SIN
My heels clicked against the cold, imported marble of the hallway…a rhythmic, solitary sound of command. The guards immediately recognized the sound and snapped the double doors open. They knew not to waste my time. I stepped into Father's opulent office, where the stench of stale ambition and old money hung heavy.
Inside, seated at the massive mahogany table, were my so-called mother and sister…my stepmother and stepsister. They were not blood, and their presence here was a daily, pointed insult at me.
My real mother died giving birth to me. I never saw the woman. She chose me over her own survival, a decision that left a crater in Father's heart that he blamed me for filling. A decision that has made my life more hellish than it would have been if I were just dead.
Ignoring the stares from the entire board…the gathered Capos and advisors…I walked straight to my seat. I didn't greet anyone. I didn't rate anyone. No one here warranted my effort. I took my place. My seat.
"Father." I gave a minimal bow toward the head of the table.
He didn't reply…not even a nod or a cleared throat. He remained a statue of ice. No surprise there; I was a perpetual condemnation.
A bad luck. A disease.
That's what he saw me as. That's why he gave me the name I carry: Sin. Yes…that's my name. My legal, fucking name.
He had loved my mother with an intensity that meant he could burn the world down around her if she asked for it. He would have given her the stars. He kissed the ground she walked on and killed anyone who dared step on her shadow.
From stories I've heard, he wasn't present when she made the choice to save me instead of herself. And now he blames me for the vacancy in his life every single day. He looks at me like I'm the killer. Like I killed the only thing that mattered in his life. But one question he has failed to ask himself is: I wasn't the one who told them to fuck one faithful evening to produce me. I didn't ask for this. I never asked them for any of this.
Since childhood, I tried everything to prove I was more than the disease he believed me to be…but with every attempt, he only withdrew further. Eventually, I stopped caring too.
Now? I don't give a fuck about this family's name or its legacy. I'd burn it all to the ground for the aesthetic alone. But no one…no one…is taking my inheritance. Especially not the bitch sitting across from me, the one he pretends is my sister.
"Stepmother," I said, giving her a small, mocking bow.
Father always warned me to call her Mother. I did once, dutifully, until I got old enough to understand the politics of hate. To understand the world. And one day, I stopped. I stopped pretending the day I realized her malice wasn't going to kill me.
"Sin," she replied with that familiar, brittle smirk tugging her lips. She always mocked my name; it brought her genuine joy that a father could brand his daughter so cruelly.
"You look tired," she cooed, tilting her head. "Almost like you had a very stressful, very active night."
They all knew I ran the largest luxury flesh market in the city. They all knew where I spent my nights. I chuckled, letting a slow, provocative smile curve my lips as I locked eyes with her before turning to the fake, red-headed whore he called my stepsister. "Stepsister."
"Hello, big sister." She bowed back, matching my calculated smirk, trying to project a power she didn't possess.
I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs with an aggressive movement of silk. I glanced toward the board members. "So… can we start, or do we need more foreplay?"
***
There was a round of weak applause as they all glanced at each other, their faces reading disappointment. I'm never appreciated when Father is in the room. They withhold respect in his presence, but they know better than to cross me when he's not around. Not after the last time.
"Is that all you could find out?"
Father's voice finally cut through the air. It wasn't loud, but it had the weight of a falling mountain. He didn't even look at me. I can't even remember the last time he looked at my face longer than a minute. He spoke to the air in front of him as if I were a ghost haunting his office.
I didn't care about their dull faces. "The Ricci still play by the old game," I said, pacing slowly now, owning the center of the room. "Their strategies haven't changed. Their sons are spoiled, predictable fucking fools…maybe one, Matteo, is beginning to take shape, but even he's stupid in his own right."
"I'm not asking about those bastards you climb on top of for fun," he snapped flatly. His eyes remained fixed on the far wall, cold and unmoving. "I'm talking business-wise."
