guys who had no sense of manners or respect.

Big shots. Businessmen. Politicians. Even the top tier of the underworld frequented that place. All of them strutted around in their fancy, expensive suits, laughing about how they had ruined the life of yet another random poor soul drowning in debt.

Shadow of Sophia was the most popular club in Soho, London. Known for its exclusivity and complete discretion, it wasn't a place where just anyone could walk in for a drink. Even we, mere hourly workers, had to go through a tough hiring process and rigorous training before we could start serving in the halls.

The beautiful, elegant facade with purple neon signs and black velvet doors stood out even among the many bars and clubs in the lively Soho scene. But to me, none of it was even remotely appealing. In fact, every time I had to cross the bustling streets to get to the club, I felt the weight of the judgmental stares from those rich men and women who partied without any moral or financial limits.

"Like they say, all that glitters isn't gold..." I whispered as I headed back to the bar with a tray loaded with empty whiskey glasses, squeezing between tables and dodging people.

It was as if no one could see the 5'6" woman in tight black pants, a vest, and a white shirt weaving through them with over fifteen glasses precariously balanced on a tray.

I tried to pass by a group of older men. They were deep in conversation, smoking their stinky cigars, so I thought it'd be easier to slip by them, even if it meant taking a big detour to reach the bar.

My regret was almost instant when one of the men stood up abruptly, shoving his chair back with such force that it slammed into my hip, throwing me off balance.

The sound of glass shattering made the entire room fall into a heavy silence. I was sprawled on the floor, my hand on a shard of glass, while everyone just stared at me, as if I were some exotic animal that had just escaped its cage.

"Lilian, are you okay?" Chloe, my friend and the mixologist at Shadow of Sophia, rushed over to me. Her eyes landed on my hand, which I tried to hide as best as I could.

When Chloe moved to ask about the cut, I shook my head with a subtle but clear gesture.

We couldn't draw any more attention. We were paid to act like shadows, to avoid standing out and to be discreet about the identities of the club's clients.

Carefully, I grabbed the cloth we carried to clean the tables and wrapped it around the cut to stop the bleeding, then started picking up the glass shards. Behind me, the men's voices sounded amused as they laughed.

"Look what you did, Jorge. Poor thing..." The clear tone of mockery and scorn made me hesitate for a moment, but I clenched my fists, swallowing the humiliation in silence, and kept gathering the broken glass.

"She should watch where she's going. This place seems to hire any dumb woman, as long as she's hot, to work here." They all laughed with amusement.

In that awful situation, all I could do was take a deep breath and get out of there as fast as possible. I grabbed the tray, now filled with broken glasses, already calculating how much would be deducted from my paycheck, when I felt my elbow being brutally grabbed.

"Hold on a second. Where's your apology?" the man who had bumped into me demanded. His face was red and sweaty, pupils dilated, breathing heavy, and movements uncoordinated-clear signs of alcohol intoxication that I noticed as a nursing student.

Even though I was a nursing student, I had no intention of wasting my knowledge on someone like him. All I wanted was to move on and finally leave that place.

"Hey!" the man shouted, gripping my arm even tighter, making me grit my teeth from the sharp pain radiating through my arm. "I told you to apologize, you insolent girl."

"Looks like this girl doesn't know who you are, Jorge," one of the men teased, which seemed to irritate the so-called Jorge even more as he held me.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir," I said in a low, monotonous tone.

I didn't want trouble; I just wanted to get out of there and check the severity of the cut on my hand. But apparently, my apology wasn't well-received by the man and his group of friends, who laughed and mocked me without any filter.

Encouraged by his friends, the man named Jorge raised his hand, his face twisted with rage. I tried to pull my arm free and step away from him, but his grip was too strong, and all I could do was brace for the impact.

I closed my eyes tightly and tried to shield my face with my other arm. But the blow never came.

The sound of voices had vanished, and everything was in a complete, eerie silence. I lowered my arm and looked up, only to see a very tall man standing between me and my aggressor. The man was gripping Jorge's wrist with immense strength, forcing him to let go of me immediately as he stumbled back several steps.

The group of "friends" had vanished, scattering into the crowd that averted their eyes from where we stood. Jorge was pale, as if all the alcohol he'd consumed had suddenly drained from his bloodstream.

"Raising a hand to a woman..." The deep voice of the man with his back to me sent a shiver down my spine, a feeling of danger slithering over my skin like a cold snake. "I expected more from a businessman with such an inspiring success story as yours, Mr. Jorge Taylor."

Everything seemed to happen in a matter of seconds, but to my eyes, it all unfolded in slow motion.

