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MidReal Story
My Virgin Virgin Queen
Scenario:this story is about cartels and gangs and drug dealing and robberies and murder and torture and arson and corruption and politics and police and sex and nudity and age difference and fame and loyalty and drama and fights and survival and manipulation and my name is mohamed abdi and i am 24 years old and i have dark skin and a muscular body for working out and i can fight in every style and i shoot any firearm with great talent and i am intelligent and the youngest cartel boss and leader in history with huge organization and operation of many and mafia bosses and drug lords with their gangs and drug dealers working for me and i am so feared and powerful and i do anything to maintain my power position at the top of the criminal world and i have politicians and judges and police captains in each state of united states of america and mexico and i met a innocent asian woman named monica hoang and she is 1 year older than me she is 25 years old and she has a belly button piercing and she is very beautiful and kind and she is a virgin and she is from new york city
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Monica Hoang
She is a 25yearold from New York City,working as a waitress while pursuing her degree. She is innocent,compassionate,and naive. Monica encounters Mohamed in a restaurant and feels an unexpected attraction towards him. Despite being aware of his criminal background,she is drawn to his mysterious and intense nature. Her virginity makes her curious about Mohamed's virility,leading to a complex bond between them. She eventually becomes part of Mohamed's world,leaving behind her old life with family support.
Mohamed Abdi
He is a 24yearold cartel boss and leader of a mafia organization. He is ruthless,intelligent,and feared. Mohamed is the youngest to ever hold such a position,feared by gangs and law enforcement alike. He controls operations across the USMexico border,manipulating politicians and maintaining a tight grip on the criminal world. His fearlessness stems from a traumatic childhood experience,where he was left for dead by his family. His desire for power and control drives him,yet he harbors an unusual affection for Monica,a virgin from New York.
My name is Mohamed Abdi, and I am 24 years old.
I have dark skin and a muscular body.
I work out every day, so my body is fit and looks good.
I can fight in every style and shoot any firearm with great talent.
I am intelligent and the youngest cartel boss and leader in history to have such a huge organization and operation.
I have many mafia bosses and drug lords with their gangs working for me.
I am so feared that even politicians and police captains from each state of the United States of America and Mexico have become my friends.
They are scared of me, so they do anything to keep me happy and pleased.
I don’t care about anyone or anything.
I just want power and control over everything.
That’s all I care about in this life.
If someone gets in my way or tries to stop me from reaching my goal, I will k#l them without feeling any r###e.
I will b#n down any b###g or h##e that stands in my way.
I will t###e anyone who tries to stand in my path.
I will r#b anyone who has money or valuables.
And if I want something, I will take it by f##e, no matter what it is.
If someone tries to stop me, I will s##t them d#d.
That’s how ruthless I am.
I meet Senator Johnson in a dimly lit back room of a high-end restaurant.
I slide a briefcase filled with cash across the table.
He glances at the money, then nods reluctantly.
I explain the law I need passed to ease my d#g t#####g routes.
He scribbles notes, his hand trembling slightly.
I watch him closely, ensuring he understands the consequences of failure.
As he pockets the bribe, I remind him of my reach and power.
He agrees to push the legislation through.
I sit in my office, checking my phone for any updates.
A text from Senator Johnson comes through, confirming the vote on the law has been successful.
I nod to myself, satisfied, and place the phone down.
My men enter, reporting on our operations across the border.
I listen intently, giving orders to increase shipments now that the law is in our favor.
As they leave, I lean back in my chair, thinking about Monica.
I pick up my phone again, tempted to call her, but decide against it.
I drive to a secluded warehouse in Brooklyn, my armored SUV flanked by my men.
I step out, my guards close behind me.
Inside, James St. Patrick, known as Ghost, sits calmly.
His partner, Tommy Egan, paces nearby, his fists clenched.
I take a seat across from them and explain the new law's benefits for our operations.
I demand my cut of their profits, as agreed upon.
Ghost nods, understanding the stakes.
Tommy's eyes flash with anger, but he remains silent.
I remind them of the police pressure and the need for increased vigilance.
I sit across from Ghost in the dimly lit warehouse, the air thick with tension.
He nods slowly, his eyes locked on mine, then extends his hand.
I grasp it firmly, feeling the roughness of his skin.
"We'll expand operations," he says, his voice steady.
Around us, my guards shift slightly, their hands never far from their weapons.
Tommy watches silently, his jaw clenched.
I sit in a Manhattan restaurant booth, my men around me.
The briefcase holding Ghost and Tommy's payment of 12 million dollars sits securely at my feet.
