Pepsi Paloma Death Scene Novels & Stories

"Now back to business. Like I said, Cleopatra is trouble for us. You have to let go.” "She is my trouble. I'll bear it,” I returned sharply, threw him a glare and turned around. "Don Rossini is dead.” My feet halted. Dead? I felt flutters in my stomach and turned around. “Yes," Rossetti nodded and walked up to me with his hands in his pocket. “And," His gaze swept over my face as though he was scrutinizing me, “According to rumours, you killed him.” My stomach flipped over. Killing a fellow mafia is a heinous crime in the underworld. My chest raced.

Beside her was a picture of Monroe. According to the news segment, several victims had already made damning statements about last night. The incident had been reported to the inter-pack authorities by enough guests that no one could deny it anymore. Someone had also recorded our speech last night on shaky phone footage. The part where we held up the evidence was zoomed in, grainy but clear enough to be certain. “At approximately eight o’clock this evening, the champagne served at this event was poisoned…”

He dropped his briefcase on the table and exhaled like a man walking into a funeral, “Jesus Christ, Rino.” I smiled faintly, “That’s one way to say good morning.” He didn’t laugh at that but glared at me, eyes hollow, “You know how many cameras that club had? Thirty-two. Thirty-fucking-two. Every one of them caught you. You walked in there with a full team, unloaded two Glocks, and beat Fosco Bellucci to death with a champagne bottle on camera.” I tilted my head, slowly, “You’re sure it was champagne?”

If the champagne was poisoned, then my death would've been the cause of the scene. “Drink it.” I ordered, my eyes blazing with anger and a hatred I didn't even know existed inside of me. “If you say the champagne is the same one you've been handing out to others, then I think you should be able to drink it, yes?” Paul grabbed the flute filled with champagne and put it in the hand of the attendant, who was now struggling to even breathe properly. For a moment, time seemed to stop moving as everybody in the room waited for him to drink from the flute.

"I swear to God, I saw her eyes." But the screen didn't lie. The timestamps didn't lie. Isabella Santiago died in a fire. Alessia Moretti was just a cruel cosmic joke sent to punish me. I reached for another bottle of vodka on the desk. I brought the bottle to my lips and drank until the burning in my throat matched the burning in my soul. I miss you so much. God, Bella... I thought I found you. In the morning, when the alchol had worn off and my head was a little clearer. I called Russo again.

—"And you, darling... Why don’t you celebrate?" Dino leaned toward her ear and whispered: —"I won’t celebrate until that bastard Moretti’s corpse is cold." On the dance floor, the party spiraled out of control. One of the hitmen grabbed a bottle of tequila and smashed it on the floor, while another pulled out his gun and fired into the ceiling amid screams of euphoria. —"This toast is for Moretti’s grave!" Salvatore shouted, with the cigar still between his lips. Luckily, the club was located outside the city, and no one would find out what had happened there. His men could do whatever they wanted that night.

“Try not to make a scene. Again.” Lucas was the last face I saw as I bled on the floor. Now he was here, sipping champagne and pretending to be civilized. My knees buckled slightly, but I caught myself. Madden leaned close with a cold smile for the cameras. “Fix your face, Isadora,” he muttered. “This party’s not about your latest emotional episode.” But I wasn’t Isadora. I was the woman that man murdered. And he didn’t even know he was standing in front of his ghost.

MIA’S POV My throat felt tight, my breathing restricted. My screen went blurry for a split second. In your previous life, what happened? How did you die? My fingers grew numb and icy. No. No, that couldn't be happening... He was playing with me. He had to be. I stared at the screen searching for something safe to say something innocent, something that didn’t give me away. The truth already burned its way up my throat... Poison, a glass of champagne,

she repeated, “but you were talking oddly. You were laughing and then crying.” I exhaled. “I’m so sorry.” Camila came into the bathroom and hugged me. “Jasmine, I’m sorry. It was my idea to go out and to have margaritas.” “If someone wanted to roofie Jasmine,” Catalina said, “they could have put it in her water. Although, neither of you are old enough to drink alcohol.” Camila pressed her lips together and smiled. “That bartender,” I said, “he did this to me?” “Dante is getting video footage of the restaurant. The bartender has denied any involvement.”

I won't be able to take care of you in your old age…' Just before my consciousness fully faded away, a hand abruptly dragged me out of the lake. Coughing violently, I vomited up the water trapped in my throat. Eventually, I was able to look at the person who pulled me out. It was Laura, my mother in this world, and my first target to win over. Blazing with fury, she slapped me across the face. "Leon Sawyer, is Ivan's happiness that upsetting to you? He finally found his happy ending, and you want to die! Are you trying to ruin him by causing a scandal?"