The Fraudulent Heiress

The tracks stretched out in front of them, gleaming under the late afternoon sun. The heat shimmered off the rails, making them look almost alive. The sound of cicadas filled the air, but Camilla barely heard it over the growing rumble. She felt it before she heard it—just a faint vibration beneath her feet, slowly building, getting louder.

The train.

Rafael stood before them, tall and unshakable in his dark suit. His face was stone, as cold as ever. He turned to them—her and Jamie, only 6 and 8 years old at the time—his eyes hard, unforgiving. They knew what was coming. She saw it in her brother’s pale face, the way his hands shook at his sides.

“Papa, please,” Jamie’s voice cracked, barely audible over the growing roar. “I—I can’t do this!”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t move. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. “You can. And you will.”

Camilla watched as Rafael grabbed Jamie by the shoulder, yanking him forward, closer to the tracks. Her older brother stumbled, panic in his wide eyes as the sound of the train grew louder, the ground trembling beneath them.

“Fear makes you weak,” Rafael stated, his voice rising just enough to be heard over the growing thunder of the train. “I won’t have weak children.”

Jamie’s legs buckled, but Rafael kept him upright, forcing him to face the oncoming train. Camilla’s heart pounded in her chest, the sound of the train’s horn blaring through the air, louder, closer.

“Papa, stop! You’re scaring me!” She shouted, stepping forward without thinking, her voice raw with desperation.

Rafael’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. His grip was like iron, cold and unrelenting, pulling her along with him. His face was inches from hers, his eyes burning with fury. “Fear is the enemy. The real enemy. Not the cops, not the rivals. Fear. You will conquer it, or I’ll leave you here to die.” He hissed, dragging her beside Jamie.

The rumble from the train was almost deafening now, the rails vibrating beneath their feet. Camilla could feel the heat from the steel, the pressure of the oncoming train like a wave pushing against her chest. Jamie trembled beside her, his breath coming in quick, panicked bursts.

“Look at it!” Rafael’s voice was sharp, cutting through the roar. “Don’t flinch. Don’t you dare look away.”

Camilla’s small body screamed at her to run, to get away from the tracks, but she couldn’t move. Rafael’s grip was too strong, his presence like a weight pressing down on her. Jamie was sobbing now, his body shaking, his eyes fixed on the blur of metal hurtling toward them. The train was seconds away. The horn blared, and the ground shook with such force Camilla thought her legs would give out. But she held herself upright, teeth clenched, every muscle tensed.

“STAND YOUR GROUND!” Rafael’s voice was a roar, but she barely heard him over the train.

The train was right on top of them now. She could feel the wind pulling at her, the force of it so close she could almost touch it. And then, at the last possible second, Rafael yanked them both backward, dragging them off the tracks.

The train thundered past, a blur of noise and metal, the wind knocking her to her knees. Jamie lay curled up beside her, his body trembling violently, his face pale as death. Camilla’s breath came in ragged gasps, her whole body trembling. She wanted to scream, to cry, but nothing came out. Just the sound of the train fading into the distance.

Rafael, head of the Lanci crime family, stood over them, his face unreadable and eyes cold. He watched them for a moment, then spoke, his voice eerily calm. “You felt it, didn’t you? That fear...crawling up your spine, taking over your mind. You’ll feel it again, and again. But next time, you’ll be ready.”

Camilla clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, trying to stop the trembling in her hands. She looked up at her father, her jaw tight, her body still shaking, but she didn’t say a word. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Rafael turned his back to them now, his voice flat. “You’ll thank me one day. You’ll be stronger for it. The world is merciless, and I won’t have my children be its prey.” His retreating form took the world with him as everything faded to vast nothingness.

Camilla’s eyes fluttered open as she gasped for air, only to sputter it back out as it burned her lungs. For a moment, all she could do was lie there paralyzed by shock. Her vision swam, her mind clawing to separate the present from the memory. Rafael’s voice was still booming in her head on the train tracks, but this wasn’t one of his twisted tests.

She tried to sit up, but her hand slipped, causing her to slide back down into the sticky pool of blood she was lying in. Her memory returned, though her body felt like he had left her on those tracks.

Her eyes moved to the side from where she lay prone beside the large mahogany dining table. Jamie had overturned it to give them cover from the gunfire, but it wasn’t enough. A sharp pain permeated through her shock as she once again tried to push herself up, only to find her shoulder wasn’t working properly. Rolling onto her back, her functioning right arm felt around to find her dress and sweater sleeve soaked with blood. The touch of her fingers shot stabbing pain through the joint, making her cry out in a hoarse sob.

After the worst had passed, she spied a small round hole beside her; a bullet hole, nicely lined up with her wound. A matching smear of blood where she was slumped over only further confirmed it.

She had been shot, but she wasn’t the only one...

Beside her lay Jamie.

When the bullets started flying from the opposite side of the room, he acted quickly by flipping the table. Yet, in the time it took him, Camilla witnessed the carnage, paralyzed as blood and matter from her father coated her. Jamie threw her down behind the table a moment later, then everything went black when her shoulder was torn open.

Whoever was responsible must’ve thought, by the look of her—saved by wearing her father’s gore—that she was dead.

The sound of a phone vibrating nearby grabbed her attention. Through her brother’s dark pant pocket, she could see the glow of his cell’s screen. Fumbling with the phone in her slick fingers, Camilla smeared blood across the screen as she swiped the green button.

She swallowed thickly, fighting through her light-headedness. “H-hello?”

The voice on the other end paused, no doubt expecting her brother to answer. “Where’s James?” The voice was deep and slightly annoyed.

“Dead,” Camilla whispered meekly.

“Who is this? What do you mean he’s dead?!”

She couldn’t answer the angry man, staring down at Jamie’s unseeing eyes, but a choked sob escaped her.

“Where are you?”

“Rafael’s house.” She had no idea who this man was on the other end of the phone, but she hoped he knew Jamie well enough to know who his father was.

“I’ll be right there.” The line went silent, and she dropped the phone to the floor.

Kneeling over him, she felt herself weakening gazing upon her dead brother. Closing his eyes with her hand, she collapsed over him, letting the tears fall. Jamie was the only one who never pressured her to get involved with the ‘family business.’ He respected her decision to remain independent of their father’s morally questionable practices and was the only one to regularly communicate with her.

Now, he was dead, and she was alone.