"WEAK."

ROME'S POV

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Lance no longer laughed as much as he used to.

He'd lost weight, stopped smiling, and usually stared right through me whenever I tried to talk to him.

I was fortunate enough to have days like these where he'd make a joke or two and resist his urge to end the call halfway through the conversation.

He reminded me of my past self but worse. And it scared me to no end.

I'd struggled with something that was eating me from the outside in.

He was struggling with something eating him from the inside out. And it looked like he battled those demons every second of the day.

Sometimes, he'd come to school with his shirt unbuttoned, heavy purple bags under his eyes, and a dazed look on his face.

I'd have to drag him to the bathroom only to find out he hadn't brushed his teeth or showered. He'd withered into an empty, walking shell.

I'd had enough and did my own investigation without permission.

That's when I found that there'd been an abduction with no request for ransoms.

I just didn't know what it had to do with him.

"You didn't give up on me, man. There's no way I'm giving up on you. I can play dirty if it's what it takes."

He scoffed. "What could you possi-"

"Rome." Someone knocked at my door. "Your grandfather is looking for you."

Lance snickered. "Not calling you 'young master' this time?"

"Shut up. I'll call you later."

"Tch, you shut-"

I hung up, tossed the phone onto my bed, and followed the maid to hear what my nutcase of a grandfather had to say.

What did he even want this time?

He barely spared me a glance any time he was home, so what could he possibly ask from me that he couldn't deliver through the maids?

His second guard of the week opened the door, and I stepped in. I often wondered how long it would take for paranoia to kill him.

Despite his abrasive behavior, he couldn't seem to shake off the thought that someone was coming for him. Must be the families of the people he's killed.

Stan, his assistant, stood by his side. Gramps looked up from his Gurkha Black Dragon cigars and narrowed his droopy eyes at me.

"You're not staying here for the summer."

I almost rolled my eyes. Pleasantries be damned, right?

"Stan and some of the guards will take you to a quarter I bought to have you trained. You need to become capable enough to take over my business when I'm gone."

Something heavy curled in my chest, but I couldn't tell if it was anger or annoyance.

Capable? Business?

"I'm fourteen, sir." I bit out.

I only cared about hanging out with Hana Motley and crashing parties with Lance.

"Exactly, Rome." He drawled, clipping the edge of the cigar and allowing Stan to light it for him. Then, puffing once, twice, three times, he coughed, licking his lips. "We're the Vanders. We have businesses all over the world, and that comes with competition. You and I know well what we went through before getting to where we are."

He didn't have to remind me.

I clearly remembered those days we'd crawl out of our cardboard home at dawn —glad if it hadn't been beaten down by the rain or some random strangers who liked to kick at things— fold it, then make our way to the mall center where we'd beg for money till the sunset.

Then, repeat it all again the next day.

We were fortunate if we managed to find something to eat within two days. Sometimes, we drank the dirty fountain water till we were given alms, or managed to pickpocket someone without getting beaten.

But now things were different.

We were rich.

We had money.

We didn't have to worry about material things anymore. After all, we owned a large chain of supermarkets, hotels, and airlines worldwide.

All of this had happened within a few years. It had been a tough but fast journey.

I still didn't understand how we got all this wealth, but I didn't care enough to ask.

Mind over matter, if you ask me.

"You'll have to take over one day. I'm getting old, cancer is eating my rotten life away, and your father has been burying himself in women and alcohol ever since that stupid mother of yours died."

Deep breaths.

Smoke blew past me when he exhaled, "That wench had nothing to give, but at least she had you, and since my son is indisposed, you're next in line. So, go, get your act together, and become a man. I'll see you when you get back."

Ha, this old man really has it coming.

"I said leave. Didn't you hear me?" Then he reached for his envelope opener and flung the sharp metal at me.

It swished past my ear and struck a book on the shelf behind me. The book fell out and cluttered to the floor.

Something warm dripped down my ear.

"Argh," Gramps grumbled, ruffling the little white hair he had left, "my aim used to be good, Stan. That should have stabbed his cheek."

Stan laughed good-naturedly as if he understood. "You'll get better with more practice, sir."

"You think so? Well, I hope so. Now, tell that boy to leave before I take out my gun. Reminds me too much of his mother."

Swiveling, I marched out and slammed the door behind me. My hands shook as I reached up to wipe at the cut.

A streak of blood coloured my thumb.

Call me weak, but I still cared about my family.

Did I worry that my good-for-nothing father had disappeared and only cared to return when Gramps remembered he existed and cut his card? Yes.

Did I still shed a couple of tears whenever I'd visit my mother's grave after school? Yes.

Did I still want Gramps to accept me and treat me like I mattered to him, just like he used to when we were poor? I do.

But, I was obviously the only one who couldn't move on.

Mother would have laced her fingers with mine, smiled her dreamy smile, and said, "Don't change, Rome. The angels in heaven will cry to lose a pure heart like yours."

Forgive me, Mother, but they could cry me a river.

"Four more years," I said into the quiet hallway, "I just need to endure this for four more years."

But a week later, I found myself in the back of Gramp's van, heading towards the place where everything changed.