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MidReal Story
The Mafia Bad Boy's Secret Baby
Scenario:A mafia boss's son named Jake and Jake likes me I'm Lizzy 16, I'm in high school. Jake is 17 and he goes to high school with Lizzy.
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Lizzy Ryan
She is a high school student in a small town. She is curious,selfconscious,and hopeful. Lizzy often finds herself caught in the social drama of her school,struggling with her appearance and social standing. She develops a crush on Jake,the son of a local mafia boss,and is fascinated by his presence in her life. Despite the intimidating reputation surrounding Jake,she yearns for his attention and admiration.
Jake Falcone
He is the son of a powerful mafia boss in a small town. He is enigmatic,charismatic,and confident. Jake attends the same high school as Lizzy and is known for his good looks and athletic prowess. He rarely speaks to others but captivates Lizzy with his presence and attention. Rumors surround his family's criminal activities,yet he maintains an air of mystery and charm that intrigues Lizzy despite the whispers and speculation about his true identity.
I stared at him, and he stared back, his piercing blue eyes holding my gaze.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and I couldn’t look away.
I wanted to, but I couldn’t.
I was frozen in place, all because of him.
He was the son of a notorious mafia boss, and I was just a nobody.
But to him, I wasn’t.
To him, I was someone.
At least that’s what I wanted to believe.
It was a stupid thought, but it was one I couldn’t get out of my head.
I had liked him for a long time now.
Ever since he started going to my school, I had liked him.
But I never thought I would be able to get his attention.
Not in a million years did I think that Jake Falcone would even look at me.
But here we were, locked in each other’s gaze, and it was like the world around us had come to a standstill.
"Hey," he said finally, his voice low and husky, like a cat that had been sleeping for too long.
"Hi," I replied back, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Lizzy."
His name was whispered in the halls of our school.
Everyone knew who he was, and everyone stayed away from him.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, hyper aware of the fact that we’re standing in the middle of a school hallway, exposed and on display.
My eyes dart to Sarah Mitchell, who’s at her locker a few feet away.
She’s pretending not to watch us, but I know she is.
She’s been fixing her lip gloss for the last ten minutes, and it’s starting to look more like a nervous habit than a beauty routine.
Two freshman boys hurry past us, their footsteps echoing against the lockers.
Their heads are down, and they’re walking faster than necessary.
Even Mrs. Peterson, the English teacher, slows her pace as she passes by us, her coffee mug pausing halfway to her mouth.
I can feel Jake watching me, his eyes never leaving my face.
It’s unnerving and intimidating all at once.
When he takes a small step closer to me, my heart starts racing faster than ever before.
He’s so close that I can see the fine lines around his eyes, the way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck.
My knuckles turn white as I grip my textbook tighter, my fingers pressing against the cover.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast shadows across his face, making his features look even more angular and sharp.
He studies me for a moment longer, his eyes searching my face as if he’s trying to read my mind.
The whispers from the other students grow louder, but Jake doesn’t seem to notice.
He shifts his weight again, his leather jacket creaking softly as he leans back against the locker next to mine.
The metal door clangs shut under the weight of his elbow, and I flinch slightly at the sound.
His proximity is making my skin tingle, and I can feel my pulse racing in my veins.
The scent of his cologne mingles with the smell of leather from his jacket, and it’s almost overwhelming. My throat feels dry as I gather my courage and lift my eyes to meet his gaze again.
My fingers tremble slightly against the cover of my book, but I try to keep them steady.
Jake’s mouth curves into a slight smile at my question, and my stomach does a little flip.
He shifts his weight again, his leather jacket brushing against my arm.
His eyes flicker to the crowded hallway, where students are pretending not to watch us.
His fingers drum once against the locker, the sound sharp in the hushed corridor.
I clutch my textbook tighter, feeling the weight of it against my chest.
He leans in closer, his breath stirring my hair.
"Have coffee with me after school," he says, but it’s not really a question.
The bell rings, making me jump slightly.
Jake straightens up, his eyes still locked on mine.
"I can’t," I force the words out, staring at my shoes so I don’t have to meet his intense gaze.
The leather of his jacket creaks as he shifts his weight again, and I sense the change in his posture.
My fingers dig deeper into my textbook, and the silence stretches between us.
The whispers from the other students grow louder, but Jake doesn’t seem to care.
When I finally look up, his jaw is tight and his blue eyes are narrowed.
He pushes off the locker with a deliberate slowness, towering over me.
The bell rings again, but neither of us moves.
My throat tightens as his expression darkens and he takes one step closer.
His fingers brush my arm as he leans in, making me shiver.
"You’re making this harder than it needs to be," he says quietly.
His words echo in the suddenly empty hallway, the sound of his voice seeming to reverberate off the metal lockers.
The bell rings again, but I barely hear it.
My back presses against the cold metal lockers, and Jake places one hand beside my head, effectively blocking my escape route.
