Ruler

By Sarah Rudolph

At the age of twenty three, Julia Ricardo is lost. Her dream job of being an investigative reporter crashed and burned, with her job now being only to write fluff pieces. She lost her boyfriend and is starting to lose her family. After a hard day at work, her older brother calls her up and tells her their grandfather is in town and wants to see Julia. Julia's mother never talked about her life before moving to Malibu, and the grandparents never made any contact with the family during Julia’s childhood. When Julia arrives at her old home, she learns that her grandfather is a king of a small kingdom named LockHill. LockHill needed an heir and Julia needed a change. But when she arrives in LockHill, instead of everything being in place; she is faced with two obstacles. One, a family that wants to be ruler of LockHill and take it away from her grandfather. They will do anything to get it. And two, their son Harry. Harry craves adventure along with getting closer to Julia. He has many tricks up his sleeves, every one of them bringing the two of them closer together. From rides on his motorcycle to dips on the dance floor, Julia can’t help falling for the man she can’t have.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781664290426

Sarah Rudolph

Sarah Rudolph is a Junior at Highland High School in Southeast Idaho. While she juggles the ups and downs of being a teenager, Sarah is a yearbook editor for her high school. In the summer of 2022, the high school yearbook team and Sarah placed first in the overall competition at Utah State University. She also has won in an AKC Hunt Test with her black lab, Cottonwood's Sky Rocket. She trains her black lab not only for AKC Hunt tests but also to go duck hunting with her Dad and Grandpa. She is a member of her high school’s Creative Writing Club, with writing being her first love. She writes nonstop in her spare time. Her writing style draws you in, with the characters leaping out of the pages. They become your best friends or your worst nightmares.

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Copyright © 2023 Sarah Rudolph.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-9043-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-9044-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-9042-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023901348

WestBow Press rev. date: 01/26/2023

CONTENTS

Character List

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1 The Story

Chapter 2 Problems and Old Wounds

Chapter 3 The Truth

Chapter 4 Family Dinner

Chapter 5 The New Beginning

Chapter 6 Rules and Motorcycles

Chapter 7 The Village

Chapter 8 Lies and Contracts

Chapter 9 The Tutor

Chapter 10 Sticky Situations

Part Two

Chapter 11 The Wishing Well

Chapter 12 Feelings and pictures

Chapter 13 The Magazine

Chapter 14 Interviews and Pools

Chapter 15 The Big Apple

Chapter 16 Pasts and Mistakes

Chapter 17 The First Day

Chapter 18 Questions and the City

Chapter 19 The Black Eye

Chapter 20 Family Reunions

Part Three

Chapter 21 The Mystery

Chapter 22 One Day Left

Chapter 23 The Start

Chapter 24 Puppy Love

Chapter 25 The Ball Part One

Chapter 26 The Ball Part Two

Chapter 27 Royalty and Invites

Chapter 28 The First Date

Chapter 29 Decisions and Seafood

Chapter 30 The Goodbyes

Part Four

Chapter 31 A Month

Chapter 32 The Answer

Chapter 33 Knockouts and Big News

Chapter 34 The Accident

Chapter 35 Broken Bones and Preparation

Chapter 36 The Count Down

Chapter 37 Dresses and Movies

Chapter 38 The Lovers

Chapter 39 Wedding Bells

Chapter 40 The Right Time

Epilogue

CHARACTER LIST

Main Characters;

Julia Ricardo

Harry King

George LockHill

Gracie Ricardo

Christy King

Antonio Barato

Jenna Renaud

Side Characters;

Anna LockHill

Sadie Evans

Rory Evans

Florence Bottomweather

Daisy King

Bill King

Bustle Cheat

Cleopatra Nails

Dia Ricardo

Henry Ricardo

Jayden Ricardo

Sebastian Ricardo

Peter Ricardo

Lindsey Ricardo

Axel King (German Shepherd)

Duchess LockHill (Harlequin Great Dane)

Jackie Perez

Isabella Barato

Minor Characters;

Miss Ollie Wendy Lorraine Jam

Hope Jam

Howard Tackle

Serra Rudolf

PROLOGUE

"Dear Mr. Bezz,

If you’re reading this letter, it means one of two things. One, it means that the job was successful, which you shouldn’t have doubted at all because RM always gets the job done. Unlike you. Two, you owe RM money for that said job. Now, I’m not asking for a lot … … … … Wait, never mind I am. You owe the RM 3 million dollars. In cash. No credit cards and no checks. Only cash. Now, I know that you are a sly businessman. I mean, you would have to be one to come to the RM for help. So, if you don’t pay the 3 million dollars by Valentine’s Day … Well, let’s just say you won’t just be getting chocolates from your wife. Oh, am I scaring you Mr. Bezz? Boo-hoo, go cry me a river Mr. Bezz … … … … And I’m sorry if I find myself crude, but you know the saying. Crude men make crueler criminals.

From: RM"

My heart drummed throughout my ears, as I re-read the letter twice. Excitement buzzed all around me, as I glanced down to the letter in my hands. This is all I need! This is what I need to nail Mr. Bezz into jail forever! A month ago, I would have laughed if I saw this letter. January wasn’t really the month for me, but that didn’t matter … February, Valentine’s Day especially is the month and the day for me. Wait a minute … Who’s the RM in the letter? The records on Mr. Bezz never show anything about a RM … The only thing that the records of Mr. Bezz show are that he married an actress, and they have a toddler together … Nothing about the RM … Did I miss something in the letter? I re-read the letter a few more times, my eyes scanning for a clue. For all I know, the RM could be a financing company … Wait, today is Valentine’s Day … Which means, that the RM should be here shortly … Which means I’ll be able to get my proof for my story … Oh, if Bustle could see me now!

