Snippet #1479471

Nike. Mother Nature. Whatever the Father’s nemesis chose to call herself, Sofia would never know her as anything other than a withering harpy.

The blond beauty felt her glistening, crimson eyes roll involuntarily as the Cruzzola’s made their way into the building Nike and her pathetic entourage chose to cower in. This explained her lover’s contemplative mood earlier that day as they sat alone in the car. Sofia could not help but be slightly annoyed at Nike’s seeming refusal to be defeated. She was withering away. This was obvious. But it was happening too slowly for Sofia’s tastes. Nike held on to the hope that humanity could still be saved from the darker side of their nature like a ninety-year-old who clings to life though he would be much better off in his grave. God, how she hated the underdog.

If Sofia were being honest with herself, she had another reason for hating Nike. It was the excitement in the Father’s voice and manner when he spoke of her. It was the greedy, ravenous look in his eyes now as they inched ever closer and the promise of her dangled in front of him like bait. It was only his need to break her, of course, to devastate his arch-enemy so utterly that no one would ever question who the victor in this age-old struggle was. At least that’s what she told herself. Whether or not she believed it was irrelevant, because the truth was of little comfort, and she refused to be enticed to seek it. Especially if admitting the truth meant admitting she felt threatened by that flimsy excuse for a woman.

Needless to say, Sofia was not in the greatest of moods.

Her mood darkened even more when her slender, perfectly manicured fingers reached for the Father’s, only to find that they were already encircled around the tiny, adorably dimpled hand of the youngest member of the Cruzzola family. Her eyes narrowed menacingly in Delaney’s direction. That little brat was dancing cheerfully on her last nerve. Sofia put up with her. She had no other choice. Openly showing her hatred for the Father’s pet was playing a dangerous game. One that Sofia was unsure she could win. That damned child was deceptively devious, and Sofia was sure there was no end to the tricks she had up her sleeve. So, the Mistress put up with her lover’s favorite. . . for now, hoping he would one day tire of her, and she passed the time by fantasizing about ways to destroy her.

The group entered the elevator, and Sofia leaned with her back to the wall, her body arched seductively as the delicate black fabric she wore hung effortlessly around her form. Her mouth formed a subtle pout as she turned her irritated eyes from the Father and Delaney to the other Cruzzola in the elevator. But, Vincent’s cool, detached façade did little to ease her irritation. It was a compulsion for her: to be desired by the men who surrounded her. When she looked at Vincent, she saw only her own failure. There had been times when she had tried, in vain, to probe the recesses of his mind in search of his secret desires. She had always come away frustrated. These times became more frequent, and always ended in failure, until the day she realized the hold he had over her. His indifference to her was driving her crazy, and she could not allow any man to have that kind of power. So she withdrew. She gave up trying to entice him as she did others, and she’d kept her distance from him when possible ever since. It wasn’t worth it to seek intimacy with someone she was unable to manipulate.

After an eternity, the elevator doors opened, and she was able to leave that suffocating space. Now, they were in her presence. Sofia fumbled through her clothing to run her fingers along one of the many knives concealed on her person. The father asked them to be polite, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to fantasize about all the things she could do to the frail, slip of a woman before them . . . right?