The dingy safe house reeked of mildew and disappointment - a far cry from the opulent penthouse suite Bianca was accustomed to. Plush cream sofas were replaced by a sad, floral-printed loveseat that seemed to exhale a weary sigh as the spoiled mafia princess flung herself upon it and whined.

Her features, classically beautiful despite the bored pout presently twisting her full lips, radiated an overall aura of privilege. Ebony hair spilled across expensive silk like a raven's wings as Bianca languidly stretched her lithe frame, designer-clad limbs extending in a lazy tantrum.

Clawlike fuschia nails, manicured to wicked points, tapped out impatiently against the cracked screen of her phone as she scrolled through socials. Each missed update from her usual deluge of admirers and influencers deepened the disdainful sneer marring her porcelain visage.

"This is torture," Bianca groaned, voice dripping with melodrama. "Someone like me shouldn't be slumming it in these ragamuffin digs." With an exaggerated huff of disgust, she let the phone clatter to the stained carpet as cool eyes swept across her temporary lodgings.

"Grandfather thinks assigning some ape as a babysitter will rein in my..." One perfectly arched brow quirked upwards in a look of pure derision. "...discipline troubles? As if. I'll run mathafuckin' laps around whatever goomba comes through that door."

A dangerous glint flickered through her smokey gaze as slender fingers toyed with the wicked stiletto blade tucked into her designer tote. If some mook thought they could cramp Bianca Vinaccia's style, they had another thing coming.