Pistol

"You're a woman. Where's your brother? I would like to talk to him." She rolled her eyes, raising her pistol at him, fear crossed his hazel eyes. "Being a woman doesn't make this gun any less deadly. So if I were you, I would watch what I say because, to me, your life means nothing," Natalia told him firmly. "I'll ask you one more time and think about your answer because my patience is running thin. Where is my money?" "I don't have it!" She aimed the pistol to his right leg, pulling the trigger, the silencer made sure no one could hear the shot only his screams. "Where is the money, Michael?" - She is a drug He wants to taste One drop of her Is all it takes To have you addicted Where ever she goes Death follows But he didn't care Since he knew He'd die for her She is fire He'd touch Despite the heat She is a killer But so is he. This woman was both the devil and an angel. -

His hand wrapped in her hair, yanking her face up to him to look into his angry eyes. "Tell me where the fuck is he?" He growled, making her shudder in fear. "Tell me now!" "I..I..won't..." she whimpered due to a sharp pain shot through her skull. He grabbed his pistol and pressed it right on her temple, snarling, "Are you going to tell me or you wish for death?!" "I want to die…" she cried out. Anger roared through him, he pressed the gun in her temple wanting nothing more than to kill that bitch right that moment but something snapped inside him when his eyes fell on her body, and a cruel smile curved his lips. "Not before getting a taste of you!"

All of Novatia knew that Sophie Rossi was the foster daughter Soren Lucas doted on the most. However, on her 18th birthday, he punished her according to the family's rules. It was because Soren discovered Sophie had stolen his most precious Browning pistol and inserted it into her body. Three years later, Sophie returned with her body covered in wounds. She no longer loved Soren. However, Soren's fiancée, Isabella Johansson, refused to let her off. "You slut! How dare you desire your own Don?!" Sophie tolerated the cursing and beatings, only to discover the horrible truth. She 'committed suicide' by jumping off the cruise ship during Soren's wedding. Soren went crazy as he hugged her corpse.

"Master, it is done!" At exactly twilight, an unfortunate lifeless head rolled on the floor, completely detached from the body. "Good ! Have the express mail package delivered before midnight today." "BOOM!" the gun went off. Mila came rushing in with only a towel wrapped around her body. "What the fuck happened?" She asked the petrified Brant who sat on the bed with his legs wrapped up and his head cringed upwards. He did not reply her. She followed the line of his eyes and that was when she saw it, a perforation in her roof. The sunlight was literally shining directly on them. She looked back at Brantley in confusion, well, he looked more confused than she was. "What…?" She opened her mouth to interrogate him but decided against it. Instead, she climbed beside him and carefully took the weapon from his hand. He did not protest. "This is not a toy." She said, taking off the bullets and partially dismantling the gun. Just in case his itchy hands decided to touch the pistol again. **** Being the lone survivor of a fire accident that claimed her entire family, Mila Rivers is back to get the company that once belonged to her father. But she's got one problem... Brantley White, the new CEO,  son to the man behind her family's death and her childhood friend-turn-rival. She needs to get him out of her way at all costs, but she can't deny the fact that he's hot and she keeps on finding herself in his bed. He does not hide his desire for her, no matter how high a wall she builds between them. Would she be able to resist her Rival's desire to get her revenge or would she fall for him instead?

My younger sister, Sofia Moretti, and I grow up on milk. While our peers are showing no signs of growth, both of us are blessed with an early puberty. Our father, a mafia Don, is worried that we might get tricked into giving our bodies away to young men at an early age, so he has been nurturing two confidants for us when we were still kids. After we come of age, Dad makes each of us choose one as a fiancé. Sofia is the first one to pick Dante, the tall, well-built, and cold-looking older brother. The only choice I have left is Luca, the younger brother who has gotten partially disfigured by an enemy and often wakes up in fright due to the nightmares. In my previous life, I knew that once I rejected Luca, who had PTSD from his past, he'd definitely get kicked out of my family. No one would be able to protect him anymore. So, I took the initiative to accept the marriage proposal. Since Luca tended to jolt awake from his nightmares and tremble violently, I moved to the room next door so that I could guard his door at all times. Whenever Luca was insulted or mocked by my uncles and relatives at family meetings, I'd dig out my pistol and slap it onto the table to shut them up. I spent three years accompanying Luca to therapy sessions. That was how I learned to pick up on every symptom he exhibited before he went into his anxiety mode. I thought I'd be able to touch Luca's heart by offering him my own. But when an enemy family set up a trap that resulted in my and Sofia's kidnapping, they plunged poisonous blades through our stomachs and forced Luca to choose to only save one of us with an antidote. That was when Luca gave the antidote to Sofia without hesitation. "Sorry, but Sofia needs the antidote more than you do." It turned out that Luca had been in love with Sofia this whole time. After Luca picked Sofia up and was about to leave, he murmured to me, "If there ever is a next lifetime, I'll use my life to pay this debt." My final memory of that lifetime consisted of the scorching pain that ate through my organs left behind by the poison. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day I'm supposed to pick out my fiance.

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell his cologne—cedarwood, leather, and power. My hand moved. Smooth, practiced. The pistol slide from under the apron into my palm. I raised it fast. But before I could pull the trigger— BANG. Not my shot. A scream tore through the restaurant as another man launched himself toward Romano’s table, blade flashing. Another assassin. What the hell— Romano didn’t flinch. He shoved the table forward, knocking the attacker off balance. The blade scraped across wood, not skin. I ducked instinctively as the room erupted into chaos. Gunfire cracked. Glass exploded. People screamed and dove for cover. “Get him out—NOW!” one of the guards barked. I aimed for the second attacker. Didn’t even hesitate. One shot—head. Gone. The guard saw me. Confusion flashed in his eyes. Then rage. I ran. I weaved between overturned chairs, plates, and screaming bodies. The smell of blood was real now, thick in the air. One of the guards grabbed me. I slammed my elbow into his ribs, twisted, and brought the butt of my gun down on his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. Out. I had to get out. My boots pounded the floor as I tore through the narrow hallway. But then— “Elisa.” His voice stopped me cold. I turned. Antonio Romano stood in the middle of the carnage, suit untouched, blood spattered behind him like art. His eyes were on me. And he was smiling. It was darker. Slower. Like a hunter seeing something worth chasing. Somehow, he knew who I was. “Interesting,” he said softly, tilting his head. “They sent you.” I didn’t answer. I ran. But that voice followed me. He knew my name. And he let me go. This wasn’t over. It had just begun.