Rosalind
ROSALIND
T he morning air was thick with tension as Hunter loomed over me, his presence a dark cloud ready to burst. " I'm heading out for a couple of days," he growled. His nearly black eyes bore into mine, daring me to challenge him. " Sofia and Marco will keep you company. Don't even think about trying anything. Marco's got orders to toss you in the basement if you so much as dream of stepping out of line."
I swallowed the fear that clawed up my throat, nodding slowly as his warning sank in. The man was a storm, unpredictable and destructive, and I was caught in the eye. Before he left, he jolted me up from the bed and smashed his lips on mine, running this thumb down my nose, catching my bottom lip as he pulled away .
" Best believe you're mine, bride." He smacked the side of my face and smirked as I said nothing, casting my eyes on the sheets crumpled around my body.
He left without another word, boots thudding against the floors. As I turned away from where his shadow had fallen, my gaze landed on the colossal figure suddenly guarding the entrance.
That must be Marco . His frame was all muscle, clearly outlined beneath the tight black tee stretching across his broad chest. Arms folded, tattoos snaked up his skin, telling stories of violence and loyalty in ink and blood. He was an easy 6'6 and 280 pounds. His light blue eyes were cold, calculating, missing nothing. Psycho blue, I called them. They pinned me with an intensity that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. His eyes roamed my figure as I clutched the sheets to my exposed skin. His lips curled back in a snarl, revealing a perfect row of white teeth.
Stepping closer, he stopped to pick up a shirt and some sweatpants, tossing them at me before watching me, arms crossed. His dark, touselled hair fell over his eyes, and he reached up to run a hand through it before leaning against the door and scratching the stubble on his chin. There was no escaping the dominance that rolled off him in waves, a clear signal that he was not one to be trifled with. The brute force that Marco represented was a language all its own, and it spoke of pain and punishment for those who crossed the line. With a sigh and one last look, he turned to face the hall, allowing me to dress with some semblance of privacy. Pulling on the clothes, I stood with a sigh, mumbling about needing to go get some coffee.
As I passed him, our proximity crackled with tension. My heart hammered against my ribcage. If what Hunter said was true, then I really don't stand a chance at escaping.
Hunter's absence gave me some semblance of relief, but it was quickly filled by the oppressive weight of Marco's presence, a watchful eye ensuring my compliance. This was my life now, shackled to the whims of men who saw me as nothing more than a wife to settle scores.
The mansion's cold beauty lost its luster with each step I took, and the expansive halls were nothing more than a lavish prison. I made the mistake of looking back at my guard. His eyes, cold and calculating, landed on me.
I hesitated, caught in the focus of his stare, feeling like a deer in the headlights. God , this man might be worse than my husband. Husband . The word made me want to vomit. The intensity in his gaze shifted, softened almost imperceptibly—a silent recognition of something other than hostility. Curiosity , perhaps even intrigue, flickered across his otherwise impassive features. The change was subtle, a fleeting look that vanished as quickly as it appeared, yet it spiked a curiosity of my own.
He moved then, a fluid motion that carried the weight of purpose. The air around us grew thick as I tried to back up. His approach was deliberate, his steps measured, each footfall a beat in the tense silence between us.
" ," he rumbled, voice low and gravelly, the sound of it scraping against the calm I struggled to maintain. " Marco ." He offered his name like a token, a guarded smile tugging at the corner of his lips—sharp, dangerous.
His eyes roamed, taking in the details—the fall of my hair, the tightness across my chest, straining against the shirt he threw at me, the way my hands twisted together. He leaned closer, the scent of sage and sweat enveloping me.
" Enjoying your stay?" The words were coated in mock politeness.
" Like a bird admires its cage," I replied, my voice steady despite the tumult inside.
" Smartass retorts," he grunted, a flash of teeth in a wolfish grin. " Careful , doll. Words have a way of biting back."
" Is that a promise or a warning?" I countered.
" Both ," he said, his gaze never wavering. " Hunter's not here to protect you now. Remember that. "
His words were a cold caress, a reminder of the power he wielded, the danger he posed. But beneath the menace, there was something else—a challenge, a question of allegiance and intent. Did I cower? Did I fight? Did I play the part assigned to me?
" Understood ," I murmured, meeting his stare with a defiance born of desperation. I would not break, not yet. The hope might be dimmed, but this girl still had fire.
Marco nodded once, seemingly satisfied with the flicker of spirit I dared show. He stepped back, reclaiming the distance between us, the momentary connection severed as if it had never been. And yet, something burned in that space. An electricity I couldn't- or wouldn't- explain.
With Hunter gone and another kind of darkness pressing in, I was left to navigate the treacherous waters of the Cinder Crew alone. The transformation had begun, the slow descent into a world where innocence had no place and power dictated survival.
The clink of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen, yanking me from my brooding thoughts. Sofia emerged, her presence demanding silent reverence. Her sharp features were etched from a life carved in stone—hard lines, cold steel eyes, and streaks of gray that snaked through her jet-black hair like lightning through a night sky .
