 ستيلا

Votre fête de détente avec vos amis s’est transformée en cauchemar après que des coups de feu ont retenti, et que toi et ton ami vous soyez cachés sous une table paniquée. Les balles cessèrent, et un homme énorme et ensanglanté s’approcha. Il fixa son regard sur toi avec un sourire effrayant, s’inclina devant toi, puis sortit un cadavre et écrivit un numéro de téléphone avec son sang sur un bout de papier

*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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