YOU Shadows of Sorrow

 Annabelle’s POV

“Please, Mr. D’Angélo, I just need more time!”

Father's voice was hoarse, raw with desperation.

On hearing his desperate tone, I paused.

I stood outside my study, my grip on the doorknob, tightening. My heart was slowly beginning to race too.

I had never seen my father so vulnerable like that before.

I kept wondering to myself, trying to figure out the scene I was witnessing at the moment.

“I have seen father feel pain, that was when mum died…

I have experienced him being scared and uncertain, but that is always just for a few moments, in times of difficult decisions or situations…

But I haven't seen him act this desperate before!” I thought to myself.

Before Mama’s death (as we fondly called her), making the toughest decisions at home was so easy and simple for my father.

Mama acquired so much power because she hailed from one of the wealthiest families in their local clan. This gave Father an edge in most situations when protection was needed.

But then, she decided to keep a flower and paint shop because of me. She knew how much I had grown to love flowers and painting.

"I have seen this face before," I quickly remembered, on seeing our visitor.

Two other men stood almost motionless at his back as if keeping guard. 

I couldn't fathom what was happening. Even though I have always known since my childhood that Father had some strange faces visiting us from time to time, because of his gambling and dirty involvement with gang leaders. 

But that particular atmosphere was different from all others of the past.

I rushed to my study table to confirm the face of the man sitting, from the regular magazine always placed by the bookshelf.

Searching around for a few minutes...  

"Finally got it!” I whispered nearly out loud but quickly caught myself. 

This magazine, for years, has been seen tolling around the house.

“Antonioni D’Angélo? The Shadow King? The man who makes empires tremble?”

So many questions were pumping into my head. Including…

“Father is pleading with him!? Why?”

The huge man sitting on the threshold, his presence was suffocating.

His voice was smooth but deceptively calm. And for some strange and unknown reason, it sent a cold shiver down my spine.

Antonioni D’Angélo!

Everything about this man screamed danger—his broad shoulders, his tailored shady-black suit, the way his dark eyes assessed the whole room with chilling detachment. 

He is one who effortlessly exudes power, the kind that doesn’t need to be announced.

Antonioni leaned back in his chair, exuding effortless power and masculinity. His fingers tapped against the armrest in slow, deliberate beats. His silence is worse than words.

After an agonizing pause, a deep, icy-warm, and cold voice cut through the air. “Time is a luxury you no longer possess…”

I strained my ears further to hear what he was saying.

It seemed like Father was muttering something, but he flicked his hand, cutting him off. 

“You gambled with what wasn’t yours. You lost! Now, it’s time to pay your debt, Edward!” I had heard him say.

I couldn't bear the sound of where their discussion was heading. Out of my hidden corner, I voiced out.

“What debt?” My voice barely sounded like mine.

My pulse pounded as dread coils around my ribs, like a snake.

Antonioni’s gaze flickered over me, resting a little on my hips, then back to my father.

“Is this her? Not very bad looking.”

Father nodded like a child pleading guilty to a clumsy crime.

My stomach twisted.

“What’s going on?”

“She doesn’t know?” He sounded almost amused.

Father lowered his head. “I was going to tell her.”