The sound of the gun being cocked, the smell of gunpowder, the crack of the shot, and the heat of the blood.

The man who had just threatened me was now sprawled on the floor, completely still, with a hole in his forehead from which blood gushed. Some women screamed but were quickly restrained and escorted out of the area.

A few men, whom I recognized as the club's security, approached and took control of the situation, carrying the body away to another location.

I was trembling.

The smell of blood reminded me of rusted iron. I ran a hand over my face, seeing the tips of my shaky fingers stained with bright red. I looked around, thinking someone would say something, or that they'd be calling the police or paramedics, but everyone just stood there, watching that absurd situation.

"You should be more careful, little squirrel. This world doesn't forgive distractions," the man in front of me said as he turned around, his face splattered with blood, just like his dark shirt.

His smile was as seductive as it was terrifying. He stepped closer, crouching in front of me and gripping my chin firmly. I closed my eyes and held my breath, afraid I might vomit on him from the strong smell of blood.

He released my chin and stepped back. I was grateful he'd lost interest in me. My body was shaking violently, and I had to hold myself together to keep from bursting into tears, sitting there on that blood-stained floor.

I stared at his back, broad and strong, trying to guess who he might be. As if he'd been called, he turned around, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping himself off carelessly.

A man capable of something like that, with everyone turning a blind eye, could only have a lot of influence or be someone very important in the underworld.

His lips moved slowly, in a message meant just for me. "We'll meet again, Miss Reed. Perhaps sooner than you think." My entire body shivered, intensifying my discomfort and curiosity.

Finally, I was on my way home.

My hands were still trembling as I recalled what had happened at the club, but I clasped them together, trying to suppress some of the fear that still lingered.

I glanced at my watch, the last item my mother had left me, the only thing I managed to save before my stepmother, Diane, could destroy it and sought comfort in it.

The entire way, I kept thinking about that crazy, terrifying man.

I couldn't recall ever seeing him at the club before. A man as handsome as him would be impossible to forget. Yet, not even all his beauty could erase the unpleasant taste he left in my mouth.

"That man was completely insane. Who was he?" I thought, irritated, as I remembered the way he compared me to a squirrel as if he knew me.

But there was also that strange promise that still sent shivers through my entire body. That man was definitely dangerous. His blood-stained face was etched in my mind, a gruesome reminder of how terrifying the world could be.

As much as that man had scared and shaken me, the chances of running into him again were slim, quite unlike the nightmare awaiting me.

The house, which I once called home, now felt like a grim monument to all the misery that had settled into my life.

Peckham, a neighborhood in south London well-known for its diversity, was full of life during the day, with multicultural markets, children running and playing, and vendors shouting from the sidewalks-a stark contrast to its nightlife.

The heavy silence, dark alleys, and old buildings with their worn-out facades seemed to hide sinister secrets. At night, the sound of distant sirens and barking dogs echoed while streetlights flickered, leaving stretches of the road in dim shadows.

My house was on one of the side streets, a Victorian-style building that had seen better days.

I sighed as I looked at the house. The paint was peeling, the wooden porch showed signs of rot, and the windows were filthy. Anyone would think it was one of the many abandoned buildings, but it was where I lived with Diane, my stepmother, and her son, Liam.

After my father's death, Diane had partitioned the house for rent, but it was becoming harder to find tenants, leaving us in an increasingly dire situation.

Diane and Liam didn't work; I was the only one providing for the household and managing the bills. They didn't even do basic chores, more concerned with presenting themselves as wealthy in front of others, spending money they didn't have on clothes, makeup, and expensive accessories.

I had no idea where they were getting that money, and honestly, as long as they didn't involve me, I didn't care. My focus was on graduating from nursing school and getting out of that house, but with my salary from Shadow of Sophia, it seemed impossible.

I had a plan, but the obstacles in my path made it harder every day to make it a reality.

As soon as I opened the door, the loud creak of the hinges echoed like a grim warning. Diane appeared in a dress that didn't suit her 47 years of age. Her heels clacked on the wooden floor as she walked. Her cold, blue eyes scanned me from head to toe while she adjusted her blonde hair, tied up in a Chanel bun.

"My dear," she said with her manipulative smile slightly tilted to the side. "How was work? Did you get good tips?"

I knew that conversation and that smile all too well. Whenever Diane wanted something or was lying, her fake smile would tilt slightly to the left-a tell I had quickly learned to spot.

I placed my bag on the green upholstered chair, one of the questionable decor pieces Diane loved, and headed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. The cut on my hand from the incident at the club throbbed as I held the glass. I could hear the sound of those awful heels following me like a cursed shadow.

