Silent Allure

chapter 1

Vegas clenched the steering wheel as he navigated through the bustling city streets, his father's words echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat. The mere thought of the impending blind date fueled his frustration, igniting a simmering anger deep within him.

"Why does he insist on this blind date?"I can take after business without getting married" Vegas muttered to himself, his jaw clenched in annoyance. He had other priorities, other responsibilities that demanded his attention.He was most feared person in underworld he have already proved his worth.He didn't need a blind date to prove his worth

His irritation only intensified when his phone rang, the shrill ringtone piercing through the quiet confines of the car. With a resigned sigh, Vegas answered the call, bracing himself for yet another round of his father's demands.

"What now?" Vegas snapped, his voice laced with thinly veiled frustration.

His father's voice crackled through the speaker, his tone authoritative and uncompromising. "Vegas, I need you to buy flowers for tonight," he commanded, his words leaving no room for argument.

Vegas felt his temper flare at the audacity of the request. Flowers? In the midst of his already hectic schedule, his father had the nerve to burden him with such trivial tasks?

"Flowers?" Vegas scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "You want me to waste my time buying flowers?"

His father's response was firm and unwavering. "It's for the date, Vegas. You need to make a good impression."

Vegas clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to protest, to argue, to defy his father's orders. But deep down, he knew it was futile. His father's word was law, and Vegas had no choice but to comply.

With a resigned sigh, Vegas reluctantly agreed to his father's demands, silently cursing the blind date that threatened to disrupt his carefully constructed world.

Vegas gritted his teeth, his frustration boiling over as he navigated the busy streets of the city. His father's stupid demands gnawed at him like a relentless pest, and the thought of the impending blind date only served to fuel his anger.

"Damn it," Vegas muttered under his breath, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he scanned the streets for any sign of a flower shop. The mere idea of wasting his time on such trivial matters grated on his nerves, and the thought of his father's overbearing presence only added to his agitation.

"Where the hell am I supposed to find a flower shop in this godforsaken place?" Vegas growled, his voice laced with frustration. He had more important things to worry about than bouquets and blossoms, and the idea of indulging his father's whims filled him with a sense of overwhelming annoyance.

To his luck he saw a small shop nearby. Vegas eyed the small shop with skepticism, its quaint exterior adorned with a colorful sign that read "Blossoming Bubbles." Despite his doubts, he knew he had no other choice but to investigate. With a resigned sigh, he exited his car and made his way towards the shop, his steps heavy with reluctance.

As he approached the door, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of uncertainty that gnawed at him. Would this shop even have the flowers he needed? Or was it just another wasted endeavor in his father's never-ending quest for perfection?

As Vegas stepped into the shop, he was immediately assaulted by the overwhelming scent of flowers, a fragrance that grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, his dislike for flowers well-known and deeply ingrained.

"This is so annoying," Vegas muttered to himself, his irritation mounting with each passing moment. He had little patience for the frivolities of floral arrangements and even less for the task his father had assigned him.

As he scanned the shop, his eyes fell upon a man lurking behind one of the shelves, his presence like a shadow in the dimly lit space. Vegas narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his irritation growing as the man continued to watch him with unnerving intensity.

"Hey, what are you looking at?" Vegas demanded, his tone sharp with irritation.

The man hesitated for a moment before emerging from behind the shelf, his demeanor tentative yet curious. His clothing suggested that he was either a worker or perhaps the owner of the shop, though Vegas cared little for such distinctions.

"I need flowers," Vegas stated brusquely, his impatience palpable as he awaited a response.

But the man remained silent, his gaze fixed on Vegas with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Before Vegas could press further, the man retreated once more behind the safety of the shelf, leaving Vegas to scoff in annoyance.

"Idiot" Vegas muttered under his breath, his annoyance simmering beneath the surface. He had little time for games or idle curiosity, and he was growing increasingly frustrated with each passing moment.

That man comeback with a notebook and marker in his and and he writes something in it and hand it over to Vegas.

"What now?" Vegas muttered under his breath, his irritation warring with his curiosity as he considered his next move.

Reluctantly, he accepted the notebook from the man, his annoyance still simmering beneath the surface. As he read the message, his irritation melted away, replaced by a begrudging sense of gratitude for the man's assistance.

"You can't speak?" Vegas questioned, his tone softer now, tinged with a hint of curiosity.

The man shook his head, his expression earnest as he gestured towards himself and then to Vegas, indicating his inability to communicate verbally.

Vegas frowned in confusion, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of the situation. He had never encountered someone who couldn't speak before, and he found himself at a loss for how to proceed.

But before he could voice his thoughts, the man began to sign, his hands moving fluidly as he conveyed his message in a language that Vegas couldn't understand.

"I can't understand what you're saying," Vegas admitted, his frustration mounting as he struggled to comprehend the man's gestures.

With a sympathetic smile, the man took back the notebook and pen, quickly jotting down his meaning before passing it back to Vegas. As Vegas read the message, his eyes widened in surprise.

"I meant I can help you with flowers," the message read, and Vegas couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards the man for his offer of assistance.

With a grateful nod, Vegas scribbled a response in the notebook before handing it back to the man. "For a date," he wrote, his words terse yet appreciative.

As that man read the message scrawled in the notebook, a warm smile spread across his face, revealing a dimple on one cheek. With a nod of understanding, he gestured for Vegas to wait a moment before disappearing into the depths of the shop.

Minutes later, that man emerged from the back, a bouquet of red roses cradled in his hands. He extended the flowers to Vegas with a gentle smile, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief as he gestured towards a small card.

"Would you like me to write a message?" He signed, his hands moving gracefully as he awaited Vegas's response.

But Vegas shook his head, his expression solemn as he declined the offer. There were no words he wished to convey, no sentiments he wished to express. The flowers spoke volumes on their own, and he saw no need for further embellishment.

As Vegas paid for the flowers, he couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity gnawing at him. There was something about that man, something that intrigued him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

"What's your name?" Vegas suddenly found himself asking, his voice soft with genuine interest.

That man was momentarily taken aback by the question, his eyes widening in surprise. He point towards himself and asking Vegas with eyes "are you talking about me?" , and Vegas nods eagerly

With a flourish, that man retrieved a piece of paper and a pen, and with a flourish, he wrote his name in neat, looping script.

"Pete," the name read, and Vegas couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the simple yet meaningful exchange. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about the budding connection between them.