Eight year old Rowan ran around the run-down apartment her father owned on the ghetto streets of New York City. She had long brown hair that had grown halfway down her back and flowed straight behind her like a veil and she played. Her father, Michael Greco, was sitting at the small table in the center of the kitchen. Four chairs were present at the table, all different styles and sizes. He flipped threw the newspaper as she ran around playing a game.
As she danced and sang among the cracked floor tiles, there was a loud pounding at their door. Her father jumped up immediately to grab his daughter. His movements were fast as if he had planned for this to happen. Throwing her into an unbreakable grasp, he brought her into his bedroom and told her to quietly hide under the bed. “Do not make a sound, Rowan.” Another knock at the door startled him. He was scaring his daughter, but there was no other way he could communicate with her without putting fear into her mind. “Can you do that for daddy?”
Rowan nodded helplessly. He held her hand as she scooted beneath her father’s bed. It was dusty and smelled like dirty socks, but she didn’t tell him that. She had promised to stay quiet. Panic rose in her as she looked into her father’s eyes. She wanted to reach out towards him, but stayed put.
“I’ll be back in a little while, baby girl. I love you.”
“I love you too, Daddy!” she squealed. She knew that he wouldn’t come back for a long time, if ever at all.
Rowan blinked a few times, coming back to reality. The student next to her had begun tapping her pencil at an annoying rate. She rearranged herself in her seat to become more comfortable, but that seemed like an unreachable goal in the hard school desks.
The assignment had been to write a poem about fear. Fear was a very vague topic, so her teacher said that if the students concentrated on a memory or book that truly scared them, it would be easier to describe the emotion. Rowan decided quickly that this was an assignment she would skip.
She glanced around the classroom. All of the students seemed normal, all but one. In the exact center of the five rows five column arrangements of seats, sat Emmet Mori. Emmet had one of those bad-boy attitudes that average people shy away from. Teachers knew that he was a bad apple the moment he went through puberty. With a frown plastered across his face, he walked in a dignified manner. He had very few friends at the local public high school and he didn’t seem to mind.
Emmet seemed completely harmless in school. Only Rowan knew the truth of what happened once the school bell rings. He would turn into a man to be feared on the streets of New York City. But, in her eyes, he was just another boy trying to play gangster in his mother’s basement. Not something to be proud of, in her opinion.
As if he knew she was staring, Emmet turned and looked straight at her. He didn’t smile, or blush like most boys would. He just glared at her. His brown hair fell in his face like a male model. Something in his eyes was off. Rowan averted her eyes towards the window as the bell rang. He continued to watch her like a creepy stalker as she gathered her things and walked away, looking back once as she went through the door.
Rowan walked down the hallway with a certain grace that represented her power. Her classmates may not know why they fear her, but they make no mistake of getting in her way. The crowds didn’t divide as she walked down the hallway, but she did get looks from underclassmen of pure terror.
A freshman wearing the orange and black cheerleading uniform stood near her locker. Once Rowan was in sight, the girl quickly moved, eyeing Rowan with a panicked glare.
“You’re wanted,” a deep voice said, smoothly.
“Excuse me?” she said, turning around.
Emmet stood there with his face completely blank. “Your father wants to see you.”
Rowan rolled her eyes and turned back to her locker. She glanced up and down at her books. Rowan didn’t pay attention in school; she only went to the prison keep up appearances. Something her father taught her to do when she was very young. She threw her Dolce and Gabbana bag over her shoulder and slammed the door closed.
“Since when does he send soldiers to escort me, especially someone like you?”
Rowan scoffed.
“What’s wrong with me?” he shot back. He didn’t sound hurt, but Emmet wasn’t teasing her like the other soldiers do. He spoke in a plain monotone.
“You’re weak minded. I still can’t believe you gained enough honor to get this far. Why that happened is completely beyond me.” Rowan kept her voice reasonably low, knowing that there could be eavesdroppers lurking.
Emmet adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and looked around him, as if he could understand her thoughts. “Just get going. I wouldn’t want daddy to be angry that you’re late.”
With a frown, Rowan started walking down the hallway with Emmet unreasonably close behind her.
Rowan met Vinny outside of the school campus. He was standing against the shiny black Mercedes that her father provided for him. Vinny wore an Armani suit and dark sunglasses.
“Princess,” Vinny greeted.
“Vinny,” Rowan replied as he opened the back door of the car.
Emmet had been tight on Rowan’s heels until the school parking lot, and then he just disappeared. She didn’t mind, however, his company was never something she craved.
The car ride was silent. It gave Rowan time to think about her father. How he had been normal once. How her life had be simple and easy. But that was a long time ago, before the money, the weapons, the fights, and the mob. He was only a soldier when Rowan was born. Her mother became longer present in Rowan’s life. Rowan hardly noticed the lack of that mother-daughter bond due to the constant love from her father. Her father who had spent days at a time in prison because of his new ‘job’ but would spoil her rotten with kisses and hugs upon his return to her life.
Her father had no intention of becoming one of the most powerful mob bosses in the city. He didn’t want that type of life for his daughter. However, plans changed as he gained honor and respect amongst fellow gangsters and before he knew it, he had loyal followers beneath him.
When Rowan turned twelve, he bought her a loft to have for herself. He bought the loft beneath Rowan’s and the one above. Michael Greco would do anything to protect his daughter from the dangers on the streets of New York City. It’s an off week when he doesn’t receive threats from enemies that owe him money. Whenever there is a threat against his daughter, they put her into hiding until things blow over. There never is any potential danger, but sometimes men slip up.
“Take em’ out to the garbage,” Greco would always say to those who are disloyal or slip up. Rowan has never officially seen what the ‘garbage’ really is, but it can’t be pleasant.
The Mercedes pulled up slowly to her building. Some more men wearing fancy black suits came outside and looked around. “For your safety,” her father would always say. One of the men opened her door and she stepped out only have three oversized men hover close around her as she ascended the front steps.
Rowan rolled her eyes. “Can’t you back off?” she asked sarcastically.
None of her guards answered her. They weren’t allowed to.