" Nice to meet you, ," she said, her voice firm yet laced with an undertone that reminded me of my mother. No bullshit, no-nonsense— Sofia was the embodiment of survival, a survivor's gaze set upon me.
Her footsteps were quiet as she closed the space between us, her hands roughened by years of labor, yet they held a steadiness that betrayed her strength. She scanned me head to toe as if she could peel back the layers of my soul and see the raw fear beneath my defiance.
" Let's see what you're made of," she murmured, a ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. It wasn't comfort she offered, but something far more potent—a lifeline in a sea of chaos.
I stood still, rooted to the spot by the gravity of her scrutiny. This was no mere cook; this was a woman who'd danced with devils and lived to tell the tale—a woman who could forge me into something formidable or see me broken on the rocks of this world.
" Let's go. Time to get your hands dirty, girl," Sofia continued her tone light.
She turned, beckoning me to follow with a jerk of her head, commanding yet silent. I trailed behind her like a shadow, unsure if she was someone I could trust.
" Watch . Learn ." The words were a mantra, holy writ in the gospel, according to Sofia . As she began to knead and shape bread, I watched with genuine curiosity. Cooking and baking weren't really things I was taught growing up. We had our own version of Sofia to do everything for us.
Sofia's lesson wasn't in her words; it was in the steel of her spine, the scars that mapped her flesh, the unwavering gaze that had seen too much and flinched at nothing. She did without words, showing me what to do. Putting meat into a sizzling pan, she seasoned it with expert precision, smacking my hand when I reached for the wrong spices or made a wrong move.
" Come . I will show you the rest of the house. The bread needs to proof. That asshole surely hasn't shown you your new kingdom."
I trailed Sofia through the corridors of the mansion, the heavy scent of her musky perfume almost choking me. The clink of her sturdy shoes echoed loudly in the silence.
" Girl ," Sofia's voice was gravel, her eyes twin drills boring into me. " Loyalty , it ain't just a pretty word here. It's the blood in our veins, the air we breathe. You cross us, you bleed out, alone and forgotten."
My heart stuttered, fear lanced with the harsh truth of her words. Marco leaned against the wall, his inked arms crossed, as he watched us. His face gave nothing away. No acknowledgment of her words, no nods... nothing. He was, for all intents and purposes, a void .
" Understand this," she continued, slicing a hand through the air, " In our world, betrayal is a bullet waiting to be fired. You're either with us, or you're a target."
The mix of terror and wonder twisted my gut like barbed wire. I had intentionally stayed out of my father's affairs. I found most of what he did despicable and tried not to involve myself. Yet , here I was. The old would have recoiled and sought the sunlit paths and clear waters. But she was gone, swallowed by the abyss of the Cinder Crew .
" Adapt , or die. He made you queen, but crowns are earned, not given. Prove yourself, or you will die with the scum on the streets."
Marco cracked his neck, the sound a grotesque punctuation to Sofia's sermon. My skin crawled, but a perverse fascination took root beneath the revulsion.
" Survive ," she said, her voice a caress and a curse. " That's what we do. We survive and thrive, even when the world burns around us."
I clenched my jaw, determination coiling tight within me. This life wouldn't break me. I'd rise from sunshine to shadow and reign alongside Hunter as his dark queen. Because in the end, it wasn't just about surviving—it was about ruling the ashes left behind .
Before I could open my mouth to say something, she paused, nodding towards the cells we were in front of. Inside , a brutally beaten man was strung up. I couldn’t even make out his face. " This man was a traitor. He tried to cross Hunter , and now he will pay the price. This is your fate if you do not evolve. And I suggest you evolve quickly. Come . The bread will be done by now. We need to put it in the oven."
I perched on the edge of a steel stool in the dimly lit kitchen, the cold metal biting into my thighs through the fabric of my sweatpants. Sofia's hands moved deftly over the array of ingredients sprawled across the counter. I think she was making some kind of meat pie. It smelled divine.
" Motherfuckers at the top don't got a heart, ," she said, not looking up from her task of dicing tomatoes, her blade slamming down with conviction. " They got a throne, and thrones need asses that don't flinch at gutting traitors."
" Then how do you know who to trust?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm brewing within me.
" Trust ? That's a luxury." She scoffed, chucking the mutilated tomato into a pot. " You rely on fear and fuckin' loyalty. You keep your eyes open, your wits sharp, and your hand ready to strike. "
" Tell me about Hunter ," I demanded, the name like gravel on my tongue. " Why is he... the way he is?"
Sofia paused, her gaze lifting to meet mine. For a moment, the hardened lines of her face softened, and it was as if I glimpsed another woman entirely—one who had known love and loss in equal measure.