My rocky boyfriend Bustle would have been so proud of me, he may actually give me a kiss on the head. He may even take me out to …

"Please, please, please don’t do this! I’m an innocent man, I’m telling you!"

Can it Bezz.

Mr. Bezz’s sharp high-pitched voice stopped my thoughts of Bustle in their tracks, the voice buzzing throughout the air. It’s about time! I folded the letter neatly before I stuffed it into my jean’s pocket. I quietly opened the shut door, the door barely even creaking. I crouched down to my knees, crab walking to the railing. From my position, I could easily see the whole floor of the factory. Let’s just hope that they can’t see me. Aside from Mr. Bezz, there were at least four burly men. The men looked like they would crush ten soda pop cans against their heads before they did pushups. The burly men were wearing black and white tuxes, a red tie splashing against the white shirt. Pistols hung from their belt; secured into holsters. Fedora hats were sitting on top of their head, a red feather sticking out from the side.

The last man was standing in the middle, the man running his fingers over the barrel of his pistol. My eyes focused on the man in the middle, watching as the man’s muscles tensed up and then relaxed. By the way he’s standing in the group … He may be the leader. The man in the middle was taller than the rest of the men, and he seemed to present himself with class.

Click. Click. Click. The sound of handcuffs clicking shut on Mr. Bezz’s hands echoed throughout the factory.

"Please, begged Mr. Bezz, his eyes frantically searching for someone kind. I’m innocent. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but whatever I did, I’m telling you, I didn’t mean to!"

Innocent? Oh, I hardly find that right.

A new voice crackled through the air, the voice sending a shiver down my spine. The voice came from the entrance of the factory, belonging to the gentlemen strolling towards the group and Mr. Bezz.

Unlike the burly men, this man was more … proper than the rest of them. He was wearing the same outfit as the rest of the mafia, except his tie was a magenta color. The fedora was dipped slightly down, the lip of the hat casting a shadow over his caramel skin. Three feathers were sticking out of his hat, all three of them blood red. Unlike the rest of the men, this man didn’t have any weapons. Strange … You would think that he would carry a weapon. What type of thug is he?

The man with no weapon stopped right beside the man in the middle.

"¿El cooperó?"asked the man with no weapon.

"Sí señor" responded the man in the middle.

So, they both speak Spanish … I should have taken that Spanish class in high school … I watched as the no weapon man and the man in the middle talked in Spanish, the two of them speaking as fluent as a river flowing.

Frustration was pricking at my skin, as I listened to the conversation. Oh, come on … Say something in English for once!

You know if you really want to scare me, just talk in English, snarled Mr. Bezz, lunging forward in the chair. Then I could at least understand what you’re saying!

The man with no weapon raised an eyebrow at Mr. Bezz, while the one in the middle started to toy with his pistol.

Not right now Julio..

But boss-

"I said not right now." growled the man with no weapon, whirling to face the man called Julio.

The man with no weapon glared at Julio for what seemed like forever, before Julio forced his pistol back in its hostler. Okay … So the man with no weapon is the boss … The boss of what, I have no clue. The boss man started to make his way towards Mr. Bezz, and Mr. Bezz started to straighten up.

"You knew this day was coming Mr. Bezz. You knew that one day RM would catch up to you."

The boss man stopped ten feet away from Mr. Bezz, the man’s eyes glued to Mr. Bezz.

The RM? What’s the RM?

The boss man sighed heavily, before he snapped his fingers. Like trained dog, Julio was at his side. This time with a black suitcase. CLICK! The boss man opened the case, pulling out a syringe. Don’t think about the needle. Don’t open your eyes. Even just thinking about shots was enough to do me over. When I was a little girl and was about to get a shot, I held my breath until I passed out so I wouldn’t get a shot.

My eyes flickered open when Mr. Bezz started to talk.

What was that? yelled Mr. Bezz.

"That my dear reckless friend, is something that I cooked up myself. It’s a version of truth serum … But, it’s more … deadly."

Truth serum? How can truth serum be deadly?

Every bone in my body was telling me to run, but I didn’t want to. No … I need to stay … I need to see how this plays out … I need to. Swiftly and quietly, I pulled out my phone from my back pocket. I entered my password, before I hit record. This is just the evidence I need … Come on boss man … Put on a show for me …

Truth serum won’t work on me! cried Mr. Bezz.

The boss man let out a laugh, the man’s laugh even having his accent mixed in there. The rest of the gang started to laugh, and soon the factory was buzzing with laughter. WHOOSH! The boss man held up his hand, the man silencing the whole factory.

The boss man cleared his throat, before he started to talk.

Now, Mr. Bezz this is how it’s going to work. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you have two options, gushed the boss man, waving his hand in the air. You can either cooperate and tell me the truth … Or, you’ll find out what happens when you lie with my version of truth serum.

Mr. Bezz stiffened up, keeping his mouth shut for once. Mr. Bezz was known for always babbling on, the man being the equivalent to a gossip girl.

Now … Did you or did you not ask for my help three months ago?

Yes, I did.

What did you need help with?

For a moment, Mr. Bezz hesitated. Oh, come on … You’re really going to lie, on the second question Mr. Bezz? If you want to lie, lie on the last question … Or the fourth, or the fifth … Not the second … Big baby … The boss man must have seen the hesitation like me, as his lips curled into a delightful smile.

Go ahead Mr. Bezz. Talk your tale of the ‘innocent’ man.

I … I asked you to help me with … My daughter’s birthday party …

My hands started to shake, my heart beating slightly faster. Deep breaths Julia. You’re safe up here … They can’t hurt you when they can’t see you.

What … happened to me? What did you do?

I forced myself to open my eyes, staring at Mr. Bezz’s tomato red face.

I told you before Mr. Bezz. My truth serum is deadly.

