Why are you crying? What's all the tears for, huh?"
Antonio's voice cut through the air like a whip. He seized Rosa by her long dark hair, yanking her head backward until she gasped. Pain shot through her body; her abdomen still burned from the blow he had delivered moments earlier. The sickness in her stomach rose like a wave, and for a moment, she thought she might vomit. She crumpled to her knees, clutching her midsection as though she could hold the pain inside. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
Antonio sat back in his chair, his sharp eyes fixed on the two figures before him
Rosa and Traven, one of his guards. The man's expression was that of quiet disapproval.
"Enough," he said finally. "Traven, come here."
Traven obeyed, stepping forward. Antonio gripped the front of his collar and pulled him close until his voice was a dangerous whisper.
"Quit holding back, or I'll be the one to hit you next."
"Yes, sir," Traven murmured, his voice barely audible. He turned and strode back to Rosa. Without hesitation, he struck her hard in the stomach. The sound of the impact echoed off the concrete walls. Rosa cried out, folding over in agony, her breath catching as tears ran down her face.
Antonio rose from his seat, approached her, and grabbed her by the hair once more.
"What's wrong, Rosa? Can't handle a little pain? Already weak from one hit?" he sneered. "Pathetic. You're just like the rest of them. All women are weak."
He released her and returned to his chair, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Rosa, trembling, forced herself upright. Her voice shook, but there was a spark in her eyes.
"Father," she said, "I'll show you that this woman isn't weak."
Before Antonio could respond, Rosa lunged at Traven. Despite her smaller frame, her movements were quick and fierce. She slammed her forehead into his, sending him staggering backward. Then she tackled him to the ground, raining blows on his face with a fury she didn't know she possessed. Blood splattered across her hands, warm and slick.
"If you keep going, he'll die," Antonio's voice warned coolly.
Rosa froze. Her chest heaved as she looked down at Traven's ruined face, barely recognizable beneath the blood. She wasn't sure if the red on her hands was his, or hers, or both. Her fingers trembled. She didn't know whether to cry or feel proud.
When she glanced up, Antonio was smiling, a rare look of satisfaction softening his otherwise cruel features. For a fleeting moment, Rosa felt proud too. If Father's pleased, then I should be too, she thought.
"Cecilio!" Antonio called out to his son, who had been watching the entire scene in silence. "I'm starting to think Rosa's got more guts than you. You'd better step up your game, son. She's one point ahead today." He chuckled, raising his glass. "And before I forget.....
happy eighteenth birthday rosa. Consider that your birthday present."
As Antonio left the room, Cecilio approached Rosa slowly. He took her bloodied hand gently in his.
"If you can't handle this, Rosa, you can still walk away," he said softly. "It's not too late."
Rosa's expression hardened. "Cecilio, if you had to choose between staying here or roaming the streets, which would you pick?"
He gave a faint, bitter smile. "Honestly? The streets. At least there, I wouldn't have to hurt anyone just to make a grumpy old man happy."
"Maybe Father's right," Rosa muttered, pulling her hand away. "I do have more guts than you."
She turned and walked off, ignoring the worried look in Cecilio's eyes.
*******
Cecilio was Antonio's only child. His mother had died when he was just three years old. Antonio, a notorious drug lord, had built an empire of violence,trafficking, kidnapping, assassination. His network was vast, his enemies countless.
A year earlier, he had found Rosa sixteen, cold, and starving
curled up beside a dumpster. He had been ready to leave her there until Cecilio begged him to help. She'll die out here, Cecilio had said. Just for one night.
Antonio had agreed. But one night turned into two years.
He saw potential in Rosa
obedience, fierceness, beauty. With her innocent face, hazel eyes, and long dark hair, she became both a weapon and a daughter to him. And Rosa, who had no family of her own, devoted herself to earning his approval.
********
"Rosa," Antonio called one night. "I need to speak with you."
She followed him to the rooftop. The wind was fierce, tugging at their clothes, whistling through the metal rails. Antonio stood at the edge, his dirty-blond hair rippling in the gusts. For a long time, he said nothing.
"When I found you that night," he began, his voice oddly calm, "I fed you, clothed you, gave you a bed. Tell me....
how did that make you feel?"
Rosa bowed her head slightly. "Eternally grateful, sir. If not for you, I would be dead by now. I owe you my life."
A faint smirk curved Antonio's lips. "I always believed women were weak. But this past years, you've changed my mind. You should be proud of that."
"I am, sir," Rosa said, bowing lower. "Very proud."
Antonio took a step closer. "I want you to be my successor."
Rosa looked up, startled. "But… you have a son."
"If I die today, Cecilio would let my empire rot," Antonio said bluntly. "He's my blood, but I know him too well. That's why I need you, Rosa
to guide him, to keep him in the business. He listens to you more than anyone. Can you do that?"
Rosa hesitated. She wasn't sure how she could make Cecilio stay if he truly wished to leave
but she nodded anyway.
"Yes, sir. I won't let you down."
"Good girl." Antonio patted her head, then chuckled. "And one more thing...
get him a girl. He's twenty and still hasn't touched one. I lost my virginity at fifteen! That's a disgrace, don't you think?"
Rosa smiled faintly, though her stomach twisted. "Understood, sir. I'll make sure everything you ask for is done."
"That's my girl," Antonio said, satisfied, his voice fading into the night wind.