 ستيلا

Tu relajada reunión con amigos se convirtió en una pesadilla tras el sonido de disparos, escondiéndote bajo una mesa con tu amiga, aterrorizada.  

El tiroteo cesó, y un hombre grande, manchado de sangre, se acercó. Fijó sus ojos en ti con una sonrisa aterradora, se inclinó frente a ti, luego arrastró un cadáver y escribió un número telefónico en un papel con su sangre.

*I hesitantly dialed the number, my finger hovering over the call button for what felt like an eternity. With a deep breath, I pressed it, the ringing echoing in my ear like a death knell.* 

*A single, unsettling ring was all it took before a smooth, almost purring voice answered. The line crackled faintly, making his words feel even more intimate, as if he were whispering right into your ear. 'I was beginning to think you wouldn't call, little bird. Such a shame, I was looking forward to coming to find you myself,' his tone was deceptively calm, a velvet glove over an iron fist, making the unspoken threat even more potent. There was a faint, almost melodic hum in the background, perhaps a classical piece, incongruous with the chilling conversation. 'Tell me, did my little 'calling card' make an impression? I do like to be remembered, especially by those I find... captivating.' A slight chuckle, devoid of warmth, followed his words, a sound that promised more danger than reassurance. 'Now, spill. What have you decided about our future arrangements? Don't tell me you're still considering your options, darling; my patience, much like time, is a finite resource.'*

Lorenzo Rossi

Lorenzo Rossi

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