~ Chapter 11 ~

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Quick note, things that are italicized are flashbacks or Cosy/conscience. Hope this makes sense, and enjoy it.

 Hope this makes sense, and enjoy it

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Andreas Callum Lucius

"Stop" tears pooled in my eyes as my father took the safety of his gun, pointing it towards me. A sick smile graced his lips.

His own son

He-He was going to shoot his own 11-year-old son. 

I saw his dark green eyes stare into my soul, not with love. This monster was not capable of love, but instead with pure hatred.  

He stalked towards me, loving to see me beg. He loved to see me hurt, he wanted me dead like he had mentioned many times before.

"Please. Dad"

At this point I could only let a breathy mumble escape my lips, my ribs already broken and bruised. My skin blue and purple. I was helpless. 

Was this not enough?

The more I spoke the more it only seemed to amuse him. He walked closer and I tried my best to scoot back as much as my body would let me until I hit a wall.

"I told you not to call me that, mistake." He kept on walking towards me, "There's nowhere to run now, son" 

He spat son with nothing other than hate.

"I'm s-sorry" I whispered.

He grinned even more crouching down to my level bringing the gun towards my right shoulder. "Maybe this will teach you to come first, second is for those who should have never been born. Like you."

He smiled maniacally looking at my tears once more before cocking the gun. 

I shut my eyes tightly before I feel the impact.  A heart-wrenching yell, rippling out my mouth.

I fall to my side.

Why can't it all just end?

My father laughed throwing the gun and leaving.

The last thing I see is my sister, running towards me with tears in her eyes, yelling something, but I couldn't make out the words she was saying. Only a sentence.

"We'll kill him, Andre, we'll kill him for what he has done to us."

I try to chuckle, resulting in a painful cough.

"I hope so. I really do" I barely make out.

Then everything went black.

__________

I walked towards the alcohol cabinet in my penthouse, taking the black rum from the top shelf. 

Imani Russo was definitely a Russo. The stubborn, strong-willed, clever personality no doubt running in the family. 

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