But what is happening to me? What is in this serum?

A little bird told me that you have heart problems, snarled the boss man, leaning in towards Mr. Bezz. The secret, to making this serum, is using something that accelerates the heart. Every time you lie, you will just be hurting yourself. So, I would suggest that you stop lying and start answering truthfully.

Panic slid across Mr. Bezz’s face and I couldn’t blame him. He had been plucked from an ordinary day of work and was now surrounded by burly men in a mafia. Let’s just hope that he doesn’t read my article when it comes out … My thoughts trailed off as I noticed Mr. Bezz’s eyes staring in my direction. The boss man moved in front of Mr. Bezz, blocking his path. He couldn’t have possibly have seen me? Right?

Now … Let’s try this again, shall we … Why did you call me three months ago, begging me to help you?

I needed your help with the factory.

More detail.

We were out of funds; we were going bankrupt … I needed some way to get money fast.

Atta boy, said the boss man, the boss’s man accent starting to weaken. Now … Tell me, before you hired me you had some money in your pockets, yes?

Mr. Bezz just nodded his head.

Where did you get the money.

I … I got it from my ban … …

My skin crawled as the air tightened like a tin can. You should help him … Get their attention … Distract them so he can get away. Common sense knocked into my head before I even thought about moving. It’s your first mission out in the field and you want to help the man who’s in danger … Not even Bustle would make such a mistake.

"Mr. Bezz … The truth please.

I … got the money from gambling at the Belmont Park horse track. I was winning for the longest time, and I couldn’t stop. Every day at lunch I would make my way over there and bet from the start all the way to the end. But my winning streak turned into a losing streak … I barely had enough funds to pay for the lights, let alone the workers’ paychecks.

The boss man clicked his tongue, before he continued.

Really? And then what happened?

People started to come for me in the factory. They blamed me when I couldn’t get their paychecks to them.

Sly business man. grumbled one of the burly men behind Mr. Bezz.

And that’s when you hired us. You hired us to take out all of those doubters because you didn’t want doubt to spread, responded the boss man, jabbing a finger towards Mr. Bezz. Now, we come to the final step in this fun little trip. Where’s the money?

What money?

You know what money I’m talking about, Mr. Bezz … You owe the RM 3 million dollars … in cash … Didn’t you get the letter I sent you?

The boss man’s accent strengthened, the accent being so thick that I could barely understand what he was saying. Mr. Bezz stared the boss man right in his eyes, Mr. Bezz’s lips quivering.

No … … …

I shut my eyes again, my thoughts tuning out Mr. Bezz. Think about your boyfriend … Who you should be with … I wonder if we’re going to go out for Valentine’s Day. We have to, it’s a rule … … … … If I was a really good girlfriend I wouldn’t be here. That one thought caused an avalanche of anxiety. I shouldn’t be here. I should be with my boyfriend, getting ready to go out on a valentine’s date that I’m sure he planned.

Come on Mr. Bezz. All you have to do is pay me the 3 million dollars and all of this will stop. You can go back to your wife and daughter, and all will be well … That is, unless you try to lie.

I re-opened my eyes, my gaze landing on Mr. Bezz’s face.

"I don’t have the money."

Oh no … Even from where I was sitting, I knew that wasn’t going to fly with the boss man. The boss man chuckled at Mr. Bezz’s words. That chuckle turned into a laugh, then a cackle. Soon, the whole mafia was cackling.

The boss man stopped cackling at the seriousness painted on Mr. Bezz’s face.

You have to have the money!

I don’t.

There was no screaming on Mr. Bezz’s side, but there sure was screaming from the boss man’s side. His screams were filled with desperation and fury, his screaming forcing me to lower my head.

Hey boss … There’s someone up there. warned one of the burly men.

I was frozen. They must have seen me when I lowered my head … Oh that was the most rookie mistake I could have ever made! Oh, why am I such a …

Where Louie? asked the boss man, grinding his teeth as he spoke.

Up there … By the railing, informed the one called Louie. Whoever’s up there made the mistake of moving.

How long do you think they were up there?

I don’t know, boss.

The boss man let out a low growl, sending more shivers down my body. If they hadn’t seen me when I lowered my head, they sure saw me shaking now.

Listen, whoever is up there, called out the boss man. "I don’t know who you are, but I have to say you have guts. You just sat through an entire Releza Mafia interrogation without making a peep. I have to say that I’m impressed, I really am … But I’m also the leader of a mafia, so impressed doesn’t get you very far …"

I held my breath, because if I didn’t, I would let out a whimper. The boss man turned his head towards me, looking for anything that would give me away.

RINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

RINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

RINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

My phone shook as it vibrated, the screen lighting up like a concert. Oh no … I didn’t dare glance over towards the screen, as I had already given myself up enough already. The boss man clicked his tongue, his clicking being overshadowed by my phone.

"Get them."

His words were so simple that even a toddler could say them, yet the words drove fear right through me. I didn’t wait to see all of the men race towards the creaky stairs, as I jumped up to my feet. My legs were filled with pins and needles but I didn’t have time to worry about that. I sprinted into Mr. Bezz’s office, skidding to a stop right in front of the window. I could hear them coming up the stairs, the creaks sounding like Mr. Bezz’s screaming. Click! WHOOSH! The window slid open, and I didn’t hesitate. I threw my leg over the windowsill. When I got my other leg on the windowsill, I was sitting.

"IT’S A GIRL!"

I glanced over my shoulder, my eyes landing on the mafia men. The man in the middle, and the two burly men were all staring at me in shock.

The shock only lasted a few seconds, before the men started to draw their pistols. Before the first shot could even be fired, I jumped off of the windowsill. I bit down on my lip to stop myself from screaming as I fell. CRASH!

