I stepped out of the armored Lincoln like I was royalty, though I suppose "mafia princess" would’ve been a more accurate title if we’re being honest. The sound of the engine cutting off felt like a chorus of angels, or maybe a choir of long-dead gangsters singing their praises. Either way, the silence that followed was the kind you only hear when you’re about to make a grand entrance—just like I always did.
I adjusted the hem of my custom-tailored school uniform, which, I’ll admit, was probably worth more than some of the people I’d meet here. Not that I cared. I’d never understood the appeal of modesty when you could wear the best money could buy. The red ruby necklace that lay on my chest—a Rossi family heirloom worth more than a small country—glinted in the sun as I moved, as if announcing to the world, “This is who I am. Deal with it.”
And deal with it they would.
I couldn’t help but smile as I made my way toward the entrance of Kingsley High School. My dad had been clear—this school would be Rossi-run within a month. That wasn’t an empty threat. He might have sent me here to “get me away from the family business” after I had a little… incident, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t run this place by the end of the week. “One month,” I muttered to myself as I looked at the private school’s imposing façade. “Just you wait, Kingsley. One month.”
Of course, my grand arrival wasn’t met with the red carpet I was expecting. Oh no. As I approached the front doors, a bucket of bright yellow paint—who knew it was so cheap to get your hands on something like that?—came crashing down from the sky. A perfect shot, aimed right at my head, but just before it could splatter my designer shoes and custom pants, I did what any good Rossi would do. I ducked.
The paint splattered all over a jock who, judging by his lack of coordination and confused expression, probably wasn’t a local genius. He was drenched from head to toe in yellow, and before I could stop myself, I laughed.
That was when I heard the voice.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the infamous Scarlett Rossi.”
I turned to see Principal Victoria Thorne standing at the entrance, wearing a stern look that could freeze a lake. Her eyes were cold, calculating, and despite her professional, prim-and-proper attire, I knew she wasn’t some helpless pushover. Too bad for her, she was dealing with me.
“I’m assuming you’re here to welcome me to my new home?” I said, smoothing my hair back and stepping toward her. I had zero intentions of playing nice.
She handed me a manila folder, the edges crisp like it had been filed away with more precision than anyone in this school had probably ever experienced.
“Rossi,” she began, her voice as chilly as the air around us, “We’ve done our homework. You’re not the first person we’ve had to ‘straighten out.’ You’re just the most… interesting.”
I opened the folder. Inside were my personal details, every last tidbit of dirt that could be dug up on me. Most people wouldn’t have been able to stomach seeing their entire life laid bare like that, but to me, it was just Tuesday.
And there it was. The one thing I hoped my father had buried—my “incident” from three years ago when I’d shot the guy who tried to kidnap me. Well, it wasn’t exactly the dinner conversation I was hoping for, but hey, whatever. Everyone here had their secrets. I was just the one with the most dangerous ones.
“Nice try,” I muttered under my breath, tossing the folder onto the nearest desk. “You think you can intimidate me? I’ve seen worse. And I’ve done worse.”
Principal Thorne raised an eyebrow, probably wondering if I was some sort of masochist for staying so calm.
Before she could say another word, a tall, clean-cut boy approached me, his expression all politeness and pleasantries. Liam Sterling—President of the Student Council and one of those insufferable goody-two-shoes types who’d spend hours in front of the mirror making sure his hair looked just right.
“Scarlett, I’m Liam. I’ll be overseeing your ‘adjustment’ period here,” he said, extending a hand in a way that was a bit too formal for my taste.
“I’m sure you will,” I replied with a smile that could freeze the sun. “Don’t worry, I’ll fit right in.”
“You’ll fit in better if you leave that necklace at home,” he said, glancing at the red ruby, now gleaming conspicuously against my neck. “It’s very… distinctive.”
“Funny,” I said, my smile sharp as a blade, “I was just about to say the same thing about your collar.”
We stared each other down for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
And then, just as I was about to throw in a sarcastic remark, the lunch bell rang.
“Looks like the welcoming party’s over,” I said, flicking a strand of hair over my shoulder as I turned toward the cafeteria.
Liam didn’t follow. But a few steps behind me, I heard the unmistakable voice of Jax Malone, one of the local troublemakers, calling out, “Hey, Rossi! Bet you think you can just waltz in here and take over, huh?”
I stopped and turned slowly. Jax had a tray full of food—he wasn’t holding it for any reason except to use it as a weapon. How very charming.
“Blackjack, huh?” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “That’s cute. Tell me, do you always pick fights with people you can’t beat?”
Without waiting for his response, I stepped forward, my hand quick as lightning, knocking his tray to the ground. Jax had a look of surprise on his face before I threw him on the cafeteria table, twisting his arm behind his back.
“I don’t like wasting food,” I whispered, my lips curling into a grin as the cafeteria fell silent. “And I really hate being called a princess. Call me queen next time.”
The room was dead silent, save for the collective gasp of everyone who witnessed it.
But that’s how I liked it—silent, still, and under my control.
By the time the bell rang to end lunch, I wasn’t a student. I was a force. And Kingsley High would know it soon enough.
But then I got back to the parking lot. And there it was. The armored Lincoln, smashed. Diego, my loyal bodyguard, was unconscious on the ground, a bloodied mess. Someone had written on the smashed window with lipstick:
“Go back to Chicago, killer girl.”
Next to the words was the unmistakable symbol of the Night Rose Family—the mafia symbol that I’d seen hundreds of times, but this time, it had a blood smear through it.
My father’s voice crackled through my phone just as I was about to process it all:
“Scarlett, come home immediately. There’s a traitor in the family. You’re not safe in Los Angeles.”
The feeling of panic clawed at my chest. There was something more going on here. Something darker.