"It wasn't busy today, so I didn't get much, but it'll be enough to add to last week's tips and pay one of the overdue bills," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. She huffed behind me.

"That's ridiculous!" Diane's voice rose, furious. "Just give me the damn money and work harder. We can't live like this."

I took a deep breath, knowing exactly what that woman wanted the money for. She'd spend it on clothes or entertaining some boy half her age, just like she had done with the inheritance my father left us.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw her lighting a cigarette, her expression furious as she muttered something about being too good for this life.

I just walked past her, ignoring her complaints. All I wanted was to go to my room and sleep a bit, but as soon as I turned toward the stairs, I came face to face with Liam coming down.

Though his personality was identical to his mother's, his appearance was completely different. With light brown hair and brown eyes, he charmed innocent, wealthy young women into giving him gifts and even allowances. And what they loved most was the scar he had at the corner of his mouth.

The story Liam told was that he had gotten into a fight with a gang member, but the truth was he had fallen off his bike when he was eleven and split his lip.

I tried to slip past him, squeezing between his tall, muscular body and the wall, but he grabbed my elbow, stopping me.

"What's the rush, little sister?"

That smile might fool someone who didn't know him, but to me, it only caused disgust and repulsion. His grip tightened, hurting me. He leaned closer, his gaze making me tremble with the shadows that danced in it.

"I'm tired, Liam. I need to wake up early for work tomorrow." He clicked his tongue, letting go of me roughly, nearly making me fall down the stairs.

"That place pays peanuts. How do you expect us to live off the scraps you earn?" His smile widened. He leaned in, bringing his face closer to mine. "You have a lot of potential to make good money, little sister. I can introduce you to some friends."

Diane's laughter echoed through the house, sending a shiver of fear down my spine. My legs trembled as Liam tightened his grip, pulling me closer to him. The smell of cigarette smoke hit me, the thick haze surrounding us. Translucent hands with long fingers seemed to reach for my throat.

"Don't be silly, Liam. Our Lilian can't get dirty."

I yanked my arm free with force, escaping Liam's grasp. I clutched the watch on my wrist, trying to calm my mind as I hurriedly climbed the stairs.

As I ascended, the creaking of the floorboards echoed like a lament, and I overheard them arguing. Diane wanted a share of the money Liam had gotten from one of his girlfriends, but he refused to give it to her, saying he was late for a date.

With my hand on the doorknob of my room, the smell of Diane's cigarette smoke filling the hallway, I heard her yell downstairs. "It's all that wretched James' fault. If he hadn't left us with that pittance, we'd be living like royalty." The tone of disdain, the utter disrespect Diane had for my father's memory, made my blood boil.

I touched the watch on my wrist, feeling the pain of loss, and turned around, ready to throw everything away and confront her, but my legs froze when she continued speaking. "At least that little whore will finally be useful for something. That guy paid a good price for her, and we'll be able to enjoy life more, as we deserve."

My blood seemed to freeze in my veins.

I covered my mouth with my hand and took a few steps back, hitting the hallway wall with my back. I slid down, sitting on the dusty, dirty carpeted floor. A tear rolled down my cheek, panic swelling in my chest.

I had a terrible feeling.

Something was about to happen to me, and I couldn't imagine how much more my life could change.

I couldn't stay there; someone would come upstairs soon, and if they saw me in that state, it could get worse. My hand throbbed, the cut had reopened, and the blood flowed warm from the wound.

I returned to my room, locking the door and sliding the latch I had installed after a night when Liam came home drunk and tried to break it down.

I went to my closet, grabbing the small first-aid kit I had put together after Diane "accidentally" pushed me down the last few stairs. I was still missing a few things, but I managed to apply a temporary bandage until I could get to a hospital or a pharmacy.

Sitting on the bed, I took a deep breath, wiping away my tears. What did I expect? Diane only saw me as a way to make money without having to get up from her tacky sofa. Ever since my father introduced her as his fiancée, I had felt something off about her, but I still tried to build some kind of relationship.

Of course, she would never take my mother's place, but nothing prevented us from getting along, especially since she was, at the time, my father's fiancée.

I pulled out a photo I kept hidden of my mother. It had to stay inside a book on my nightstand to ensure Diane would never find it.

I touched the smiling face in the photo, her large belly covered by a light yellow dress that seemed like an extension of her long, wavy golden hair. Her deep, dark blue eyes radiated so much joy and kindness. I missed them, missed her loving touch.

"It would have been so different with you here, Mom," I whispered, feeling a lump forming in my throat.

The memories of the three of us, before my mother got sick, playing in the park. My father pushing the swing while my mother shouted for him to be careful. The loud laughter filling the house as I ran, dodging a bath while my mother chased me with a towel in hand.

