THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND

Four

The next morning, the air in the Russo mansion was thick with unspoken tension, a stark contrast to the usual crisp efficiency of their household. Alma, dressed in her crisp school uniform, stood stubbornly by the grand entrance, her jaw set, refusing to let Dante drop her off.

She had somehow managed to get ready and descend the sweeping staircase before him, a small victory she clung to fiercely.

Ronan and Zade, already dressed in their impeccably tailored suits, were a whirlwind of controlled chaos, their voices sharp with the urgency of an important meeting.

They were running late, their frustration palpable, yet Alma, usually so compliant, was throwing a silent, defiant tantrum. She wouldn't budge, her shoulders hunched, her gaze fixed on the marble floor.

Dante, having just stepped into the foyer, took in the scene. His patience, never an abundant commodity, wore thin almost immediately.

A vein throbbed faintly in his temple. He walked towards her, his movements predatory and deliberate, the soft thud of his expensive shoes echoing ominously in the large space. Alma seemed to shrink in on herself as he approached, but she still didn't move.

"Alma," he said, his voice dangerously low, a coiled threat. "Ger in the car now!".

When she remained unresponsive, his hand shot out. There was a sharp crack that resonated in the silence as he spanked her ass, hard.

She yelped, a startled, painful sound, and instinctively rushed out of the house as if propelled by an invisible force. Without a backward glance, she scrambled into the passenger seat of Dante's waiting car, pulling the door shut with a muffled thud.

Ronan and Zade, frozen mid-stride, stared at Dante in utter shock. Their faces, usually composed, were a mixture of disbelief and simmering rage.

The sound of the spank had been loud enough to cut through the morning's hurried rhythm, an undeniable act of aggression that none of them had anticipated.

Dante merely chuckled, a low, dismissive sound that grated on their already frayed nerves. He met their stunned gazes, a sardonic glint in his dark eyes.

"Better not lose that investment," he warned, his voice laced with mock concern, referring to their urgent meeting. "I'll see you in an hour."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving his brothers to simmer in their shock and indignation. He slid into the driver's seat of the sleek, black car, his eyes stern as he glared at Alma, who immediately pulled on her seatbelt, her hands trembling slightly.

Her face was flushed, whether from humiliation or lingering pain, he couldn't tell. He didn't care. He merely observed her, a silent, unyielding presence before he drove out of the estate, the car a dark blur disappearing down the long, winding driveway.

********

Alma could barely sit straight in class. Her ass still stung from where Dante had hit her, a constant, irritating reminder of his iron will. He was always the brother she feared the most, the no-nonsense one who refused to give in to her whims, the one who saw through her childish manipulations with unsettling clarity. She hated that about him, hated his unwavering control.

Zade and Ronan, on the other hand, were more accommodating, more lenient. They often granted her free will, even when she was being difficult, their affection a soft cushion against the hard edges of their family's reality.

"Alma." Her best friend, Laura, whispered, nudging her arm. The teacher's back was to them, scrawling a complicated equation on the whiteboard. "You are coming to the party this weekend, right?"

Alma turned, her focus immediately shifting from the lingering discomfort to the exciting prospect.

"The college boys' party? The one at the frat house?"

"Yes!" Laura giggled, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Quiet!" the teacher hissed, without turning around.

Alma faced forward again, a small smile playing on her lips. The frat party. Last year, her brothers had flat-out refused to let her attend. But this year, a fierce spark of defiance ignited within her. Even if they said no, she would still go. After all, her crush, Ben, had invited her personally. His easy smile and charming way had consumed her thoughts for weeks.

The next day, during lunch at the bustling school cafeteria, Laura brought it up again. "Let's go shopping tomorrow. We need to find you the perfect outfit."

"Sure," Alma agreed, her mind already buzzing with possibilities. "But I'll have to lie to my brothers and tell them I'm having a sleepover at your place, or else they won't let me attend the party."

Laura's brow furrowed. "Are they still being strict with you?"

Alma sighed, pushing a fork through her pasta. "Dante is the problem, as usual. He's been particularly difficult lately."

"Dante..." Laura sighed dreamily, her eyes unfocused, lost in some private fantasy.

Alma rolled her eyes. She didn't understand what her best friend saw in her annoying brother. Laura thought Dante was brooding and mysterious, a real-life dark romance hero. To Alma, he was just... Dante. Overbearing, terrifying, and utterly infuriating. The idea of anyone finding him dreamy was just absurd.