Talk about lucky. I had landed in a trash can of rotten seafood, the stench hitting me right in the face. I quickly got out of the trash can, a few fish heads falling out with me.

I don’t think I’ve ever sprinted so hard in my whole life. I ran all the way back to the city, away from the docks. A few stray cats had followed me, the cats meowing at me. I was deadbeat tired when I made it to a payphone. I pulled out two nickels, and quickly put them in the slot. I dialed the first number that came to mind.

Hello, you’ve reached New York’s best police station … How can I be of service?

Hi, I’m Julia Ricardo and I just discovered something big, I gushed, my words being more faint than words. There is a mafia in New York.

Of course, there is … It’s New York.

I let out a sigh of frustration, as I drummed my fingers against the payphone’s outer shell.

"No, not a New York mafia, I snapped. A Spanish mafia. Their called the Releza Mafia and they just tortured Mr. Bezz down at the Dock of the Seafood factory."

And how do you know this ma’am?

I saw it. With my own eyes.

The officer sighed heavily, and I could just picture the officer leaning back into his chair. I could see him scratching his chin, and propping his feet up on his desk.

Do you have any proof? Because, it would be nice to make sure that this isn’t just some prank call before I send me and my men down there.

Yes, I have proof, I snarled, as my free hand started to reach for my back pocket. I’m a pro journalist, okay? I know how to get proof.

Uh huh.

My hand stopped right on my back pocket, my fingers feeling for my phone. Wait … Where’s my phone? My hand frantically traveled all over the rest of my pockets, and in every single pocket there was no phone.

Memories of me leaving the phone back in the factory came reeling back towards me, the memory stinging. I left it in the factory … By the railing … By the time that I would go back to the factory, the mafia would already have found my phone. Their sick hands would be touching my phone, the mafia trying to break into my phone. If they can get Mr. Bezz, the one man who rarely talks to any press, they can crack my phone open.

Any day now, Miss.

The officer’s words forced me to stop thinking like that, as there was no way that the mafia could get into my phone … Right? I cleared my throat, as heat traveled up my cheeks.

I don’t have any proof … But I promise you, if you go back to the Dock of Seafood factory you will find a Mafia.

The police officer let out another long sigh, before he answered.

Alright fine … I’ll send a few of my men down there … Is there a phone number I can reach you by to let you know?

If I had a phone then yes … My brain racked around who’s phone number I could use, until it hit me.

No … But how about this. I will meet your men there, to see for myself.

Alright ma’am.

CLICK! The call ended with a sudden slam, and I quickly placed the phone back on the slot. Alright … I could call a cab … But I don’t think any cab would want to give me a ride when I smell like rotten fish.

Instead of running, I walked back to the Seafood Dock. My feet were screaming at me, and all I could do was think of the mafia. The boss man had a silver tongue … He knew how to get Mr. Bezz, the one man that rarely ever talks to anyone outside his family, to babble the truth out like a baby …

By the time I made it back to the factory, there were police cars stationed everywhere. I jogged over towards the front doors, which were now swung wide open. I dipped inside of the factory, and was quickly pushed out.

Four police men brushed past me, each police man grumbling as they did.

Hey, I called out, once I had stepped out of the doorway. Where are you guys going?

One police man whirled around, the police man wearing a snarl.

Home. You know what’s awful Miss Ricardo? I really, really believed that you were telling the truth when you said that there was a mafia in there.

But … There was!

The police shook his head, before he snapped back.

Women lie all the time. Why should I believe you?

Because it’s the truth! Just ask Mr. Bezz!

The police men stopped backing up, the police men’s face going stone.

Mr. Bezz died of a heartache in his office, snapped the police man, gesturing to the ambulance. The first responders were lifting a stretcher into the back, Mr. Bezz’s polished shoes sticking out from the tarp. He had too much to drink, and with his heart problems he didn’t make it.

Oh, those clever … No wonder the Mafia didn’t lay a gun on Mr. Bezz. A gun would be too sloppy, a gun can be traced back with fingerprints. But for someone who has heart problems, someone who is known to drink a little bit too much … it wouldn’t be much of a stretch for him to pass away because of heart problems. That’s why they used their serum … Clever Mafia …

I slipped back into the factory, just out of curiosity. And to try and retrieve my phone. Maybe the mafia was so concerned with making it look like Mr. Bezz died of a heart attack that they forgot about my phone … Maybe I’ll get to write my killer story after all. Where the mafia had been standing two hours ago, where they had handcuffed Mr. Bezz, you couldn’t even tell that they were there. I ignored the creaking stair case, and soon I was right by the railing.

All of my hopes about the mafia not even touching my phone died down once I saw it. My phone was laying down where it was left, except there was two new things. Number one, there was a hole in my phone. The glass was cracked, a bullet hole in the middle of it. There was no possible way that I would be able to retrieve the information from my phone now. And number two, a piece of paper was attached to the phone. I crouched down to the phone and picked up the note.

"Dear Miss Hideout …

I have to say, you got guts. You kept your cool, as I gave truth serum to an innocent man. Well, he’s not really innocent, is he? Before I had Julio take care of your phone, I was able to get in. I know who you are … Julia Cassandra Ricardo. I know that you’re turning twenty-three next week, happy birthday by the way. I know that you work for the Truth as an investigative journalist. And I know that this was your very first story. I know that you have a rocky relationship with a man named Bustle … But you should have seen that coming. I mean, any boy named Bustle is bound to be a troublemaker. I also know that you are working on a story, for Mr. Bezz. Maybe it should be an obituary, since the man is dead … … Oh, and if you even think about trying to get that story out there … Let’s just say that the Releza Mafia will be right behind you. We won’t kill you, that will just be too messy. Sorry if I’m scaring you … you seem like a really nice girl. And you are a model when it comes to looks. If I wasn’t threatening you right now, I may ask you out for coffee and a donut … Isn’t that what you New Yorkers love? Ta-Ta, Julia Cassandra Ricardo.

