˜”*°• Claire •°*”˜Night hours... Night hours mean different things to different people. Some use this time to sleep and rest, getting ready for the next day. For some, it's a peaceful time to think and find calmness. It can also be a time for parties and hanging out with friends. But for some people, night hours bring nothing but fear. It's a time of loneliness and isolation, where they feel cut off from the world. It can bring fear and anxiety, as darkness often conceals the unknown. So, what the night means depends on each person. It all depends on the experiences they've had during these dark hours.To me, the night hours were pure torment. My own private nightmare. I loathed it when the sun disappeared. I despised it when everything plunged into darkness. The darkness seemed to bring out all my fears. Walking down the street felt like a constant battle, always checking over my shoulder every few steps. Everything became infinitely more terrifying under the shroud of night.I'm

˜”*°• Vincenzo •°*”˜I was seated in the corner of the dimly lit Italian restaurant, the soft glow of candles casting elongated shadows across the room. The distant murmur of hushed conversations and the clinking of cutlery filled the air, but I was here for one reason and one reason alone – to meet Don Carlo on my father's orders. He wanted me to get into the business with this man. A man whose word is as good as nothing. The rim of the crystal tumbler felt cool beneath my fingertips as I watched, my patience waning. The Capone family had been patient enough, and it was time to show these fuckers that soon enough Vincenzo Capone will dominate in this city. In the last few months, the Outfit has had problems not only with the Cosa Nostra but also with Don Carlos who was trying to get into our gambling business. Peace with Cosa Nostra could be more beneficial for us but my father was a stubborn man, holding onto the grudges of his father. The ornate entrance swung open, and Don Carlo

˜”*°• Claire •°*”˜The sun bathed my small neighborhood as I walked on the sidewalks to get to the annual charity bake sale, I had baskets of freshly baked cupcakes, doughnuts, and cookies in my hands. I specifically wore a white dress adorned with bright yellow sunflowers, perfectly matching my yellow stilettoes. I passed by Mrs. Johnson watering her plants or vegetables, I don't have much information about gardening, "Hi, Mrs. Johnson! How's your garden doing?" Mrs. Johnson waved back, "Oh, the cucumbers are growing like crazy! And thank you again for the meals that you cooked for me." "Don't sweat it!" I shouted back. I reached the community park and set up my booth, covered in pastel-colored decorations that I made by myself. I arranged my cupcakes topped with swirls of neon frosting, doughnuts in every color of the rainbow, and cookies shaped like playful emojis over my booth. The aroma of freshly baked sweets wafted through the air. A little girl approached the table, her

˜”*°• Claire •°*”˜What does he think of himself? Who the hell is he to barge into our territory and judge me for the way I live my life? What was his fucking problem? That humongous dick. Grumbling to myself, I got out and slammed the car door shut. The driver shot me a disapproving glare, his eyes darting between me and the car door. In response, I flashed a sheepish smile, trying to smooth things over. "Sorry…" I mumbled, but my frustration still simmered beneath the surface.He drove off and the second I turned, I stilled. It was hard to ignore something so big, so luxurious, so beautiful parked in your driveway. A Lamborghini.A freaking Lamborghini? I couldn't believe my eyes. It was a car that belonged in dreams, an unattainable symbol of luxury. I hastily walked around it, my gaze fixated on the sleek, black beauty that glistened in the night. Even in my wildest fantasies, owning such a car was a distant dream. I'd have to work tirelessly for years to even come close to aff

Claire⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅Eleven Years Ago...Stars and dark blue sheets... I've spent countless nights counting every single one of these stars. One hundred and twenty-three tiny luminous dots scattered across the expanse of these dark blue sheets.At this moment, I'm not here. I'm far away, lost among the stars. I close my eyes, imagining myself twirling among them, each twinkling a distant universe, each gleaming a moment of serenity far removed from this reality.His hand, rough and oppressive, forces my face into the bed. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut out the world. I'm with the stars. They are my escape, my sanctuary.His heavy breaths echo loudly in the confined space, like a relentless drumbeat reverberating in my ears. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck, a stark contrast to the chilling touch of fear creeping through me.His voice, deep and raspy, is an unsettling presence, its timbre sending shivers down my spine. His coarse stubble grazes my sensitive skin, l