"Come, chica, it's alright to cry. Come here, into Auntie Rosario's arms." Just so you know, this is the first time a certain Hispanic multi-billionaire has ever hugged me, so bear with me.

"Where's...sniff...Melosa?"

"She's watching T.V."

"Which one?"

"The biggest T.V," Rosario smiled, and it was as if the sun came out. When Rosario smiled, children stopped crying, and, since I was acting like a home-sick child, so did I.

"You're too kind, Rosie." Now I was smiling too. There was never a 'too kind' for Rosie, but there was always a 'not kind enough'. After our first few weeks with her, I asked, 'where's the off-button?' and Rosie had said 'there isn't one, chica, my manufacturer was a stupido one indeed, yes?'.

"No, Steph, I'm 'Not Kind Enough'".

Shaking my head, I wondered what had happened to the poor girl to make her so nice. Like most things, I probably didn't want to know.

Shaking my head (for the second freaking time), I entered the living room (3x the size of my bedroom, and it ain't small) and looked at my Melosa, so engrossed in the theatre-sized T.V and its stinking cartoons. Her long black hair slid across her perfect face, but her gaze was intent from behind the hair.

"Kids these days," I muttered, perfectly aware that I, too, am a victim of the cartoon crisis and have no room to throw stones. "Ok, Melly, time to go home, 'k?" I bundled up her tired 6-year-old form ("I'm not tired, yawn, I just need to rest my eyes for a lil' while, ok?") and headed to my truck. I was also tired, but not from watching cartoons (although those do get boring quickly). Opening your own bar gets tiring, but it was my own, no co-owners, just miney mine mine.

And it's called, 'Along Came a Spider'. (A/N I could stop it here but I feel like making a long chapter, if crappy)

Approximately 5 minutes later, we were home, and I was in bed. Thoughts whizzed through my head, like how good a cheeseburger would taste right about now, or if I should take a day off from the bar and go to the beach. Nah, cheeseburger is top priority now. Carefully, I slid out of bed and padded into the kitchen.

Mmm... nothing like a midnight meal (snack is by far the wrong word for a piece of goddamned birthday cake) at 1 o'clock in the morning. I sat there, swallowing the flavoured lard almost convulsively, when I heard a knock at the door. Curious... dare I open it? Meh.

So I walked through about a dozen rooms (God I love my house) to reach the front door. And then I made a fatal mistake. I opened the door... and got shot in the stomach.

"SON OF A BITCH!" I screamed and Melosa entered the room, screaming. She was babbling stuff like, "Gotta call Auntie Rosie... Mommy you alive?...AUNTIE ROSIE!", and I instantly knew who sent the thug to shoot me. Anthony P. Green, my ex ex ex boyfriend. I couldn't let this go.

But then, suddenly, I had a vivid thought of the cake sitting in the kitchen, awaiting my return. NOOO! CAKE! WHYYY!

Tony Green, you are going DOOOOOOWNNN! And this time, it's arsenal.


A/N: Um... this is the first story I've really tried to do good in (aka it's utter crap and I can't fix it), so I'm welcome to suggestions and a lil' critisism but not too much, there's only so much one can handle. Btw: Disclaimer: I own nothing but Rosario, Melosa, Anthony Green, the bar and the plot. Please don't steal it/them because I'd cry :'(