You're going to play the game.

If your boyfriend, however adorable he may be, can't protect you, and your ex-boyfriend is an even worse horror show than you thought him to be, then you'll have to protect yourself.

There are a few ways. A girl like you, with those looks and these brains, with your detailed knowledge of financial laws, and some help from Sarah and Alice, both extremely good in their own fields, could definitely find ways to get ****. Guys like Brad don't just appear out of thin air, and families like his don't make, or keep, fortunes like theirs without playing it fast and loose with either the law or the Tax Office.

You could dig for juicy data and ruin him. You could slowly worm yourself into his most secure possessions and plant some damning evidence, in fact. You could ruin him and send him behind bars. You're not sure if you want to, but after taking advantage of you and attempting to get you pregnant against your will, not to mention the humiliating day you just endured, you're not sure you don't want him to spend a few years getting that big cock fondled by larger guys.

You could use the humiliation you've suffered as an incentive to use your body to get to someone strong and powerful, someone like Bartolomeo Camillo, the definitely-not-crime-boss of the city. Camillo was known for many things, from lavish parties to the terror he induced in people, or the absolute disinterest the local police demonstrated towards his many "businesses", but he was mostly known for the brutal way his enforcers dealt with anyone who mistreated a woman he was showing even a sliver of interest in, or he decided he ought to "protect". He was a terrifying mafioso, that was quite clear, but he was also living within a strict set of rules. You couldn't really reconcile that with the fact he was said to operate most brothels and strip bars within the city, but literally everyone in town knew an anecdote.

Like the time the firefighters had to go and helicopter-carry a guy, every bone in his body broken, who'd been strapped up to the rococo pediment of the Anglican Church on 5th street.

A sentence was carved into his body, word after word, starting on the top of his chest.

MAY

GOD

HAVE

MERCY

ON

YOU

FOR

I

WILL

NOT.

The picture surfaced, once in a while, on the Internet. The penultimate word was etched right upwards of the penis.

The last word, though, had been burned through the balls. Very literally. This was a man who wasn't quite the same man anymore.

Apparently, the man had broken into a house where an old Sicilian lady had her grand-daughter over for the weekend. There were whispers about the story, but you knew very well breaking in wasn't the reason for the punishment he'd been dealt.

Bartolomeo Camillo was also known for broken noses, broken legs, broken jaws, broken arms... he often let his enforcers clean things for him, but there were rumours that he sometimes played the dance himself. A true predator.

You weren't sure if you were willing to play that card, but you knew that if someone in this city was capable of annihilating people like Brad without thinking a second about it, it was Camillo.

You could also, simply, do him a "favor". There was one person Brad really feared, and for all the boisterousness and the spending and the posturing, you knew he'd fold like a card castle if you played that card. You'd dated him for a while, after all. You'd met his family twice. You'd always known his parents did not consider you an acceptable match, but as long as you'd been enamoured of the git, you'd been willing to overlook what you'd seen as his only flaw. Foolish you. He was so much worse. Damn. Anyway, his father wasn't really an interesting person. A true moral-less businessman, he'd seemed to you to be made of a weird mix of slime, muscles, crazy white teeth and expensive clothes. He'd fit the decor, and that was all. The person who really irradiated power was the wife, Brad's mother. An idea crossed your mind. Maybe, in the end, Brad kept trying to fight this mother figure that came down on you like an Everest-sized tsunami... it certainly would explain the power trips and the domination he kept trying to exert on women. You caught the ghost sneer on your lips and shuddered. Was that contagious... were you turning into female Brad? Terrifying thought.

Brad's mother was therefore an option. You knew you'd easily get an audience if you worded your request properly, and you were entirely certain that if she realised that his son had willingly tried to impregnate a young woman, one gifted with a Law education... he'd most likely lose that penthouse, that nice car, and possibly have to get to work for the first time in his life. The lady had Big Plans for her son. She made mental note. It was of the utmost importance to make things extremely clear. She wasn't interested in Brad, she was furious that he had played her, and all that she cared for was her Law career. Those were words that would carry meaning to Brad's parents and make them her allies, at least for as long as she refused him. She smiled suddenly. Or as long as she didn't make Partner at her firm. It was, obviously, quite unlikely, but you never knew. She was good, very good, and the company was by far the best in town. Partners were definitely among the most powerful people in the city. The most powerful men, regrettably, in the city.

Well, being a Partner was fantasy. Getting even with Brad was a goal.