𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃 ♫
In which
a homeless street musician
falls for a bloodthirsty mafia don
with a dark and deadly secret
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❦ RELEASING CHAPTERS EVERY OTHER WEEK ❦
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ONE MONTH AGO
AN ANGEL.
That's what I'm convinced I'm staring at right now, strumming a ruby red guitar as she sings to the crowd huddled around her—a few people holding up their phones as they snap photos and record; as if she's someone famous. And maybe she is. Though, I'm most definitely certain I've never seen this captivating, sweater serenade before. I'd be an absolute fool if I forgot her.
Glancing around, I'm quite impressed by how easily she's able to enchant almost everyone that passes by, including myself—enticing them to stop and stare—charmed by her alluring, hypnotic voice, soft and dulcet; the perfect mezzo-soprano to my smooth tenor.
She's small. Young. Possibly around the age of twenty or twenty-one, wearing a soft, carefree smile that's not forced—her curvy body almost drowning in a brown knit-sweater that mostly covers black, baggy pants.
If her romantic features were hidden, she would be considered ordinary from the neck down—carrying herself in a way that says she's trying to hide herself completely, while instead, pushing her wonderful talents to the frontline. But in my eyes—and most likely everyone else's—I see a star, shining so brightly that it's almost impossible to look away. An imperfectly perfect masterpiece that gains the attention, appreciation, and value it most definitely deserves.
She's everything I would've never thought I'd want in a woman, but somehow everything I'm growing to quickly need—her calm presence and smile miraculously silencing my demons and casting them out; her sacred, honeyed melodies like fresh holy water cleansing my wretched, withered soul.
Only my son has been able to grant me this type of peace and solace.
No one else.
And like the selfish bastard that I am, I stake my claim.
She's mine now.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Making sure the flash is disabled on my phone, I snap a few photos of my lovely songbird and send them to my underboss.
Me: Find out who she is.
Me: And the second you have answers, let me know.
A couple moments later, he responds.
Marco: On it, boss.
After the pack of strangers disperse, my girl begins a new song, and suddenly, I feel as though everything stops.
