The man on the stage, tucked a hand inside his pocket while the other held a flute of champagne. He was so Italian like most of the men and women in Gregory's cartel, at least the ones she'd seen.
"Everyone knows why we're here. It's the official seating of Gregory Don II of the Marchetti mafia," the man announced and everyone except Elena and the man in question cheered.
"I'm his second in command as most of you know. Leo Marchetti (speaks Italian)" The people cheered and his short speech continued for a bit before he called for Gregory to address the crowd.
He went up to address the crowd, he sounded like a boss—a no-nonsense boss, but she still heard the vileness in his voice.
Hey, this book has been on hold for a while. I hate that I kept the story away from my readers. As much as I'm excited to let the world see this book, it became depressing for me that the reads and votes for this book never moved forward, even when my editor claimed to have promoted it—which I highly doubt. As a result of this, I'm unsure whether I'll continue this book on here or any other book at all. I'll let y'all know. Xxxx xxxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xx xxx xxx xx xxxxx xxx xxx
Elena stood startled at the man who had been blackmailing her for over 5 months. He had been blackmailing her with just threats of knowing her secret in exchange that she dropped the business deal she had just finalized.
The hot heavy summer breeze on a Monday morning was the first greeting Elena got coming out of her house. Lagos they said was the city of opportunities and the summer season did nothing to stop or reduce its bubbly runs of bodies brushing and past each other, not even stopping to give as much as a glance.The bodies belonging to workers of every sort, rushing down the alley to get to their works, students either bouncing with joy to be back to school again or the ones that cat walked, dragging their
I know what you did.The bold typed words were staring back at her from the screen of her laptop as they have been in the last five minutes. She hadn't moved since she opened the email from an unknown address.I know what you did.
The email was from the same address, '7ight'. It readNice outfit.He had seen her. How? Where?Was he the
Gregory had watched her that evening. That evening she did the dreadful. It had brought his twisted mind so much joy to see such a fragile thing take a life.He had been in his one room apartment in an old almost deserted house when the fragile girl that drove so recklessly, causing practically all the dust to rise up, had caught his attention. He had wondered what had her so pissed and hurried. He'd watched her countering with a man that should be in his fifties, and what ever argument they had looked heated.When the man had walked up to her and she had skated away from him, he'd smiled knowing he wouldn't stop watching, even if the man had raped her. He was going to watch it all with his camera, and his demented self would get hard from the sight. He'd continued watching as the man snarled his teeth at
At the end of that week, on Saturday specifically, she stood in front of the mirror, nervously smothering the side of her black dress even though it wasn't rumpled. She had dressed up prettily in a black dress and packed her hair into a bun as the note in the parcel had instructed.Dinner at 8 on Saturday. At the new fast food just outside your estate. Sure you know the name, can't miss it. And dress pretty for me in a black dress, with your hair up, amore. —The note read.As she made her way to Chop taste, the fast-food he had instructed she met him, she stopped for a bit to send a text to Anna, telling her where she was headed... she did that just in case that was the last they saw of her. At least they could trail links to find her dead body and bury it. Not that she'd deserve a burial.
She winced naturally, as she had become accustomed to it been the first thing she did at the dawn of day, thanks to her thin curtains that never stop light from penetrating. She expected the light to hit her closed eyes, but to her surprise, there was no hit. Behind her lids told her her room wasn't as bright as it usually was.She yawned wondering why she felt so rested. Her brows frowned as her body told her it wasn't used to the feel of the bed she was on, though it was comfy, it just didn't feel like her bed. She croaked her lids open and was met with an unfamiliar environment.The neatly arranged room with yellow painted walls caught her eyes. Then the thick grey curtains —which explained why strays of sunlight didn't greet her vision—, a chair that had few folded clothes on it and a door that she knew would lead to a bathroom at once. She puffed a