The scent of his leather jacket fills my senses as he leans in even closer.
"My father’s men are already watching your house," he reminds me quietly.
I swallow hard and lift my eyes to his face.
Through the window behind him, I see a black SUV idling across the street.
My hands shake slightly as I whisper "okay."
I follow Jake down the empty hallway toward the parking lot, my footsteps echoing off the metal lockers behind us.
The sound of his boots on the linoleum floor is the only other noise in the deserted corridor.
When we reach his car, he stops with his hand on the door handle and looks at me expectantly.
I take a deep breath and gather my courage.
"Why now?"
I ask him quietly.
He freezes with his hand on the door handle, his shoulders tensing slightly.
Then he turns slowly, fixing me with those intense blue eyes.
The parking lot stretches out empty around us except for that black SUV idling at the far end.
Jake steps closer, backing me up against his car.
His fingers brush my cheek as he speaks.
"I’ve been watching you for months," he says quietly.
My face burns at his words.
His gaze softens slightly, and he adds, "I couldn't let them get to you first."
I blink rapidly, trying to process the weight of his confession.
"Who are they?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
His expression changes from soft to urgent in an instant, his eyes darting past my shoulder to scan the parking lot.
The sound of a revving engine in the distance makes me flinch.
Jake’s hand moves from my cheek to grip my arm, pulling me toward the passenger door.
"Get in," he says, his voice low and urgent.
I hesitate, my bag heavy on my shoulder as the reality of leaving school hits me.
Through the windshield, I see two men in dark suits emerging from behind the SUV.
Jake’s fingers tighten on my arm as he reaches for the door handle.
The sound of heavy footsteps on pavement grows closer and closer, echoing off the metal walls of the nearby buildings.
I slide into the leather seat while he slams my door and rushes around to the driver's side.
The men in suits break into a run, their shoes clicking against the pavement.
Jake jumps in and jams the key into the ignition.
The engine roars to life as one man reaches for something under his jacket.
Jake throws the car into reverse, tires squealing against asphalt.
My shoulder hits the door when he swerves around the approaching men.
The black SUV's engine revs behind us.
Jake's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as we speed toward the parking lot exit.
I grip the door handle as he swerves onto Main Street, the black SUV's headlights filling our rearview mirror.
The speedometer climbs past sixty while Jake weaves through afternoon traffic, cutting off a delivery truck that blares its horn in protest.
When we run a red light, I squeeze my eyes shut, my stomach lurching as Jake takes a sharp turn down Cedar Avenue.
The SUV's tires screech behind us.
Jake's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he mutters something about his father's rivals.
I grip the door handle as he swerves around another corner, the SUV's headlights still bright in our mirrors.
My teeth clatter when we hit a pothole at full speed.
Jake curses and checks his mirrors again.
The chase feels like it's been going on forever until red and blue lights flash ahead of us.
A police cruiser blocks the intersection, its sirens piercing the air.
Jake slams the brakes, but the SUV screeches to a halt behind us.
Through the side mirror, I watch it reverse rapidly and speed away down a side street.
"Why are they after us, Jake?" I ask, my voice trembling as I glance at the retreating SUV.
"It's my father's business," he replies, his eyes darting to the police cruiser ahead. "They think I know where he hid the files."
"But do you?" I press, feeling the weight of his secret hanging between us.
He doesn't answer.
We sit in silence while the police car idles in front of us.
Jake's hands tighten on the steering wheel.
His jaw clenches and unclenches.
Finally, I ask, "Why are your father's men watching my house?"
He doesn't answer at first.
His gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, where the taillights of the black SUV have disappeared around the corner.
He takes a deep breath and turns toward me.
The leather of his jacket creaks against the upholstery as he shifts in his seat to face me.
The lights from the police car flash across his face.
"My father used to think your dad was a friend," he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the police sirens.
"But he disappeared last year. My father thinks he was working for one of his enemies."
I grip the door handle harder as Jake continues talking.
"Your father used to work for mine before he disappeared," he explains, his eyes searching mine for understanding.
"He didn't just leave town without warning. He took something with him."
"What?" "Something important," he replies, his voice tight with emotion.
"My father wants it back."
My mind reels as I try to process what Jake is telling me.
My dad didn't just abandon us; he stole something from Jake's father first.
I watch the police officer walk toward our car, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.
Jake's body tenses beside me, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
When the officer reaches my window, I roll it down with trembling fingers.
He leans down to speak to me, ignoring Jake completely.
"Miss Collins?" he asks, his voice firm but polite.
"We've been trying to reach your mother. She's been looking for you."
I swallow hard and nod, my heart racing in my chest.
"Is everything okay?"
The officer glances at Jake before answering.
"We found a safety deposit box at the station registered to your father," he explains.
"There was a letter inside addressed to you. It's dated just before he disappeared."
My breath catches in my throat as the officer straightens up and motions for me to follow him.
"We need you to come identify it."