Modravé De Costa Lopez is the name haunts the underground world, and the name that is engraved into the illegal system like a tattoo on an idiotic teenager. He runs one of the most powerful Mafia organisations known to man and is so powerful, he cou...
HELLO! ✌🏼 I can't lie it feels so bizarre to actually be writing again. Just to let you guys know, when I begin writing this I was only 15 years old believe it or not. I had zero qualifications in English but I just loved to write. (I updated multiple books every single day - I was very productive)
Now I am 19 with a grade A in English Language and Grade A* in English Literature GCSE, with an additional grade A in English Literature A level (which is another form of college here in England). That's so crazy. You may notice my writing will be different hence why I want to re-edit the other chapters.
I realllyyyyyy hope you guys enjoy the chapters, and for older readers please take the time to re-read if you don't mind 💓
Thank you and enjoy x -lily x ——————————————
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The insistent tickles on the back of his calves is what woke Cove up out of his sleep - they were almost like scratches, ever so slightly digging into his skin but it was not painful, just a tickle. He scrunched his nose in frustration, the tiredness behind his eyes still heavy and the coldness in the air reminding him it was too early to wake up.
Still, that insistent nudging! What is that, Cove thought.
He kicked his feet in frustration, putting it down to a mosquito, until he felt warmth on the back of his neck. I-is that a breath? He thought as his eyes shot open in panic. The cold morning air clinging to his warm skin like a bee to honey, but his immediate panic making his blood rise even higher to the skin as he shot around to see who is behind him.
A head of brown hair and a familiar face is what brought Cove back down. Small breaths of what was once panic is now relief.
Modravè was awake, his eyes still closed but a small smile coming to his lips in the realisation he just scared the shit out of Cove. "Are you okay?" He asks, scratchy but in amusement.
Cove just huffed and laid back down, frustrated but young mind too focused of the raspiness of Modravè's morning voice. God it sounded amazing. His Portuguese accent just complimented it even more.
"I've been fine." He shrugs his shoulders, "apart from the fact not to long ago I was in amidst a gun fight, oh and lest we not forget, trafficked from America all the way to THE SOUTH OF FRANCE ... I've been relatively fine". Cove concludes.
"The gun fight was after the trafficking", Modravè points out.
A deadly glare is what he receives in return for his unwanted comment.
"That's not the point".
"Well," Modravè grunts as he leans up and rests higher on the headboard of the bed, "right now were sat in this big bed, in the south of France, as you noted earlier, and all you're doing is complaining. Why don't be cherish the moment, hm?"
