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4 : "elevator to hell"
song : go fuck yourself - two feet

4 : "elevator to hell"song : go fuck yourself - two feet

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The cold metal of the handcuff was biting into my skin. I had been sitting next to this intolerable man for two hours now, Gabriel and Alanna nowhere in sight.

Over the past two hours this man had talked maybe two times. Once to threaten the timid man across from us during a game of poker and once to demand I stop moving so much.

Well, in his words, "If you do not stop moving, I will not hesitate to bury you alive." At the icy tone of his voice, I decided it was best to stop squirming around in my seat. He didn't exactly seem like the guy who jokes around.

"Vitale," a man came out of seemingly nowhere after everyone had filed out of the room and left only us two, a file in his hands as we sat around a vacant table. Vitale held a glass of scotch in his opposite hand, "have you heard about the Knight Family's gala tonight?"

My brows pulled up at the mention of my family, confusion bubbling in my stomach as the man walked closer with folder clutched in his hand as if his life depended on it.

His short brown hair was slicked back neatly, he was clad in a collared sweater which made him stick out like a sore thumb.

"I did not." He easily placed the scotch down on the table, opening his hand for the folder.

He flipped open the manila folder to find photos of the event sitting right in front of him. I prayed to God that I was not in any of these photos because I wasn't quite ready to figure out why he took interest at all in my family.

I have a funny feeling it isn't because he wants to set a time and day to have a cup of joe.

My heart nearly stopped dead in its tracks when he flipped to the third photo and there I was, sitting at the table with my mother and her unbearable friends. Thankfully enough, my back was to the cameraman.

I wondered idly, scanning through the faces I had seen tonight in my mind, who took these photos.

"Mrs. Knight doesn't disappoint," the random guy commented lightly which Vitale replied to with a low grunt.

"File them, they aren't much help," Vitale handed the manila folder back to the man with his uncuffed hand before picking up his glass of scotch once more, "Have you found the damn key yet?"

At the mention of the key, the cuff around my wrist almost itched. This man reeked of power, couldn't he call a lock smith or something?

"Er, no," he began, and I believe that was meant to be the end of his sentence but once he caught the glare Vitale was throwing in his direction, he picked back up, "I looked everywhere, sir. Literally, from the top of the cabinets to below the poker tables, no such luck. Whoever had the key either hid it very well or still has it."

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