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erica

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Updated
  • 👁 3.1K
  • 7.5

★Be careful who you trust. Because, even your bestfriend can also become your greatest enemy★ Don't come close to me !" I yelled on top of my lungs, taking two step backwards. My gaze fixated on his hand, dripping with blood. He had just cut off a man's hands like it meant nothing. What kind of human is he? No! No! No! He is no human, he is an animal. A bloody filthy animal. "I won't hurt you, baby girl." He took a couple of step towards me and I kept moving backwards, until my rear back collided with the wall, trapping me with him. I whimpered in fear. Unable to utter a single word as his bloodied hand caressed my chin. Somebody please save me! I cried inwardly. "You're so f*ck*ng beautiful." He complimented me but I returned the favor by spitting on his face. "And you're an animal!" I retorted. He wiped his face with his bloody hand. Then, he shot me a daunting glare. I braced myself for what could come next. I was ready to bear the brunt of my action. He could run a slap across my face. or perhaps, he might even kill me too. But instead, his handsome face brightened with a devilish smirk and he claimed my lips. -----★----★----★----★----★- Janie's father took her to a big mansion under the guise of going there to borrow money for her tuition fee. Unknown to her, he was actually going to sell her to the ruthless, dangerous and heartless mafia king, Luciano Giacomo. She found out that same day, that the man whom she believed to be her father, whom she trusted all her life wasn't really who she thought he was. Her father just betrayed her! what happens after Janie suffers that betrayal from her father? How will she cope living with the most dangerous person on Earth as his possession? Find out more from this suspense filled mafia romance novel on Janie and Luciano journey. WARNING; Not for readers below the age of eighteen!

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  • 👁 42.1K
  • 8.5

When I was a child, my grandma used to tell me stories. At the time, I never gave them much thought. Thinking they were just that… stories. Growing up, I soon realized that they weren’t lofty fantasies and fairy tales but memories of her past, memories of our ancestors before our world turned to sh*t. You see, what comes from legend, no matter how exaggerated the story becomes, there is always a sliver of truth. You just need to weed out the fiction from fact. My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Chosen One—the one who would save us all. When I was younger, I used to believe that what she said was true. Eventually, someone would be born, just as the Oracle predicted—someone who could save our souls and bind us back to our magic. Once I grew up and saw the world unfolding around me, I no longer believed in salvation. The chosen one seemed to be more of a prayer than reality. Some dream we wanted desperately to come true. Something in which we needed to find hope when there wasn’t any left. When our ancestors turned their backs on us, how were we expected to believe in this so-called salvation? Especially when all we witnessed was death and carnage ever since the great war. Nothing except pain and poverty. I used to believe the stories and used to pray for the mysterious chosen one that would rid our world of its evil. Now, though, I see it for what it really is, just a dream of hope. Some out of reach fairy-tale. A story to create hope. Hope is dangerous; it makes you believe things will get better. I stopped hanging on to hope when I witnessed firsthand that it caused nothing but heartache.

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Heroes

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