" Life dealt him a fucked-up hand," she began, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken stories. " He saw his old man take a bullet between the eyes when he was just a kid. He deserved it. Kid fucker was a monster, and no one had the balls to put him down until Hunter . The boy was fifteen years old. Youngest Cinder Crew Don in the history of the company. Since then, he's been fighting to stay on top, making damn sure no one can pull that trigger on him."
" Even if it means becoming the monster himself?" I probed, my pulse racing with an odd mix of dread and admiration.
" Especially then," she replied, turning back to her cutting board. " In our world, you're either the predator or the goddamn prey. Hunter chose to be the biggest, baddest son of a bitch out there."
The brutality of her words should have repelled me, but they didn't. Instead , they struck a chord deep inside, resonating with a part of me I didn't know existed—my own hunger for dominance.
" Survival ain't pretty, and it sure as hell ain't kind," Sofia continued, seasoning the bubbling pot with a heavy hand. " But it's the game we play. And if you wanna sit beside him on that throne, , you gotta be willing to get your hands dirty."
My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms until they ached. I was no stranger to dirt. But this... this was a lot.
" Teach me," I said, the words slicing through the quiet. " Teach me how to survive, how to thrive. Teach me to rule."
And as Sofia nodded, her lips curling into a knowing smile, I realized I was already learning. Learning that sometimes, even the sun has to set to let the darkness reign.
T he shadows crept longer across the marble floor. I stood at the vast window, my reflection hauntingly pale in the glass—a ghost of the girl I once was. The landscape outside lay tranquil, a contrast to the turmoil churning within me .
Sofia's words echoed in my mind, a litany of survival and power. They seared into my consciousness, igniting a spark that flared with the waning daylight. The uncertainty that once flooded my veins now simmered with an ember of resolve.
" Time to learn the ropes, ," Marco had said earlier, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. His muscular frame loomed in the doorway. " Hunter expects you to handle shit when he's not around."
As darkness swallowed the last light, the weight of his expectation settled heavily on my shoulders. I turned from the window, the reflection of the queen I was becoming staring back at me with eyes of smoldering coal. I didn't ask for this life. But I had two choices: do or die. And by God , I still had so much to live for, even if it didn't include a marriage of love.
Footsteps approached, deliberate and slow.
" ," Sofia's voice cut through the silence, sharp and clear. Her presence commanded attention, her figure outlined by the flickering candles. " It's time."
Time for what? The question hung in the air, thick with implication. A test, perhaps. An initiation.
I followed her, each step echoing ominously through the halls, past rooms where whispered secrets and concealed weapons were commonplace. We stopped at the door, its surface cold and unyielding beneath my touch.
" Behind this door lies your future," Sofia stated, her eyes piercing into mine. They held a challenge, a dare to step forward or retreat into the safety of ignorance.
My hand pressed down on the handle, the metal biting into my flesh as I pushed the door open. A gust of air, laden with the scent of iron and sweat, rushed out to greet me.
Inside was a tableau of the mafia's underbelly—men with faces hard as the guns they brandished, their gazes sharp and assessing. A circle of power, and at its center, a chair that seemed more like a throne than a simple piece of furniture.
" Take a seat," Sofia gestured, her tone brokering no argument. " Observe . Learn ."
The room fell silent as I moved forward, each eye tracking my progress. Settling into the chair, I felt the ghost of Hunter's presence, the echo of his dominance. The men shifted, uneasy under the scrutiny of their boss's new queen. Marco stood behind me, his presence almost as impossible to ignore as the current that still thrummed between us.
The air was thick with the promise of violence. These were the challenges that lay ahead—navigating the treacherous waters of loyalty and power, where one misstep could mean drowning in blood.
" How the hell can we trust the daughter of The Black Hands ?" One man spat, his one good eye resting on my face as his glass eye rolled to the right.
" Hunter has requested she see what happens at the council meetings. If you don't like it, feel free to leave." Sofia's voice was like ice. Who the hell was this woman that she commanded so much respect?
" Why the fuck is the cook here. Marco , get rid of this woman." He said again before spitting on the floor before Sofia's feet.
In a flash, Marco was in front of him, slicing into his neck with a knife that had serrated edges. He didn't stop until his head was parted from his body. " Anybody else has any stupid fucking questions?" He said as he kicked the head into the corner of the room, not blinking an eye at the blood that was pooling all over the documents on the table.
" No ... no, sir." The men stuttered, collecting their thoughts. They began to speak, and all of their plans and plots sounded foreign to me. I listened in relative confusion.
Hunter's absence was a void, but it was also an opportunity—an opening to prove my worth, to claim my place. If nothing else, my father had taught me to be shrewd. It was the part of me I hated the most. Being able to manipulate people and sway them according to the outcome I desired. Now ... I was grateful. As much as I'd wanted to stay away from this world... it had found me and would consume me if I didn't teach it how to submit to me first.
So , here in this meeting that pulsed with the heartbeat of the underworld, I began to mold myself into the queen Hunter Desmond required, the ruler that New Mexico would come to revere—or fear.