From, AFJB ."

Fear struck me all over my body, the fear being much more painful than my aching legs. If the Releza Mafia comes after me, I won’t be able to win … I’ll die from their truth serum or whatever tricks they got up their sleeves … I took a deep breath, my breath cutting my thoughts away. No … I can’t think like that … I don’t care what this clever mafia thinks … I’m going to write a story on Mr. Bezz, and they will be the star features … I stuffed the note into my pocket, before I swiftly picked up my broken phone.

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

41843.png

The Story

4 months later …

Click … Click … Click. The sound of handcuffs clicking together rung through my ears, the cool press of the handcuff sending chills down my body. With a bright light shining down on me, sweat started to trickle down the back of my neck.

Five men stood all around me, one of them holding a black briefcase. The boss man was standing in front of me, his lips bearing a cruel smile.

I told you Miss Julia Cassandra Ricardo … The Releza Mafia caught up to you and now you can’t get away!

The boss man cackled after he spoke. The whole mafia started to chime in with the cackling, the sound rang in my ears.

The boss man held up his hand, and all of the men stopped cackling. I raised an eyebrow at the boss man, watching as he straightened himself up.

So … Now that you got me, what are you going to do to me, huh?

We’re not going to hurt you Miss Julia Cassandra Ricardo, spoke the boss man with his accent. We’re just going to … have a little fun.

A little fun? Oh, are we going to play a little kid’s game? Like leap frog? Or hide and go seek??

The boss man rolled his eyes at my words, before he snapped his finger. The man with the briefcase came to his side. The boss man reached into the brief case, pulling out a syringe. He handed the syringe to the briefcase man and he strolled over towards me.

I winced as the needle … Ring … … … … … … … … …

Ring … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Ring … … … … … … … … … … … … … … Ring … … … …

I could have sworn that I heard a small ringing in the background, but I marked it off as being out of my mind. I was in the middle of a dark room with five men surrounding me.

Really? That’s all you got? I asked.

You know what that serum is capable of Miss Julia Cassandra Ricardo … You know what it does to people. You lie, you …

RINGGGGGGGGG! RINGGGGGGGGGG! RINGGGGGGGGGGG! The ringing grew more obnoxious, the sound pounding in the back, front and sides of my head.

A bright light shined in my eyes, as I opened them. When my eyes were finally pried open, they landed on the cause of all of it. The alarm clock. The alarm clock was shrieking and screaming, the clock acting like a toddler on a sugar high. Wait … Where am I? Where’s the mafia? For a moment, I was engulfed with terror. They could be hiding in any corner and I wouldn’t know it … My hands threatened to tear my bed sheets, while the alarm clock was still blinking and a blaring. I glanced around the sad looking bedroom, my eyes bouncing around. My Queen poster was hanging up, while a few pictures of my college life was scattered around the room. My basket of blankets was still in the corner, and I let out a sigh of breath. I’m in my bed … I’m not in a dark room with the Releza Mafia … I’m safe.

As I threw the covers off of myself, my eyes drifted towards the two letters that were sitting on my desk. Sure, my desk was littered with junk but those two letters are definitely not junk. One of the letters is to Mr. Bezz and the other one is to me. Ever since February, those two letters have been sitting on my desk. Those letters are a reminder to myself to keep me out of trouble.

After making my bed, I made my way into the kitchen. Now, this may just be me but does anyone else stay in their pjs for breakfast? And I’m not talking about just on the weekends, but on the weekdays. It’s wild, I know but my sweat pants and Queen hoodie are really comfortable.

I had to stand up on my tippy toes just to reach the box of cereal, my hand finally grasping it. As I shook the cereal box, I glanced out the windows of my apartment. I’ve only ever been in two cities before; Malibu and Chicago, but both are ants compared to New York. New York is the city that never sleeps, the only city that feels like home to me. Even back in my home town, Malibu, I felt like an outsider. I was different from my whole family; I was the shark against the surfers.

Now, I am convinced that everyone in Malibu knows about how my parents met. Why you may be asking? Because my father loves to tell this tale; it doesn’t matter if you heard it a million times, he will tell it to you again and again. When my father was my age, twenty-three, he was a surfer champion. Yes, my father was one of those dudes that said gnarly, stoked, shred, and even dude. It was the first summer event where my father met my mother. As soon as he saw her, he couldn’t concentrate. He wiped out on his wave, losing the competition. At the time, my mother was a student at the hospital, training to be a nurse. If it hadn’t been for my mother giving my father CPR and saving his life, my parents would have never dated or even got married.

After pouring some milk into the cereal, I made my way to my couch. Just because I live in New York City, doesn’t mean that my apartment is fit for a king. My kitchen had all the necessities that you would need in a kitchen; a stove, fridge, sink, and a dishwasher. The island started from the side of the counters, the island stopping about five feet. The cleats of the island, that held up the counters, was made out of oak wood. The counter tops of the island were quartz, the color being a cream white.

Ten feet away from the island was a small dining table, the table soaking up all of the sunlight from the windows. Store-bought flowers were in a vase, the flowers never wilting. After the kitchen and dining table, came the living room. The couch is a leather, being a rusty looking color. Up on the wall, right beside the door was the tv. Underneath the tv was the tv stand, being littered with movies. The living room table was in the middle of the room, covered in junk. From magazines to spare notebooks, there wasn’t a clear space on the table.

With the bowl of cereal in one of my hands, I reached for the tv remote. Just like any other normal person, I wanted to watch the daily news with my breakfast. I know, it’s not the Saturday cartoons but it’s better than nothing. Leaning over the couch, my hand was barely even touching the remote’s end. Come on … Just a little bit more … My fingertips bumped into the end of the remote, the remote moving up more. As I leaned further towards the remote, it happened.

