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Mafia Captured (4): The Start of a Forbidden love
#romance #thriller #heartbreak
It was a study room, a haven of tasteful and aesthetic decoration. A large painting dominated one wall, capturing a mountain range seemingly floating like clouds.
An expensive table stood proudly in the center, its surface hinting at meticulous organization. Notes and pens lay arranged with military precision. Shelves lining the walls overflowed with books, all boasting the latest titles in English. Anyone stepping into this room would immediately conclude its owner possessed a sharp intellect. However, this assumption was far from the truth. The owner of this studious sanctuary couldn't read a word of English.
Seated at the table was an old man, his body still bearing the marks of a life well-lived despite the passage of time. A glimpse of his former self peeked through—one could easily imagine him as a handsome young man in his prime.
He was lost in his writing when the door creaked open, an intruder disrupting his concentration.
The old man's brow furrowed slightly, but he remained silent.
"Sorry, Don," the visitor stammered, his voice laced with urgency. "But this is important."
The old man continued writing, seemingly unfazed by the interruption.
"Don," the man repeated, his voice rising in desperation. "Ezel is gone."
The old man's pen faltered, then stilled completely.
"Ezel," he rasped, disbelief coloring his voice.
"Russell's men," the man explained. "They wanted to wipe out his entire family. He tried to fight them off, but..." his voice trailed off, choked with emotion.
The old man sat in stunned silence, his gaze fixed on the empty space before him.
"Don't you care?" a hint of anger crept into the man's voice. "Ezel was your friend, practically a son to you."
The old man slowly raised his head, his eyes locking with the visitor's.
"Of course, I do care," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Ezel was just like my son."
He rose and approached the window, his gaze sweeping across the sprawling cityscape below.
"I've lived a long life," he said, his voice heavy with sadness. "Seen my fair share of death. But this is Cosa Nostra. When you gamble with someone else's life, there's no...
It was a study room, a haven of tasteful and aesthetic decoration. A large painting dominated one wall, capturing a mountain range seemingly floating like clouds.
An expensive table stood proudly in the center, its surface hinting at meticulous organization. Notes and pens lay arranged with military precision. Shelves lining the walls overflowed with books, all boasting the latest titles in English. Anyone stepping into this room would immediately conclude its owner possessed a sharp intellect. However, this assumption was far from the truth. The owner of this studious sanctuary couldn't read a word of English.
Seated at the table was an old man, his body still bearing the marks of a life well-lived despite the passage of time. A glimpse of his former self peeked through—one could easily imagine him as a handsome young man in his prime.
He was lost in his writing when the door creaked open, an intruder disrupting his concentration.
The old man's brow furrowed slightly, but he remained silent.
"Sorry, Don," the visitor stammered, his voice laced with urgency. "But this is important."
The old man continued writing, seemingly unfazed by the interruption.
"Don," the man repeated, his voice rising in desperation. "Ezel is gone."
The old man's pen faltered, then stilled completely.
"Ezel," he rasped, disbelief coloring his voice.
"Russell's men," the man explained. "They wanted to wipe out his entire family. He tried to fight them off, but..." his voice trailed off, choked with emotion.
The old man sat in stunned silence, his gaze fixed on the empty space before him.
"Don't you care?" a hint of anger crept into the man's voice. "Ezel was your friend, practically a son to you."
The old man slowly raised his head, his eyes locking with the visitor's.
"Of course, I do care," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Ezel was just like my son."
He rose and approached the window, his gaze sweeping across the sprawling cityscape below.
"I've lived a long life," he said, his voice heavy with sadness. "Seen my fair share of death. But this is Cosa Nostra. When you gamble with someone else's life, there's no...
