CHAPTER ONE

Stacy's POV

I missed another opportunity to get a job. Even when I had a smiley face on, my shirt and skirt were crisp and smooth. My makeup is lightly done.

One that wasn't going to have the female employees wondering if I've gone to steal the favor of their superior and colleagues, or one a female superior would disagree with.

I made sure I did everything right, but the moment I heard the man say with a weak smile,

"I'm really sorry,"

I needed no further explanations. A vacancy I had well applied for. An interview I earned. 

How was another candidate suddenly given the bag just yesterday? I thought on my way home as the afternoon sun hit my face. “Thank goodness I reused my sunscreen before leaving home.” I said to myself.

I could see my mom trailing down the stairs, and I knew her hawk eyes, firm but gentle, were gawking at me from where I sat down. 

I fought back the tears in my eyes, preparing to pretend all was okay. I couldn't bring myself to her. I have failed again; I don’t know what to do again.

I was staring down at my phone before I realized she was already standing before me. I pretended whatever it was I didn’t know about it.

Staring at my phone made it so oblivious she was now standing there, but what I wasn't prepared for was when she crouched down, her hands on my knees, her face warm and her eyes tender, telling me that everything was going to be fine.

Perhaps, I needed not to lie. I couldn't hold back the tears at that moment, and I crashed my head into my mom's embrace, soaking her dress with my tears.

"You will get another one," she said as she patted my shoulders gently, but I could tell she was only saying that to console me.

"What makes you so sure?" I asked between sniffles, trying to get myself together. 

She smiled, "I just know so, and as for those people, they can shove their appointment up their asses!"

I burst into a fit of laughter, “Mom!” and I could tell she just wanted to cheer me up from the way she smiled back.

In a few seconds, the somber feeling clouds my expression, and I rested my head on her shoulders.

“I just want to give us a better life, Mom. Am I not old and conscious enough to do that?”

“Look at you speaking like all you do is sit home and play video games!” she frowns,

“You step out there all day, seeking out every opportunity available. Hell, you were the one who made me understand the modern way of writing CV's and applying for jobs via emails.”

“You made me a critique of how well you composed your application letters, how well your choice of dresses looked, that alone should remind you, my girl, you are doing more than enough.”

“No, I'm not.” I whisper, and another stream of tears comes pouring down.

“My poor girl”, I heard the hurt in her voice as she embraced me tightly.

“It would have not been this difficult if Joe had never been around,” I mutter, and I knew my mom heard it when she went rigid beside me. 

We remained silent for a few more seconds, and in that little moment, I knew whatever she was going to say as always was only meant to comfort me. I knew a part of her still blamed me for Joe. Still blamed me for what happened after Joe.

“Well,” she sighed, pulling me away from her so I was facing her, “I don't think you would have considered saving up that much if Joe hadn't suggested making an investment into your culinary skills”

“Joe had offered to support you, and no one would have known he had ulterior motives. Joe happened because it was meant to.”

“It's up to us to decide how we want to continue writing the story after Joe.” She said with a playful wink, and in no time, I was smiling.

“Let's get you something to eat,” she chirped as she stood up from the sofa.

“No. Mom …”  I tried protesting, but I knew I had lost the battle right before it began when the clatter of a plate against the kitchen counter filled the atmosphere. 

My mind wandered far to the most recent application I had submitted to a restaurant; my last resort. I wasn't religious, but at that moment, I folded my hands and whispered a prayer.

Marcelo's POV

I restrained myself from slamming the door hard when I stepped outside, my fists clenched into tight fists.

A playful smirk danced over the lips of Cathy; my best friend but I wasn't in the mood to entertain her jokes. It didn't stop her from trying though.

“You look more handsome when you frown, kittie,” she called out the name she used when she wanted to tease me, locking her arms around mine.

“Don't call me that,” I growled, taking a turn for the elevators. Cathy cackled, obviously aware of what had transpired in my father's office.

“You should go,” she whispered as soon as we walked into the elevator. “Really.”

I stared at her, my brows arched. “Are you being serious right now? What part of my father's treacherous plans are you a part of?”

She held up her hands on surrender, “Whoa, whoa, take it easy there comrade.”  she chuckled. 

“I knew for a fact your father had informed Nick to prepare for your arrival and a place to stay in Chicago. Trust your dad to be the master at getting what he wants.”

“Well, I can't always give him what he wants. What he wants is destroying my life. My goals. My future.”

“For heaven's sake, this company he's seeking out for in Chicago cannot be trusted! How can they possibly have a prototype for a project Sandstone Constructions is seeking to buy?”

“Did you just say Sandstone?” Cathy asked, her jaw dropped.

“Exactly. I hate The Raven more than my father does, but there are limits to the lengths we go to expert revenge.”

Cathy sighed, her exhale reverberating in the calm of the elevator's atmosphere. “Mr. Jones did lose a lot on that day,” she whispered, avoiding my gaze.

Flashes of a memory, year old, skidded across my mind, and I could feel my scarred heart erupting in pain. "I lost something too," I said bitterly.

The elevator doors chimed as it slid open, but it was too late for me to read the expression on Cathy's face when she pushed me so hard my back crashed against the elevator walls.

“Get down!” She yelled as she pulled out a pistol, her screams immediately countered by gunshots.

We were under attack.