SPLASH!

AH!

I let out a scream as the cold milk and cereal settled on my sweat pants, the sweat pants soaking up the milk. The bowl was tipped from my hand, as I tried to get the remote. I jolted off of the couch, some of the cereal and milk trailing down my leg. Great … Just great … I glanced up at the clock on the wall, my eyes watching as the hands came closer and closer to six fifteen. Forget about breakfast … I don’t have time to eat and get ready.

Now, usually I wake up at six and get breakfast at six ten. After I eat, I get ready for the day. And every day, it usually takes me about until six forty to get ready for work. See, when you work for The Truth you are expected to be there by seven thirty. Which means that you have to get out of the door by seven, if you want to get there on time. Getting out the door by seven was not an option for today.

It took me five minutes to jump in the shower, as there was a spider on the shower wall. After squishing the spider, I was able to jump into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, and I rushed to get dressed. No … That won’t work, it’s too red. Nope, can’t wear sweatpants … AGH! I have nothing to wear! With the towel still wrapped around me, I was desperately looking through my closet. There had to be something that I could wear, something that would be appropriate. You see, the thing about working for The Truth is that I have to look presentable, every day. It didn’t matter if I had a cold or if I wasn’t feeling like dressing up, I had to look like a pro every time I walked through the main doors.

Well … At least it’s something. After fifteen minutes of going through my whole closet just to find something to wear, I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror with my blow drier in my hands. My ebony hair was still wet from the shower, the wet hair sitting on my white dress shirt. My white dress shirt was tucked into my skin tight jeans, being a navy-blue color. The jeans had no rips in them, which was unfortunate. Most of my female co-worker’s wear heels or dresses. But for me, I would much rather wear my lucky black and white high tops, with the laces hanging to the floor. My hazelnut eyes stared back at myself, the eyes blinking every two seconds. My sun kissed skin stuck out like a sore thumb in New York, as almost no one in New York had a tan. As I flicked on the blow drier, I couldn’t help but glance up at the clock. It was six fifty, which only gave me ten minutes to get my hair dried and out of the door. Great … Ten minutes to blow dry my mess of hair, and then go to work … That’s just peachy.

My older brother used to always tease me and my sister about getting ready in the morning. When I was in high school, I started to realize that it was important for me to look good. There were no cute boys in my high school, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t look good for myself. I used to spend two hours in the bathroom, trying to perfect my hair, get my makeup just right and then quickly re-do the whole thing because as soon as I looked in the mirror, I thought I looked ugly. But now, it only takes me thirty minutes to get ready … Ten minutes is a stretch.

My ebony hair was blow dried to perfection, the hair looking like clouds as it sat on my shoulders. Each wave of my hair was perfect, not a hair out of place. I flicked the blow drier off, unplugging it from the power socket. Instead of staring in front of the mirror, admiring myself I rushed back into my bedroom and back to my closet. Five minutes to spare … Just pick something that you can throw over your shoulders easily! Pick something that once you put it on, the summer heat won’t murder you.

I ended up grabbing my navy-blue blazer, the one that I wore to my first interview. The blazer fit me like a glove, or at least that’s what I told myself. Two more minutes passed while I smoothed down the blazer. I grabbed my purse off my dresser. My purse held everything a journalist like me could need out on the streets; my phone for recording, a pencil and a notepad, id, and a credit card. As I slung my purse over my shoulder, I started my way out of the apartment. I stopped in front of the door, my eyes going up to the clock. It was seven o’clock, giving me thirty minutes to get to the Truth’s office. Thirty minutes … To get a taxi, and then get to the skyscraper … How hard could it be?

Turns out getting a taxi is a lot harder than you would think. I’ve been in the Big Apple ever since I’ve graduated college, which was in December. I know how to call a cab, it’s like second nature to me. But this morning, it was like there were no cabs. The street was as dead as the desert, not a single cab or car in view.

Hello young lady, started a voice, forcing me to turn towards her. It’s a beautiful summer morning, isn’t it?

I turned towards the voice, shocked to find out that the voice belonged to a sweet old lady. The lady was leaning on her cane, her wrinkled hands wrapped around its ball. The lady’s black short hair had grey streaks through it, looking like stripes on a tiger. Her dark skin was hiding by the big coat she was wearing, while her dark green eyes were out in the open. It was a Wednesday and there were only two weeks left of June. Even if June was almost passing, the sweet old lady wasn’t afraid to wear a knitted scarf around her neck.

Yes … It is.

The old lady stood right beside me, craning her head towards the road.

"You know, this is the first time in years that I’ve called a cab, urged the old lady, her sweet voice rang through my ears. I usually take the bus or my daughter comes and picks me up. The last time that I went in a cab was … when I was thirty. I’m seventy right now."

The old lady smiled sweetly back at me, as I glanced down the road one more time.

Time must fly when you’re having fun.

Where are you going Miss?

Work. Today is the day I’m going to try and prove to my boss that I can be put out in the field again, I gushed, as I clutched my purse even harder. Today is the day for no mess ups.

You see, ever since the Mr. Bezz and Dock of Seafood story, I’ve been put on suspension. Just like the police, my boss didn’t believe the mafia story. She told me that I was,

"The worst journalist she’d ever seen and she’d seen a lot of worst."

Now, instead of writing stories like the one I could have written, I’m writing fluffy pieces. What happened to the bakery on fifth street? Or which is better; Ice cream or slushies?

Sounds like fun.

It’s more like-

HONK! HONK!

Hey! Get out of the road, I’m driving here!