A low sob escaped me, and I bit my lip, trying to hold it back.

"I miss you both so much, Dad... Mom."

My chest tightened. The pain was always there, on the surface, scratching at my skin, ready to break free. I hugged myself, wrapping my arms around my body as if to hold together what was left of me.

The sound of distant sirens echoed in Peckham, a constant reminder of the dangers lurking outside.

A black car pulled up on the street, its headlights dimming slowly, and my heart raced. I quickly stepped away from the window, closing the curtains, as if that thin fabric barrier could shield me from the misfortunes prowling the night.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway, approaching my bedroom door, put me on edge. I leaned against the weathered wood. The strong smell of cigarette smoke, the haze seeping through the cracks, the sound of heels sinking into the carpet like a sinister melody of foreboding.

"Lilian, dear. You have visitors," Diane's sickeningly sweet voice made me tremble. I glanced at the clock, seeing it was past 1 a.m. I swallowed hard, pressing my hands against the door with more force.

"I'm not expecting any visitors," I replied, keeping my voice steady.

Diane's words echoed in my mind. She had sold me, and everything pointed to this visitor being the buyer. I returned to the window, my heart pounding. I looked down, wondering if I could jump from the second floor without suffering serious injuries.

"Damn it..." I muttered through my teeth.

There wasn't time to rig a rope to escape, and I wouldn't be able to flee if I broke my leg in the fall. Diane banged harder on my door, startling me.

"Get out here now, you filthy little slut!"

The door shook violently, the latch bravely holding it in place while the hinges creaked. I had nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.

I looked back at the window, my heart racing, my breath caught in my throat as I considered what I might be capable of to escape that hell.

Suddenly, the hinges gave way with a loud crash. Liam shoved the wood aside, his cold brown eyes and crooked smile making me step back.

He raised a finger, wagging it in negation. "Don't even think about it. Even broken, you're still worth something."

I threw myself to the floor, falling to my knees before them. "Please don't do this to me."

Diane entered the room, smiling from ear to ear. But her expression changed when she noticed the photo of my mother on the bed. Her face turned red, her chest heaving with irregular breaths as she advanced toward me, grabbing my hair and yanking it hard.

I screamed, clutching her wrist, trying to free myself as she dragged me out of the room.

"How dare you?! I raised you, you ungrateful wretch!" Diane shouted as she pulled me. I struggled, tried to grip the door frame, but Liam kicked my hand with force.

"You can't do this to me!" I tried to hold onto the hallway sideboard, which crashed to the floor, knocking over everything on it. "Let me go!"

No matter how much I fought or begged, Diane kept pulling me. My head ached. Her fingers dug into my scalp, nearly ripping out my hair.

The stairs slammed against my back with violence, my fingers slipping on the railing bars as tears streamed down my face. I couldn't take it anymore.

When we reached the first floor, someone knocked on the door. A grotesque smile spread across Diane's face.

"As I said, you have visitors, and you'd better cooperate without causing trouble."

The moment she released me, I tried to run to the kitchen, but Liam delivered a hard punch to my stomach, making me vomit and collapse to my knees, clutching my abdomen.

"Are you so stupid you can't follow a simple order?" he said, his words dripping with contempt. "Be useful for once in your miserable life."

The front door creaked open.

I raised my eyes, my body trembling with spasms and pain. I stayed there, on my knees, watching a tall, powerfully built man in the doorway. In the darkness that shrouded him, I couldn't make out the details of his face, but I felt an overwhelming pressure as I realized he was looking at me.

My voice died, and I held my breath, consumed by fear. The man stepped forward, his gaze never leaving me.

"As agreed. She resisted a bit, so we had to discipline her, but overall, she's fi-" Before Diane could finish speaking, the man slapped her hard, sending her crashing to the floor.

Liam rushed to help his mother, who held her mouth, blood trickling through her fingers.

"A clear order was given that she wasn't to be touched," the man's cold, menacing voice made it seem as though even the walls trembled in fear of him.

Diane and Liam turned pale and silent. The man grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet. I held his hand, clinging to the last thread of hope I had in my words.

"Please..." I swallowed hard, trying to steady the tremor in my voice. "Please, I have nothing to do with this."

"It's not my concern. Now move, the Boss is waiting." The man pulled a black zip tie from his pocket, binding my wrists with it.

At the mention of "Boss," my entire body seemed to weaken. My legs gave out, and I stumbled, being dragged by the man toward the black car I had seen from my window.

There was no escaping when the mafia boss called for you. Diane hadn't just sold me; she had sold me to the most dangerous man in all of London. The red-eyed crow.