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The sound of the scissors slicing through my long hair is both terrifying and exciting. I grip the sides of the salon chair, watching thick strands of hair fall away in the mirror’s reflection.
For years, my hair has been a security blanket. Countless hours have been spent carefully tending to my hair, styling it into elegant twists for fancy events. My hair is a part of my identity, or so I thought.
But as I watch Richard’s deft hands shear away the remnants of my past life, I feel something shifting in me. With each snip of the scissors, a weight is lifted from my shoulders.
The shadow of my former life—the scared, meek girl who allowed everyone to speak for me—begins to dissipate.
My reflection in the mirror slowly changes until a stranger stares back at me. This woman has a bouncy, shoulder-length bob that frames her face in feathery wisps at her jaw. Her hazel eyes, no longer hidden behind thick curtains of hair, sparkle with reinvention.
A farewell tear slips down my cheek as my fingers toy with my new, shoulder-length style. Remnants of who I used to be flutter to the floor, scattered at my feet.
“Ta-da!” Richard sings, spinning the chair to face the mirror head-on. “What do you think?”
Damian and Nat’s faces appear in the mirror along with mine.
“Wow,” Nat remarks to Damian. “With this new look, Alexis bears a striking resemblance to our cousin, Maria.”
My lips curve into a slow smile as I stare at my appearance. I was really hesitant when Damian insisted I needed to cut my hair, but I’m seeing that this was an excellent idea.
“I love it,” I whisper, touching my black, shoulder-length curls. This was more than just a haircut. It was cutting ties with my past so I can brave the great unknown of my future.
10
DAMIAN
Ishoulder my way through the thick oak doors, the scents of Cuban cigars and aged whiskey enveloping me. As I enter the study, my men rise to their feet out of respect.
With a curt nod, I wave for them to remain seated and pour myself a drink from the crystal decanter. Taking my customary chair by the fireplace, my mind isn’t on family business for once. Instead, my thoughts drift to a certain curly haired woman living in my home.
Alexis. Just her name alone is a dangerous distraction I can’t seem to avoid, no matter how much I try. The curly-haired siren intrigues me like no other, but her past remains a mystery to me. Who is she?
I’ve had my best men discreetly dig into her background. So far, all they’ve been able to come up with is that she has a deceased mother, was placed in foster care, and worked at Cake My Day bakery. That bit of information surprised me as I love to go there and get their donuts. I wonder if I’ve ever interacted with her and just didn’t know it?
But she has no other family and no friends to speak of. Her guarded nature only raises more questions. She is an enigma—one that increasingly occupies my thoughts. Alexis is as ordinary as they come. So, why is The Brotherhood determined to have her?
I hate this. I am not used to being so utterly in the dark about anything or anyone who steps foot on my property.
A soft clearing of a throat makes me raise my eyes to meet Edo’s questioning gaze from across the study. Right, I’m supposed to be focused on business dealings right now.
I force my mind away from Alexis, drowning my fascination with a steadying sip of whiskey. There will be time later to unearth Alexis’s secrets.
“You know, if you want to know more about Alexis, you should just ask her.”
Whirling around, I spy an amused Nat leaning against a nearby wall, her lips curled up in a smirk.
“Fuck off,” I snarl, wondering how much Nat had overheard. I’ve been making casual inquiries with the staff about Alexis’s preferences and routines. So far, I’ve learned she likes to practice yoga early in the morning, hates bananas, and has a huge sweet tooth.
Nat snorts and pushes away from the wall, walking over to me. “I’m just saying. For a Mafia Don, you’re pretty shitty at being inconspicuous.”
To my horror, heat creeps up my neck. I fix Nat with a withering look. “Don’t you have something more important to do than harassing me?”
“Nope,” Nat says casually, popping the ‘p’, an annoyingly smug grin on her face. “But I gotta say, it’s really cute watching you trying to get information about her. By the way, she also likes to paint.”
My jaw nearly drops at this new kernel of information. “How did you find that out?”
She shrugs. “I asked her.” Nat’s laughter is insufferable as she saunters away, humming an Elton John love song.
If I could tie my sister up and dump her into Lake Michigan, I would.