Just as soon as the words started to leave my lips, a bright yellow cab stopped at the cross walk. The cross walk was at least fifteen feet from us; the cross walk being a good run. The cab driver’s eyes met with mine, the cab driving gesturing towards the back of his cab. I glanced back to the old lady, to find her missing.

I didn’t even hesitate before I sprinted after the old lady. For an old person, she can sure run. My purse flipped and flopped against my side, my phone hitting me through the fabric. With my high tops and my competitive side, it was easy to outrun the lady. Along with her age, the lady was in no condition to run. Instead of wearing high tops like me, the sweet old lady was wearing flats that had no traction.

I skidded to a stop at the door, my hands jerking the door wide open.

Hey, you break it you buy it! croaked the driver, his voice being husky.

I was about to open my mouth to respond to the driver, when I heard the old lady.

No, wait please, begged the old lady, stopping in front of the door. You look like you’re an important business person with a lot of places to be, but I really need to ride in this cab. My daughter is expecting me for a visit at her office today.

The old lady pointed towards the leather seats, as I shook my head.

And I really need to get to work, I gushed, as I slowly started to back up in the taxi. I only have fifteen minutes to get to work, and if I’m not there on time I’ll lose my job. I am so sorry, but my job means everything to me! I have to prove to my boss that I can write more than fluff pieces!

But-

THUD! As soon as I was in the seat of the taxi, I closed the car door in the old lady’s face.

Where to Miss?

"The Truth’s skyscraper, I ordered, as I buckled myself into the back. It’s right between Fifth and Sixth Avenue. It’s literally between the two of them."

At seven forty-five, the cab pulled to a stop in front of The Truth’s skyscraper. Now, in case you don’t live in New York, the Truth is the one newspaper business that can compete with the New York Times. Unlike the New York Times, the Truth is always trying to get a story out there. It could be the most silly story in the whole world, but as long as it’s published the Truth could care less.

My fingers fiddled with the seat belt buckle, my finger shaking as I imagined what my boss would say to me. Just like any other normal person, my boss terrified me a bit. Cleo Nails was the most terrifying woman I have ever met, the woman even outranking the mean girls in high school. She was a cutthroat editor and advisor, not caring if you poured your whole heart into a piece when she ripped it up in front of you. All it took was one slip up, one tiny mistake, and your career as a journalist was over.

As soon as I was free from the buckle, I opened the door. I leapt out of the cab, my heart beating in my ears. Okay … I’m only fifteen minutes late. That’s not the end of the world.

Miss … You owe me twenty-five dollars.

I spun around to face the cab driver, my jaw on the floor.

Twenty-five!

Fine. Thirty dollars.

The cab driver stared back at me, his eyes cutting through mine. I rolled my eyes as I reached into my purse, as I pulled out thirty dollars. I can’t believe he raised the price, I’m not made of money. I can barely afford pizza. I handed the money to the driver through the window, the driver placing the fare on the dashboard.

The cab zoomed away from me, the smoke from the engines colliding with me. I coughed and coughed as the smoke entered my mouth, my whole body bending over as I hacked the smoke out. He’s lucky I’m in a good mood today, or I would have told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine!

It took me five minutes to reach the front doors of the Truth’s, my hands reaching for my purse. It was seven fifty, and this was the latest that I had ever been. Not even on my first day, when I wasn’t used to the hustle and bustle of the city was I this late. In order to get into the Truth’s building, you had to have an id card. The id card had a little chip inside to swipe, which allowed you into any room of the building. BEEP! The key card swiper beeped back at me, the doors opening on themselves. I rushed into the main area of the Truth, but I didn’t stop there. I raced up the metal stairs, leading me to the lobby of the building.

As soon as you walk into the main doors and go up the metal stairs, you run into the lobby. The lobby is where reporters and journalists check in, in the morning, and where you can find fresh coffee. Out of the 40 floors, my floor, the one with all of the investigative reporters, was on the 35th. Cleo’s office was on the 40th, the floor being given a whole view of the skyline of New York city.

I stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk, my eyes meeting with hers.

Hello, Julia, greeted the receptionist. A little bit late for work don’t ya think?.

I’ve had a tough day, I answered, as I glanced towards the tray of coffee on the rim of the desk. Well, tough morning.

As I reached for the free cup of coffee, the receptionist’s fingers clicked against the keyboard.

Very well.

My grip on the plastic coffee cup tightened, as I made my way towards the elevator. As I pushed the button to call the elevator, I took a sip of the coffee. I yelped as it burned my tongue, my hands pushing the coffee away from me.

When the elevator finally came down, I stepped in. As I pressed the 35th button, my heart was beating in my ears. It’s seven fifty-two, and I’m twenty-two minutes late. Oh, I’m so in trouble!

Eight minutes later and it was eight o’clock. The elevator had taken forever to get up to the 35th floor. Usually, the elevator was quick when going up but not today. It was as if the gears had chosen day to get rusty. Taking several deep breaths, I stared right at the elevator doors. It’s fine … I’m only an hour late … I’m sure I’m not the only one who is late today. The metal doors swished open, and I quickly stepped out of the elevator.

The whole 35th floor was full of journalists, investigative journalists. Now, if you don’t have a clue what an investigative journalist is, let me fill you in. It’s their job to slip under the cracks and find the worms. Some of the stories that we cover are dangerous, wait … actually all of them are dangerous. There isn’t a story that isn’t safe, as some stories require us to lie, and pretend to be somebody we’re not. It’s not an easy job, as you are constantly trying to be safe, while getting everything you need for the story to be successful. But to my big family, being successful means surfing and settling down.

