AN: I don't think any of my stories have been faved/followed so much so quickly before this one, so thanks for the feed back guys, keep it coming please.

**In response to a few reviewers**

To the guest reviewer, *rolls eyes*, who said "You should have stuck to Ballet Bella" no I shouldn't, I should write what I want to write. Kloveya.

HEARTFORTWILIGHT: thank you so much for recommending my story, I owe ya one! I've had many new follows/favs/reviews because of you, really appreciate it!

**IMPORTANT**

ALISON ACTUALLY: I had the same thoughts about the title, and I even changed it after I had already posted it to something completely different because I was scared with the cuss word in the title it maybe wouldnt be grouped with the other stories, or it'd be hard to find or it'd be pulled, but I decide that this is the title I want, and I'm not going to let fear over anything make the decision for me. If it does get pulled, which I know is a good possibly, I'll repost it as f*ck but until that happens I'm leaving it as is, the title means too much to me to censor it if I don't absolutely have to. Granted not the smartest move but it's the one I'm making, let's just not make a big deal out of it. I truly appreciate the concern and I hope you continue to enjoy my story.

***To those curious about the title, it's the title of one of my favorite songs by a band called Boy Hits Car.

And finally quite a few reviewers foresee Bella one day becoming The boss of her family. Y'all are an ambitious lot, my friends.

I can feel my Grandfathers' burning, cruel stare like an insect under a magnifying glass. The man has eyes like a demon, filled with heat that can burn you alive if you look long enough. I've never met a person that could stand to look him in his eyes for very long, not even my own father who is the strongest man I've ever known. It's not that Papas' father is stronger than him, just meaner.

We've just left Mass and are now dining at Grandpa James' favorite restaurant, Luna Marie, for brunch. 'We' being my Grandparents, parents, brother and me. The food is alright, nothing special, it's the waitresses that make this his favorite restaurant. They're all his concubines. He likes to bring my Grandmother here to rub it in her face what he has waiting for him once her back is turned. She pretends it breaks her heart, but really she's just glad he doesn't go to her for his needs. Or so I assume; she doesn't really talk much.

"Did you visit the confessional, Isabella?" Grandpa James questions, his voice like mildew, sickly and toxic.

'Fucker saw me walk into the confessional, just like every Sunday since I could talk, so I don't know why he's asking me now.

"Yes, sir."

He nods mutely, his roughly aged face unreadable.

"How's school? You've just begun your senior year, correct?"

Why the hell is he questioning me, usually he doesn't even like talking to me. I look over to Emmett, his usual victim, who unlike the rest of us is robustly eating his meal, completely oblivious of the tension at the table.

"Are you so incompetent you need your brother to answer for you?" He growls, slamming his silverware on the table.

"Father-"

"I wasn't speaking to you, Charles." He snaps like a viper.

I could see Papa preparing to say something else, a kindred fire alight in his own eyes, so I cut him off before a fight breaks out.

"I was just thinking about an exciting science class that Emmett and I share, grandfather."

Emmetts' head snaps up at the mention of his name, some egg falling from his mouth and onto his lap.

"Oh, Yeah, we have this teacher, total hide-out-in-his-basement-wearing-a-tin-foil-hat kinda guy." He chuckles, his unruly hair flopping on his forehead. Papa turned out to be right about Emmett, he's grown to be 6'5", and almost three hundred pounds of pure muscle. If you didn't already know, you'd never think we're twins. I'm mean we do look alike with our pale complexions and thick curly black hair, but he's just so big and I'm so not. But he's still my fun loving, goofy brother. Time hasn't really changed him in that aspect, not like it did me.

Grandfather clicks his tongue and moves his shrewd gaze back to me preparing to interrogate me further.

"James what did you think about the Sermon today?" My grandmother asks softly never looking up from her plate.

"It was fine, Victoria." He growls, now glaring at the red hair shielding her face from his mean gaze. Doesn't take an idiot to know he'd been edged away from the subject, therefore me.

I shoot my Grandma a thankful smile, knowing what that's cost her, but she didn't see it, too involved with her food, daintily picking small bites with her fork.

I feel mama squeeze my hand under the table and turn to her. Her small smile said everything will be ok, but her eyes said the truth.

Something I've learned is that eyes never lie. Well, it's not really the eyes that can't lie, but the soul shining through. I've a theory that our souls, the epitome of an adventurer, can't stand being smothered by our physical skin. They have to be present somewhere.

