The Gangster and His Beauty - Gangsters in Love Series

27

I surrender to the sweet embrace of sleep, my body sinking into the softness of the bed. The hours I sleep, I am transported to a dream—a world of endless possibilities, where I am the esteemed owner of a famous fashion brand. Success and contentment intertwine, casting a radiant glow upon every facet of my life.

In this perfect realm, I walk confidently down runways, my designs adorning the bodies of the world's most glamorous individuals. Applause reverberates through the air, a symphony of recognition and admiration. Each step I take, every creation I birth, is met with resounding praise and boundless opportunities.

But amidst the euphoria of this dreamlike existence, a distant noise penetrates the walls of my reverie. Glass shatters, echoing through the corridors of my subconscious. I strain to decipher its origin, the harmony of my dream world faltering under the weight of reality.

The sound grows louder, insistent and disruptive. Curiosity and a sense of foreboding ripple through me, pulling me from the depths of slumber. My eyes flicker open, adjusting to the dimly lit room, as I lay still, listening intently.

Another crash, closer this time, resonates through the air like a thunderclap. The dream dissipates, leaving only fragments of desire and ambition. Instinctively, I sit up, my heart pounding in my chest, alert and attuned to the chaos unfolding beyond the confines of my mind.

Fear intertwines with curiosity, propelling me forward.

I slowly pull my cardigan around me, relishing in the warmth it provides as I rise from my bed. The soft fabric envelopes me like a protective shield against the cool morning air. As I shuffle towards the bedroom door, a sense of quietude fills the hallway, casting a calm hush over the house.

"Mom, dad?" I call out, my voice gentle but laced with a touch of curiosity. The silence that greets my words is profound, broken only by the distant, rhythmic snoring emanating from my father's room. Perhaps it was all just a figment of my imagination, a lingering echo from the depths of a dream.

I turn to retreat back into the familiarity of my room, ready to dismiss the fleeting notion that something might be amiss. But just as my hand reaches for the doorknob, a series of crunching noises, like leaves being crushed underfoot, interrupts the stillness. My heart skips a beat, and a shiver trails down my spine.

My senses heighten, and I strain to identify the origin of the peculiar sounds. They appear to be coming from somewhere in the vicinity of our home, their haunting melody invading the tranquil morning. The air thickens with anticipation and a sense of foreboding.

I rush back into my room, a sense of urgency gripping me as I reach for my travel bag. Unzipping it, I retrieve the gun that I had stolen from Gael before my departure. It wasn't a decision I had made lightly, but a desperate act of self-preservation, a lingering reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

With the weapon firmly in my grasp, I take a deep breath, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts. I hope against hope that Gael won't notice its absence, that my secret act won't betray itself in my eyes or the trembling of my hands. The weight of the stolen gun feels heavy, both physically and metaphorically, as I consider the consequences of my actions.

Silently, I descend the staircase, my steps deliberate and measured. The darkness seems to encase the house, its silence broken only by the distant sounds of my own breathing. I pause, my senses on high alert, as I feel a sudden rush of air, accompanied by a gentle caress of moonlight spilling into the main room.

My heart skips a beat, the realization striking me with an intensity that sends adrenaline coursing through my veins. It's a break-in. Intruders have violated the sanctity of my home, their intentions unknown and potentially dangerous.

Without wasting a moment, I retreat, bounding up the stairs as quietly as possible. Panic and concern surge within me, fueling my determination to protect my loved ones. The room at the end of the hallway—their room—beckons me, a haven that I must secure.

I burst into my parents' room, my voice a hushed urgency as I whisper their names. "Mom, dad," I say, my words barely escaping my trembling lips.

My breath catches in my throat as I reach the bottom of the stairs. The sight before me freezes me in place, my heart pounding in my chest. There, on the floor, my parents kneel, their faces etched with fear and resignation. Guns are pointed at their heads, the glint of metal reflecting the harsh reality of this moment.

A shiver courses through my body, causing me to tremble uncontrollably. Fear coils in the pit of my stomach, threatening to paralyze me. I take a step back, the weight of the gun in my hand almost forgotten as terror floods my senses. But before I can fully process the gravity of the situation, I feel something behind me—a presence that sends a chill down my spine. My body tenses as a voice, cold and callous, cuts through the air.

"That was so easy," Andrew says, his words dripping with a mixture of amusement and malice. I turn around slowly, my hand tightening around the gun, its weight suddenly more potent than ever. My voice trembles, but I muster all the strength I can find.

"Let my parents go! Now!" I demand, my voice filled with a desperate mix of fear and determination. I train the gun on him, pointing it directly at his figure, hoping against hope that it will be enough to force him to release my loved ones.

Andrew's eyes meet mine, his gaze unyielding. He doesn't seem phased by the gun or my defiant stance. Instead, a smug grin spreads across his face, as if he finds amusement in my distress.

"Oh, so feisty. Now I see why Gael took a liking to you," he taunts, his words like venomous arrows aimed at my heart.

I lock eyes with Andrew, my voice quivering but laced with determination. "Let them go, or you'll regret it!" I may be outnumbered and outmatched, but my love for my parents fuels a fire within me that cannot be extinguished.

For a moment, the room hangs in a tense silence, as if time itself is holding its breath. And then, with a cold chuckle, Andrew replies, "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into little girl."

I cock the gun. "Say that again."

Andrew doesn't back down. "Tey and I, I'll end your parents life before you can scream. DOn;t believe me." He gestures to his men.

My parents whimper as the men take a hold of their gun and press it deeper in their head. Their gun clicks. Ticking the time I have left to react and make things right.

"Fine." I slim my arms down. "Let them go and I'll do whatever."

"That's a good girl." Andrew takes the gun from my hand. Andrew faces his men, playing with my gun. "Take the girl to our base. And for the old folks," he pauses, with a smirk on his lips that makes me sick to my stomach. "Knock them out."

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no authors note today love (it's a scheduled post)