The Ricardo family is made up of seven people, all of them being wild. My father, Henry Ricardo, used to be one of Malibu’s champion surfers; as there wasn’t a wave he couldn’t ride. When he married my mother, he retired his surfing and decided to open up a surfing board shop. All of the surf boards he makes by hand, each board crafted with love. Then, there’s my mom, Gracie Ricardo. My mom is the coolest headed one out of all the family, being able to calm my father’s hot headedness. She came from London when she was my age, and at the time she wasn’t looking for love. Instead of love, she wanted to help people, so she became a nursing student for the hospital. She never used to talk about her father or mother, or even what it was like growing up. When my mother and father got married, they wasted no time building their family.

When my mom was twenty-four, she gave birth to my older brother … Peter Ricardo. Peter is three years older than me, and already has had a more successful life. He has a stable job being a banker, and already has a wife. Dia, is my older sister by one year. And compared to me, she is the super star of everything. She has perfect hair, a perfect smile, perfect everything. As of right now, I think she works for my father … I honestly don’t have a clue, we don’t really talk that much. Fifteen years after my mother gave birth to me, she had twins. Sebastian and Jayden are both eight right now, the two of them growing up faster than I think.

After standing in the elevator for two seconds, I made my way towards my desk. Each reporter had a computer, and a modern desk. All of the desks were lined up in their cubicles, the cubicles having an archway into each one. I know, it wasn’t fancy, but it allowed us to work in peace. I sat down at my chair, my fingers turning on the computer. I hung my purse on the edge of the archway, the purse barely hanging.

By the time it was eight thirty, I was bored out of my mind. My meeting to talk to Cleo wasn’t until nine, which meant that I had time to kill. I was supposed to be working on my new story. Heels or Flats, Which One Is Better. If it wasn’t for twirling a pen around, I would be asleep. I can just imagine what people think of Miss Ricardo … Oh my goodness, she must be the most ditzy girl in the whole world. Whenever the Truth publishes a story, it’s posted on the web and printed out in paper. In both forms, the writer’s name is clearly stated … in bold ink. I can just imagine what my family thinks of me now …

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. The sound of squeaky dress shoes filled my ears, stopping me from twirling my pen. Oh no … Why … Today of all the days, why today? Whenever you are in the office, and you hear squeaky shoes you know that it is a bad day. I let out a sigh, as the squeaking stopped right in front of my cube.

Well, well, well, purred the voice of the squeaky dress shoes, the squeaky dress shoes man stopping in front of the archway. Julia, are you actually working for once?

I growled at this voice, as I clicked open my document.

Bustle, don’t you have your own work to do?

I glared back at him, Bustle harrumphing as I did. Bustle Cheat was a snot nose man who only thought of himself. He was one year older than me, being at the age of twenty-four. The man has light ginger hair, the hair always calm. His scruff was light ginger, looking like peach fuzz. His light blue eyes weren’t full of honesty, but dishonesty. The man never went anywhere without wearing a vest, either a black or a silver. Under the vest, he wore a mint green or cream white dress shirt, depending on what vest he wore. His black pants were always the same, every day wearing the same pants. His black dress shoes were sparkling every other day, as every other day he got them shined. Oh, and there’s one more thing you need to know about Bustle. I used to date him.

When I first got the job at The Truth, Bustle was the one who showed me the ropes. Our first date was on Coney Island, along with our first kiss. Now, two weeks before the mafia debacle, Bustle turned cold on me. He always told me that he was too busy to stop by for a movie night, or to give me flowers on Valentine’s Day. He never gave me a kiss goodnight, and he never talked to me in the office. Maybe it was because he was ashamed to date the one journalist who ‘called mafia’, which I didn’t … Or maybe it was because somewhere in there he thought that he was better than me. Which he isn’t.

As a matter of fact, yes, I do, gushed Bustle, grinning his crooked grin at me. But, before I go out on the field, I thought it would be fun if I stop by and see my favorite girl.

I’m not your girl anymore Bustle. We broke up a week after my birthday … remember?

I watched as Bustle’s happy spirt went down, watching as his mood changed to irritated.

Oh, I remember. My head is still sore from you hitting me on the head with the newspaper.

I grinned as the memory came back into my mind, my eyes never leaving Bustle’s.

What do you want Bustle? What are you here for?

Cleopatra wants to see you, hissed Bustle, putting more emphasis on the word you. "And from the tone of her voice, she is not happy with you."

Maybe she wants to talk to me about re-assigning me out on the field … Maybe that’s why she’s so cranky. I rolled my eyes as I stood up to my feet, my hands reaching for my coffee.

Cleopatra? Since when are you and her on the first name basis.

Since I gave her those flowers on her birthday … The birthday that you forgot.

I rolled my eyes as I brushed past Bustle, the smell of his cheap cologne hitting me in the nose.

Whatever she wants to talk to me about, I’m sure it’s nothing that you haven’t chatted with her!

It took the elevator five minutes to reach the 40th floor, while only going up five flights of stairs. As soon as the elevator doors swished open, I was face to face with Cleo’s window view doors. I took a deep breath before I stepped out of the elevator. There was an eerie feeling in the air, like when you go to the principal’s office. My eyes landed on Cleo through her window door, her eyes locked onto the person who was sitting in front of her. Just like the ruler she was named after, Cleo had straight short black hair. The hair was in a bob, and had bangs at the front of her forehead. Her dark skin was shining in the sunlight, her dark skin being flawless at the age of thirty-three. Her dark green eyes were the color of crocodile skin, the animal that she resembled. Her winged cat eyeliner was always on, along with mascara and dark red lipstick.

My hands wrapped around the glass handle, jerking the handle back. Even as I made my way into the office, Cleo could care less. Her eyes were on the lady sitting in one of the chairs in front of her desk, Cleo’s pencil hovering over her notepad. I stood beside the second chair, my hands clasping together behind my black.

Miss Cleo … You wanted to see me?

My words floated around in the air for a moment before Cleo turned her head towards me. Cleo narrowed her eyes at me,