My mother has the purists soul I've ever seen.

We continue our meal in silence, my grandfather too busy keeping track of his whores to intimidate me any further. It's almost peaceful; until my mother opens her mouth and ruins everything.

"Guess who's here?" She whispers in a sing song voice.

I look to her and see her line of vision is focused in front of us to . . . the Newtons, oh for fucks sake, not this again.

"He's staring at you, Bella." She giggles lowly, leaning into me, speaking of Mike Newton a guy from my school, a relatively handsome boy. Until he opens his mouth and nothing but vile, misogynistic shit spills out.

I look away not wanting to encourage him. I'd rather encourage Ted Bundy.

"'Trying to eat over here, mother." I hiss back, food in my mouth, not really tasting anything, but really not wanting to talk about Mike Newton.

"And I'm trying to find you a husband so you can be as happy as I am."

I heave a deep, painful sigh. It's times like this were I wish I could just tell her, 'No need, dad raised me to be a made woman, yeah, that's right mother, I'm all about the crime life. So no husband for this gal, but if you'd like to make me happy, I'd love some ninja stars, daddy won't let me have them, but I think it'd be a cool trademark, thanks, Love ya.'

That probably won't go over too well, though, I'll just keep it to myself. It's hard though, I've had to live this secret life since that day when I was seven. Papa knew mother wouldn't like it, and maybe wouldn't even have kept the knowledge to herself, so I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. The last thing we wanted was Grandfather to find out and it didn't take me long to figure out why.

Papa had me hide behind the oil painting many more times after that day, to learn everything I could first hand. I'd always known his father wasn't a nice man, but nothing could have prepared me for what monster lay underneath his flesh.

That being said the hardest ones to keep from finding out were my guards. Where I went they went, they're even around the restaurant somewhere, so when Papa wanted to take me anywhere for my lessons it was such a fucking hassle evading them.

But we pulled it off, nobody knows what we've been planning for the past decade. Not that it would matter much if mother got her wish and married me off. I need to stay in the house, by Papas' side if I really want to make my debut into The Business when I turn 18.

"I don't need a husband, I'm only 17."

"You'll be 18 in two weeks, and if we don't find you a husband fast then-" I cut her off.

"Then nothing, mother. I'd rather die an undesired hag, then let Mike Newton touch me. Plus he's not even Italian. "

"Newton?" Grandpa James questions.

Shit, I spoke too loudly.

Grandfather looks over until he spots the Newtons and shakes his head.

"She'll not be marrying that Newton boy."

Huh? I thought he was of the opinion that all women need to be married and pregnant by sixteen. Put a baby in a bitch and she'll be too preoccupied to stick her nose in her mans affairs.

"Why not?"

Whoa, What the fuck, Bella, why would you ask that? Why would you continue the conversation? Are you new or something? Born yesterday? Hit on the head too much? Well . . . yes, but come on, bitch!

He looks at me disgusted, as if he can't fathom that I just spoke out of turn.

"Do you wish to marry the boy?"

"No." I answer with my own disgusted expression.

"Then why do you ask, 'why not'?" He mocks.

I open and close my mouth like a gaping fish not knowing what to say. Could it be possible he's changed his stand on women and mar-

"You'll marry like a you should have already," he shoots my dad a withering look, "soon enough, but it sure as hell won't be to a Newton."

Never mind then. Wait . . . what does he mean I'll marry soon? Has he found me a husband? He can't do that, can he?

"I don't want to get married. At all." Goddammit, why do you continue to talk? What was the first lesson you were taught when Papa took you under he's wing, Bella? Don't. Show. Your. Hand. Wether it be in poker or life, and now your vindictive grandfather knows your thoughts on the subject. I mean it's not like he couldn't have guessed the mere idea of marriage, arranged or not, makes me sick, but now he knows! Knowledge is like candy to vindictive bastards and I've just given him quite the treat.

"Do I look like I care what you want? You'll do your duty, little girl."

Good going, dumbass.

•••••

Once home I followed my father into his office, seething with a rage that almost burns.

"What did Grandpa mean at brunch?" I practically shout when the heavy oak door is closed.

Papa sighs and runs a hand through his curly salt and pepper hair. Still more pepper than salt, but it's getting there.

"Beautiful-" He sighs, sitting at his desk, putting his head in his hands.

"Don't 'Beautiful' me! What is Grandpa planning?" I kick one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk out of my way and slam a fist down hard, hurting myself in the process.

