Is beating like a drum

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𝔸ℕℕ𝔸𝔹𝔼𝕃𝕃𝔼 carried on reading her book before the sound of loud footsteps approached the bar room. The door swung open, revealing Frank with a nervous look on his face. He quickly strutted to his coat and began putting it on. "Yo, what's going on, bagman?" Dean called out, his voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Frank, his tone urgent, replied, "I'm leaving." He grabbed his bag, causing everyone to turn and pay attention.

Annabelle, confused, closed her book and asked, "What?"

Frank cut her off sharply, "You heard me. You cut up my share however you want. I'm out." His urgency was palpable as he tried to make his way out of the room. Annabelle quickly got up and followed him, calling out, "What happened? Hey! You can't just leave without telling us what's going on." She reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. The rest of the group followed, their faces a mix of confusion and worry.

Frank, exasperated, spun around and exclaimed, "What's going on? What's going on is that we are fucked. Your little boyfriend up there is Kristof Lazaar's son."

Annabelle's eyes widened in shock, the name striking a chord deep within her. Before she could process it, Don let out a low whistle, "Shit."

Sammy, still confused, asked, "Who's Kristof Lazaar?"

Frank turned to her with incredulity, "Who's Lazaar?"

Dean, sounding more stoned than usual, interjected, "Bruh, that's an urban legend, man. Calm down."

Annabelle, her mind racing, looked down for a moment before speaking, "He's not an urban legend. He is real and very powerful. Nobody even knows how big his empire is."

The group turned to her, confused by her sudden expertise. Seeing their looks, Annabelle pulled out the book she had been reading and held it up, "I like to read." She smiled faintly. Sammy, her curiosity piqued, asked, "So he's, like, a crime boss?" Annabelle nodded, "He controls a lot more than just crime. His reach extends into politics, business, everything. He's dangerous, and if Gabriel is his son, we're in deep trouble."

Don rubbed his temples and commented, "Is Lambert fucking insane? He just put a death mark on all of us. Including himself." Sammy, trying to come up with a solution, suggested, "What if we just, like, you know, give him back and say sorry?" Annabelle shook her head, but before she could respond, Frank jumped in with a sarcastic comment, "Oh, yeah. 'Here's your son, Mr. fucking Antichrist. We're really sorry. Hope he's not too traumatized. Let's play a round of golf sometime.'" Sammy, clearly annoyed with Frank, snapped back, "Fuck you, Frank."

Peter, trying to calm things down, said, "This isn't the time for sarcasm, okay?"

Dean, also trying to find a way out, suggested, "What if we just leave? It's not like the dancing prince hasn't seen our faces."

Frank, turning towards Annabelle, countered, "Uh, actually, he has, thanks to little Odette here."

Annabelle glared at him, her voice tight with frustration, "Thanks to me? Я должен был быть единственным, кто входил и выходил из этой комнаты. И я надел маску." 

"Speak fucking English!" Frank shouted, annoyed. Annabelle took a breath and spoke more clearly, "I was supposed to be the only one going in and out of that room. And I put on a mask!" Frank got in her face, his temper flaring, "Well, I didn't, so I walk in there to see Italiano Ballerino memorizing my fucking face." He waved a hand in front of his face dramatically before turning away.

Annabelle muttered under her breath, "Тогда мне его жаль. Он думает о твоем лице, бедняжка." (I feel sorry for him then. He has your face in his mind, poor thing.)

Dean, trying to lighten the mood, chimed in, "Major party foul."

Peter looked at Annabelle and asked, "Why did you take off his blindfold, Odette?"

Annabelle met Peter's gaze, feeling defensive but also understanding the concern, "He was in pain. The blindfold was too tight, and his eyes were getting irritated. I thought if he was more comfortable, he'd be less likely to try anything. Besides, he's chained up. He's not going anywhere."

Peter nodded, but Frank wasn't satisfied. "Great. So now we have a comfortable hostage who knows our faces. Fantastic."

"Now we have to kill him," Peter said bluntly.

Annabelle looked at Peter, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. Her protective instincts kicked in, and she glared at him, her voice becoming stern and venomous. "Not a fucking chance. We're not killing him." Frank watched her curiously, wondering why she was so protective over the dancer. Peter, undeterred, tried to argue, "He saw Frank's face."

Annabelle stepped closer, her eyes locked on Peter's, her tone unwavering. "I. Said. No."

Sensing the rising tension and Annabelle's hand twitching towards her gun, Don intervened to change the topic before things escalated. "Even if Lazaar catches up to him, he doesn't know shit about us."

Peter countered, "He knows that I'm Quebecois. He knows that Sammy comes from money. He knows that you come from a military background, thanks to Odette."

Frank, seizing the opportunity to taunt Annabelle, added, "Just had to do your little magic trick, didn't you?"

Annabelle shot back, "Yeah, and you will be the star guest in my other trick." She threatened him, and the two locked eyes in a tense stare down. Dean, trying to diffuse the situation, spoke up, "Hold up. If we just leave him here, then we don't get any of the money? I kind of need some money real bad right now. I don't know about y'all." Annabelle, shifting her focus, asked Frank, "How much do you trust Lambert?" Frank nodded, conceding, "I trust him enough. That doesn't make it worth the risk, though." He walked away, heading to the fireplace with his hands in his pockets. Annabelle pressed on, "If seven million per person isn't worth the risk, then what is?" Her thoughts briefly flickered to her sister in the hospital and her little nephew with his father.

Frank removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, clearly wrestling with the situation. Dean chimed in, "It's a lot of money."

Frank, after a moment of contemplation, walked back to Annabelle with a new plan. "Alright, he wouldn't have had us kidnap the dancer if he didn't think we could pull this off. So maybe we all just pretend like we don't know who his father is. With the money we're making from this, we can disappear forever. Start new lives. I never have to see any of you fucks ever again."

He looked around at the group, his tone becoming more authoritative. "Everyone stay alert. Any threat is gonna come from outside, so we set a perimeter and hold it. Rickles takes the first watch in the crow's nest. Odette, secure the interior. Look for any ways in or out. What is it, like, 22 more hours, hmm? 22 hours."

With that, everyone went to their positions. Annabelle held her handgun in one hand and a flashlight in the other as she walked down a dark hallway, her steps echoing off the walls. The old paintings lining the walls seemed to watch her as she passed, their eyes following her every move. One painting, a serene landscape of a field, caught her attention. The peaceful scene momentarily distracted her from the tension of the moment.

A loud banging sound shattered the silence, pulling Annabelle back to reality. She tensed, readying her gun as she continued down the dark hallway. "What am I doing? This is how people die in horror films and books," she muttered to herself, her nerves on edge.

The sound grew louder as she approached two large doors. She paused, steeling herself before pushing them open. The doors creaked, revealing a vast library beyond. Paintings adorned the walls, and two grand staircases spiraled up to an upper floor, which was also lined with bookshelves. A statue of two men stood prominently in the center: one dressed in formal wear, the other cloaked in mystery. Annabelle's attention was drawn to the source of the banging—a loose cover on the circle window above the statue. The wind outside pushed it back and forth, causing the noise. She walked up to a lever on the wall and pulled it, securing the cover and allowing the moonlight to stream through the window, casting a crescent-shaped light on the floor.

As the library fell silent again, Annabelle took a moment to appreciate the grandeur of the room. The moonlight illuminated the shelves, highlighting the spines of countless books. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and took in the awe-inspiring sight around her, a brief respite from the tension that had gripped her moments before.

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By: SilverMist707

I hope you enjoy it and so sorry, but Russian is not my language and I used google translate. I do apologize. <3