Shadows of the Vow

 Annabelle’s POV

“Please, Mr. D’Angélo, I just need more time!”

Father's voice was hoarse, raw with desperation.

On hearing his desperate tone, I paused.

I stood outside my study, my grip on the doorknob, tightening. My heart was slowly beginning to race too.

I had never seen my father so vulnerable like that before.

I kept wondering to myself, trying to figure out the scene I was witnessing at the moment.

“I have seen father feel pain, that was when mum died…

I have experienced him being scared and uncertain, but that is always just for a few moments, in times of difficult decisions or situations…

But I haven't seen him act this desperate before!” I thought to myself.

Before Mama’s death (as we fondly called her), making the toughest decisions at home was so easy and simple for my father.

Mama acquired so much power because she hailed from one of the wealthiest families in their local clan. This gave Father an edge in most situations when protection was needed.

But then, she decided to keep a flower and paint shop because of me. She knew how much I had grown to love flowers and painting.

"I have seen this face before," I quickly remembered, on seeing our visitor.

Two other men stood almost motionless at his back as if keeping guard. 

I couldn't fathom what was happening. Even though I have always known since my childhood that Father had some strange faces visiting us from time to time, because of his gambling and dirty involvement with gang leaders. 

But that particular atmosphere was different from all others of the past.

I rushed to my study table to confirm the face of the man sitting, from the regular magazine always placed by the bookshelf.

Searching around for a few minutes...  

"Finally got it!” I whispered nearly out loud but quickly caught myself. 

This magazine, for years, has been seen tolling around the house.

“Antonioni D’Angélo? The Shadow King? The man who makes empires tremble?”

So many questions were pumping into my head. Including…

“Father is pleading with him!? Why?”

The huge man sitting on the threshold, his presence was suffocating.

His voice was smooth but deceptively calm. And for some strange and unknown reason, it sent a cold shiver down my spine.

Antonioni D’Angélo!

Everything about this man screamed danger—his broad shoulders, his tailored shady-black suit, the way his dark eyes assessed the whole room with chilling detachment. 

He is one who effortlessly exudes power, the kind that doesn’t need to be announced.

Antonioni leaned back in his chair, exuding effortless power and masculinity. His fingers tapped against the armrest in slow, deliberate beats. His silence is worse than words.

After an agonizing pause, a deep, icy-warm, and cold voice cut through the air. “Time is a luxury you no longer possess…”

I strained my ears further to hear what he was saying.

It seemed like Father was muttering something, but he flicked his hand, cutting him off. 

“You gambled with what wasn’t yours. You lost! Now, it’s time to pay your debt, Edward!” I had heard him say.

I couldn't bear the sound of where their discussion was heading. Out of my hidden corner, I voiced out.

“What debt?” My voice barely sounded like mine.

My pulse pounded as dread coils around my ribs, like a snake.

Antonioni’s gaze flickered over me, resting a little on my hips, then back to my father.

“Is this her? Not very bad looking.”

Father nodded like a child pleading guilty to a clumsy crime.

My stomach twisted.

“What’s going on?”

“She doesn’t know?” He sounded almost amused.

Father lowered his head. “I was going to tell her.”

“Tell me what?” My stomach continued to twist fearfully and painfully, my face slowly turning pink.

Father wasn’t meeting my eyes, instead, he looked down at his palms, which he placed between his laps. “Belle, sweetheart, I…” He swallowed hard. “I had no choice...” 

I turned to him, shaking my head. “...no choice about what exactly?”

His throat bobbed. “I…I owe Mr. D'Angélo more than I can ever repay.”

While I tried to process my father's statement, Antonioni drew closer, with slow, deliberate steps, like a panther circling its prey, his scent, an expensive cologne, and something darker filled the space between us. 

My heart was racing as he circled me. I was utterly confused. My gaze followed him carefully as he moved around me to check me out. 

And then, his voice cut through the air like a blade...

“Your father owes me a huge debt he cannot repay...” His voice was smooth, but there wasn't any warmth in it. “...so he is offering you instead.”

I stumbled back. “No, No! That’s not…he wouldn’t…!” I was so shocked that I couldn't find the right words to express my shock.

I finally turned to my father, pleading. “Father, please tell me this isn’t true!”

He collapsed onto the chair, his hands covering his face.

Tears gathered inside my eyes and were ready to drop.

Antonioni’s gaze dropped to the mess. His lips curled—not in anger, but something worse. Amusement.

“Hmm... interesting... You are even more fragile than I imagined." I had heard him mock.

Spontaneously, I balled my fists in anger, spitting the words, “I am not fragile!”

Antonioni's smirk deepened. “Well, we will see about that.” He shifted his buttocks on his chair (in a way that suggested it was about time), checking time on his wristwatch.

In an instant, his deep voice startled me again as he said the words…“You belong to me now, Annabelle. Guards! Take her, let's go!”

Panic surged through my veins. “I’m not something to be owned, Mr D’Angélo! I'm not going anywhere with you!”

Father remained face-down, with his hands covering his face completely, looking defeated.

Antonioni's lips curled into another smirk, this time around, a more wicked one, kind of: 

“You don't have a choice.”

At this time, I was dumbfounded, in no particular order of emotions or feelings. 

The tears that had been running down my cheeks had already drenched the upper piece of my dress—the one close to my collarbone.

Antonioni's fierceness cut across my anxiety. “We'll be on our way now, Edward. Word will continually be sent to you as to how the marriage is going. Good bye man.”

He took his leave after saying those last words. Walking majestically toward the exit.

Shockingly enough, father still couldn't utter a word. It's only that this time, he was able to lift his face from his hands, only gazing at Antonioni like a lost sheep. 

His eye bags were heavily sagging down on his upper cheekbones.

“Father, please say something.” I cried further, looking at him and expecting him to save me. 

Instead of getting the protection I expected, I saw him still looking transfixed at the exit where Antonioni had taken out, again defeated. 

He stayed in the posture for a few minutes. 

The next feeling that came was a feeling I had never felt in my entire life.

I was shattered and disappointed.

Before I could say another word, the two men in suits who had been with us stepped forward and made to put their hands on me. 

I jerked back, my heart hammering in my chest.

I still couldn't believe Father could do such a thing to me. 

“Father, please say something! Don't allow them to take me away, please,” I cried uncontrollably.

Just immediately after I spoke, two gunshots were heard from outside. 

One of the guards, in a split second, pointed his rifle at my father, and Father's hands immediately swung up into the air in surrender. 

I didn't see that coming, but he pointed the gun at me, too, and commanded me to move closer to my father. 

In an instant, I flipped my hands to my mouth and obeyed. I was shivering in fear, almost about to urinate

on myself.

There was a great rage of fear and tension in the atmosphere. 

I prayed that my father and I didn't end that day dead. What could be happening outside?