𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 BOOK 2: HOLY TRINITY SERIES. When I move into the world it feels like a moral fall, like seeking love in a whorehouse. ❝You'll be the ruin of me, won't you?❞ ❝Yes, does that scare you?❞
In which y/n who work...
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"She's a mess of gorgeous chaos, and you can see it in her eyes."
- Future Journals
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"Entra." (Get in).
Two gentlemen dressed in black suits trapped a woman near the alley. She held onto the back of her son's collared shirt firmly, protecting him from the two men. Despite her exposed position, she maintained a composed demeanor, displaying resilience and readiness to confront the inevitable challenges with a spirit prepared for any outcome, ready to face the Grim with a soul ready to be reaped.
The young boy lifted his gaze to his mother, his eyes etched with fear on behalf of them both. In response, his mother offered a comforting nod and gently guided him into the waiting car. He followed reluctantly, finding strength in their shared presence as the men directed them towards their destination.
The journey was brief, and before they knew it, they were escorted out of the car by four well-armed men in suits, some leisurely holding cigars and exhaling smoke clouding the interior of the vehicle.
They were led to the Don's greenhouse, marveling at the impressive architecture, the boy's face lit up as he pointed to the growing flowers in the yard, tugging at his mother's clothing to get her attention. However, all he received was a fleeting half-smile before her gaze returned forward, clearly perturbed, and she resumed following the men.
Upon reaching the gazebo, a wooden platform positioned above pebbled ground, they encountered an arrangement of outdoor furniture surrounded by well-cared-for potted plants in full bloom.
The location exuded an atmosphere of tranquility and calm, a stark contradiction to the armed individuals who occupied it. Seated in one of the chairs, the Don sat with a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass on the wooden surface, lacking a coaster, alongside an ashtray filled with cigarette remnants.
His twin sons sitting in one of the stools, short legs swaying back and forth from the edge of the chair. Both have the same droopy lavender eyes, the eyes that soon to be nurtured with violence and crimes. The older brother had his short arms across his little brother's shoulder who's sitting on his lap, while the younger boy was eating the end of his hair.
