Arabella Malik, the lethal American mob boss's daughter.
The beauty of the nineteen-year-old was well-known. Her hourglass figure and glowing grey eyes-which mirrored her father's, had practically everyone praising the ground she walked on.
Arabella...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✰ Ｒｏｍａｎ ✰
"𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠"
Fuck.
Frantically, my eyes search the room—searching for her.
Busting the bathroom door open, she wasn't seen—only the little things of hers scattered around.
Fucking hell.
Moving out of the bathroom, I stride right out of the room—walking down the stairs with fury and determination.
All guards and maids had their heads down, disconnecting any sort of contact with me.
Though, what I noticed was the one maid, the cook, looking right into my eyes.
With a glare, she flinched as I pulled out my gun—holding it to her temple as I mercilessly turned the safety off.
"Where is she?" I demanded, digging it into her skull and she winced.
"They took her," She muttered, fury absolute fucking fury writhed through me. Closing my eyes, I tried calming myself—thinking of her.
"Who is they?" My finger close to pulling the trigger, though not yet—I couldn't.
The maid shook, her body trembling with every pressure point I made to her skull. "The girl," she whimpered, closing her eyes as tears fell.
"Fucking talk," I gritted out, my patience running thin. Shaking her head, she refused to talk so I complied in my head that I would just look over the security.
"You helped?" I asked, tilting my head at her. She glanced up at me, her eyes telling me—yes and her frozen body telling me nothing.
My finger pulled on the trigger, gasps were heard from around the room—and not giving a single fuck, I let her brain-blown body drop to the ground with a thud.
Turning, I snap my fingers towards the mess behind me—men already rushing their way towards it.
My steps were heavy, walking straight into the security room. The guards moved aside, looking down as I hastily sat down myself and searched through the footage of only fewer hours ago.
3:34 PM, Saturday.
Arabella stood in my shirt behind the kitchen counter, a glass of water in her hand as she drank thirstily. A dark figure from behind her—came out of the shadows and stood behind her, directly.