Papa looks up at me slowly, the fire back in his eyes.

"You do not speak to me in that way, Isabella." He speaks slowly, intimidating me in .2 seconds.

I swallow a lump in my throat, fear coursing through my veins.

My father is not like his. He's not cruel, he doesn't mistreat his family but . . . I'd be lying if I didn't say there isn't something kindred about them.

I take a seat on the chair I didn't kick.

"I'm sorry, Papa, but please . . . You must know what he meant."

He shakes his head slowly.

"I know what his words meant, you do too, Isabella, he plans on marrying you off. But this is the first he's spoken of anything related to marriage and you. I don't know his plan, not who, not when, not anything, Bella."

"You're my father, in our world it's your job to find me a husband, you can stop him, you out rank him, father over grandfather."

"I will do everything in my power to stop him, Bella, believe that, but I don't outrank him, not when he's the goddamn Don of this family!"

This is bad, so very bad.

"You should be the Don." I grumble, slouching in my chair and crossing my arms like a child.

Papa chuckles.

"One day, if I keep on the good side of the bastard, I might be, but today is not that day, Beautiful. Don't worry, the day of your eighteenth birthday, the family will know which child I've truly groomed to follow in my footsteps. Just . . . let's take our minds off this for a minute. Go practice, and I'll meet you in a few."

Doing as I was told, even though a new found sense of exhaustion settles over my bones, I change into workout clothing and head to the basement where we set up a gym.

Everything you could ever want is in this house, the beauty of money I suppose. A gym, sauna, game room, theatre, etc.

Before I even stepped into the gym I already heard the clinking of the weights.

"You're gonna give yourself a hernia one of these days, lifting so much." I call out to Em, seeing he's working with damn near his own body weight.

He just laughs and continues to pump the barbell above his chest.

"You wanna spot me?" He asks, out of breath.

I snort.

"Please, if you lose your edge and can't lift it off yourself I sure as hell won't be able to."

He chuckles and lifts the barbell back onto its holders.

"Are you ok?" He asks, sitting up and wiping away sweat from his face and neck.

"Not really, he's got something planned for me, and knowing him-"

"-It's going to be hell." Em finishes my thought.

"Yeah." I sigh.

"I'm sorry, sissy, I know that's not what you want, but maybe Dad can help, maybe talk Grandpa out of whatever he's thinking of doing." He offers weakly.

"Maybe." I agree, no real belief in the word.

"That being said, either way . . . It's going to happen sooner or later. You're going to have be married and it'll probably be arranged. Hell I'll have to as well. " Em jumps on the treadmill and begins a warm up jog.

"Ya, but it's different." I grumble, turning his speed up.

"How?"

"You're a guy, it's-" he stops the treadmill and cuts me off.

"So . . . because I'm a guy I don't want to find someone I love? Any girl will do the job?" Shit, now I've offended him.

"No, of course not, Emmett, it's just . . . You're the man, you'll be in charge of your home, your wife. As a guy you're seen as a person; a real person. I'm seen as a fucking prop to control. An extension of father like his watch or pinkie ring. As long as I'm shiny and pretty I'm worth . . . whatever it is women in this life are worth. And when I'm married, especially if I'm married to someone Grandfather choses, it'll be even worse."

Emmett nods his head but then looks down at me with amused eyes.

"You're forgetting one thing, Bells."

"What." I lightly snap, the exhaustion settling deeper.

"You're not like the other women in this life, now are you." He smirks and winks, walking past me where I stand, stunned.

"What do you mean by that?" I call after him.

Papa appears in the doorway and Emmett turns back to me, a full blown smile stretching across his handsome face.

"It means you and dad aren't nearly as sneaky as you think you are." He laughs at Papas' confused expression and walks out of the gym with a pat on his back. I think Emmett did it harder than he meant to though, 'cause it made Papa stumble a little bit.

"What's he talking about?" Papa asks righting himself and throwing a thumb after Em.

"It would appear we don't give that boy enough credit." I laugh, shaking my head.

Papas' confused gaze settles and a wash of realization crashes onto him.

"You think he knows about-"

"It would seem so."

"Hmm . . . I'll have to talk to him, but if I'm being honest, I'm glad. We probably should have told him sooner, I mean he's been thinking all this time-" Papas' sentence trails off as he sits on one of the weight benches.

"Yeah, that's probably wise." I agree.

He stands and locks the door to the gym.

"Alright time to get to work, Isabella."

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