deadquee
*Marcus Lorenzo*
By sixteen I had already earned a name that bent men's spines and hushed entire rooms: the Mafia King. It wasn't a title handed down with ceremony or a childish crown of bravado - I built it from arrangements, from timing, from a single night that rewired the city. The massacre was not a scene of theater for the curious; it was a lesson etched into the bones of every rival family. They slept with alarms on then, and they still wake to the echo of it. Names that once boasted now mumble in corners, and wise men cross streets when my shadow falls the wrong way.I like watching them unpack their own fear. That sentence makes me sound like a lunatic in a novel, and maybe I am, but there's a discipline to it. There is timing. There is patience. A man who thinks he owns courage because he carries a gun is a child in a war he can't comprehend. I teach him the grammar of real fear: where to look, when to understand, who to trust. I make them watch choices unfold until those choices become the trap. When you let someone have precisely the amount of hope they can carry before you remove it, the lesson lasts longer.
*Amara Costa*
At a young age, I was a model, growing up with everything a girl could dream of: a billionaire father, a lifetime of luxury, spending money like water on my unlimited black card, having my name on every billboard, newspaper, magazine, TV show-everything. But that changed on the night of an event where I met my father's rival. He had this demonic aura that screamed danger, my inner thoughts telling me he was a force, not one to mess with. But that didn't stop me from feeling attracted to him, feeling a forbidden pull, a forbidden desire that I was never meant to feel for a man whose name I didn't know. Yet when he stared, with his cold, dark, piercing gaze, it made me feel exposed, as if he was undressing me bare to his eyes. And he didn't stare with wants and needs-he stared with a look that said, I am already his.