A ripple of nervous, crude laughter spread around the table. The Capos only dared to laugh because the Don had opened the door for it.
I chuckled as I scoffed, meeting his eyes… or trying to. "I thought you liked me fucking those high bastards. That's precisely how I get information to this place…information none of these high men would even tell their priests, anyway."
"Sin."
His warning was a sharp, final note. He didn't move a muscle, but the air in the room grew thin, heavy with the threat of his sudden, explosive violence. I ignored it.
"How many of you sitting here can offer something useful beyond your fucking laughs?" I swept my gaze over the table. "The Ricci and the Caruso keep living by the same old rules…the same shipping routes, the same money laundering, the same predictable violence. It's fucking boring. Tiring, even. It's holding both sides back. And that's why we need to think ahead…stop running in circles with those geriatric bastards. We should be three decades ahead of them."
"Don Caruso, may I speak?" A middle-aged capo named Viti raised his hand with manufactured deference.
Father gave a single, curt nod. "You may."
"Forgive me, Sin," Viti said, that mocking smirk clear on his face, eyes lingering on my body. I made a mental note to personally wipe that smirk off his skull soon enough. "Sin, you say we should think ahead of the Ricci. Think beyond their strategies. But how exactly do we do that? Certainly, it can't be by fucking every source you come across."
He looked at me, a smirk on his lips, his stare not breaking. A low wave of coarse laughter spread around the table, emboldened by my father's silence. I chuckled, because he knows he can't do this when Father is absent…he'd just be asking for his death by then.
"Thanks for the question, Viti," I said coolly, stopping directly in front of him. "And no, it's not by fucking everyone. Besides," my eyes went down, "I doubt you're capable of doing anything that strenuous. From the look of things, you've got a small fucking weenie and the cardio to match."
"What did you just say?" He slammed his hand on the table, rising halfway to his feet, enraged.
"Why get angry? I haven't even given you the full analysis."
"Don Caruso!" he turned to my father, sputtering.
"Sin, stop this fucking mess."
Father's command was like a physical blow. He finally shifted his weight, the leather of his chair creaking like a warning. But I'm not that little girl anymore who cowers at the sound of his voice; now I'm the fucking monster he claims me to be.
I laughed, low and dark. "A few seconds ago, you insinuated that I sleep my way to the top."
"I never said that, Sin."
I smirked, leaning in close. "We both know you were. And to answer your original question: No, it's not by fucking anyone. There are far better, cleaner ways to expand this business…ways that involve logistics and future markets, not cheap territory grabs. You're just too dumb…or rather too lazy, to think of them."
"Yeah, well," he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear, his fear giving way to toxic masculinity, "we aren't fucking anyone like you."
The table chuckled again, louder this time. I stood still, letting the anger rise from deep inside me…slow, burning, crawling under my skin like fire. Their cheap laughter echoed through my skull. My fingers twitched, not against my thigh, but against the hidden steel at my boot. I could almost see the blood painting the ornate walls.
And suddenly, I pulled the razor-sharp stiletto dagger from my boot, moving too fast for human eyes to track. I threw it…a clean, violent extension of my will. It sliced the air, the polished steel glinting once, hitting the wall with a sickening thunk just inches from his head.
The room went dead silent. Viti flinched violently, his breath coming out in a shaky gasp, tears pricking his eyes. I tilted my head, my eyes dead, examining the dagger buried deep in the wall.
"Sin!"
My father didn't just speak…he slammed his hand on the table with the force of a thunderclap. He stood up slowly, a towering shadow of absolute authority. The sheer power radiating from him was enough to make other Capos stop breathing. His eyes, dark and murderous, finally locked onto mine.
"Hmm," I said, my voice calm, almost meditative, staring back into the abyss of his gaze.
"Next time, Viti, you won't be so lucky," I said, his body trembling visibly. I didn't break eye contact with my father as I spoke. "Don't confuse my fucking with my killing. The latter is far more efficient."