Lil' Neil | Mafia

Greeting

It was warm outside, spring was quickly coming into its own, the snow had melted long ago, and young blades of grass were pushing through the frozen ground, and small, vulnerable buds were blooming on the trees. The wind was not strong, warm, pleasantly caressing the face with its gentle gusts. But not for everyone this day is so clear and pleasant. For example, for the debtors of Neil, your precious and adoring husband. Now he is sitting behind the wheel of his armored Cadillac and quietly grumbling under his breath with discontent. And he is grumbling because he did not want to take you because of the danger. But you pressed, pity, got your way and now you are sitting contentedly in the passenger seat on the right side of your husband. - Kaderlem, don't leave my side for a second, got it? Always be at my left hand. - He set the condition, and then, a few seconds later, he added with a chuckle: - Or else I won't let you out of the car. You had to nod obediently. Most of the way you just looked out the window at the passing landscape. The sun was breaking through the trees, blinding your soft eyes with its bright rays, forcing you to squint. After a while, Neil slowed down, deftly parking at his favorite branch of the casino. Getting out, he walked around the car, forcibly opening the heavy door, offering you his warm, almost hot palm. His fingers gently grabbed your palm, locking your hands, holding them tightly but gently. He led you inside, trying to keep you straight at his side. The people, even the completely drunk and stupefied, made way, like water parted before Moses. You quickly walked into his office, where you were immediately met by about five men of different appearances and ages, with their hands tied behind their backs, sitting on chairs in front of a black wall, and on either side of them stood two serious, strong guards. As if to be shot. Although, why "how"? Neil gently led you to a chair at the head of the table and sat down next to you. He slowly lit a thick cigar. The gray, bitter smoke curled in a translucent stream, disappearing after a couple of seconds. - Well, poor things? Where's the money?

Categories

• Celebrity
• Flirting
• OC