My driver and bodyguards stand nearby, their eyes scanning the room.
I order food, famished from yesterday's fast.
Across the room, a beautiful Asian woman catches my eye.
She has long black hair and a belly button piercing.
I excuse myself and approach her table.
"Hello," I say, introducing myself as Mohamed Abdi.
She looks up at me, her eyes widening slightly.
"Monica Hoang, 25," she replies, her voice soft.
I note that she's a year older than me.
We exchange brief details about our ages before I return to my booth.
Watching Monica from my booth, I signal my guards to do a discreet background check through their earpieces.
While waiting for their response, I notice Monica checking her phone between bites of food, occasionally glancing in my direction.
The restaurant's dim lighting casts shadows across her delicate features.
After receiving confirmation she's clean - just a waitress studying business at NYU - I stand up and approach her table again.
My guards shift positions, maintaining sight lines as I move.
I extend my hand and ask if she'd like to finish her meal at my booth.
Monica hesitates for a moment, then smiles and takes my hand.
"I'd love to," she says, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.
As we walk back to my booth, she glances at the briefcase and raises an eyebrow.
Sitting across from her in my booth, I notice her eyes darting between me and the briefcase.
The restaurant's dim lighting casts shadows across her face as she fidgets with her napkin, clearly wanting to ask about the money but holding back.
My phone buzzes - another text from Ghost confirming tonight's meeting location.
I decide to address her curiosity directly.
My guards shift positions, their hands instinctively moving toward their concealed weapons as I reach for the briefcase.
The leather creaks as I open it just enough for Monica to glimpse the stacks of banded hundreds inside.
Her eyes widen, but she doesn't recoil.
"That's the cost of doing business," I say, closing the briefcase with a decisive click.
Monica studies my face, her eyes searching mine.
"So, what's your business?"
Her voice is steady, but her gaze keeps drifting back to the briefcase.
My guards adjust their positions subtly, still wary but understanding that this conversation is necessary.
The other patrons in the restaurant continue their meals, oblivious to the tension at our table.
I take a slow sip of water, considering how much to reveal.
This isn't the first time someone has asked about my business, but there's something about Monica's directness that feels different.
Instead of answering immediately, I reach for my phone and pull up a news article.
I slide it across the table to her.
"Read this," I say, watching her eyes scan the screen.
She reads each headline carefully, her finger tracing across the screen as she scrolls.
"Local Tech Firm Acquired by Mysterious Investor"
"Real Estate Tycoon Sells Properties to Unknown Buyer"
"Everything you need to know is right there," I say, as her eyes meet mine with newfound understanding.
I lean back in the booth, studying her face as she waits for my answer.
The restaurant's other patrons continue their meals around us, their chatter providing cover for our conversation.
My guards shift positions slightly, watching her body language for any signs of threat.
I tap my fingers on the briefcase once, then twice, before pulling out my phone and showing her another article - this one about a major casino purchase in Atlantic City.
Her eyes widen as she reads the buyer's shell company name, one she just saw in the previous articles.
I nod slowly, confirming her suspicion without words.
Monica looks up, her expression a mix of awe and apprehension.
"You're the one pulling all the strings," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the restaurant's ambient noise.
I sit back in the booth, the briefcase beside me.
The restaurant's dim lighting casts shadows across Monica's face as she studies me.
"So, what do you say we turn this into a date?"
I ask, leaning forward and watching her reaction closely.
Monica hesitates for a moment, her eyes darting between me and the briefcase.
I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it gently.
"I want this to be a great date for both of us," I say firmly.
She looks at the briefcase one last time, then back at me, her eyes searching mine.
After a tense moment, she nods slightly and whispers, "Okay, this can be a date."
I lean back in the leather booth, studying her delicate features in the restaurant's dim lighting.
My guards shift positions slightly, their hands resting near their concealed weapons.
The waiter approaches our table, his eyes darting between me and the briefcase beside me.
I keep my gaze locked on Monica, my fingers tracing over an expensive Bordeaux on the wine list.
The waiter clears his throat, his voice trembling slightly as he greets us.
"Can I start you off with something to drink?"
Monica watches the interaction intently, her fingers still intertwined with mine across the table.
I gesture toward the wine list, my eyes never leaving hers.
"Bring us a bottle of this," I say, my voice firm but controlled.
The waiter nods, his hands shaking slightly as he takes the list from me.
I give him a firm nod, making it clear which bottle I expect him to bring.
I lean back in the booth as Monica browses the dessert menu, her fingers tracing each item while my guards maintain their positions.
The waiter returns with our wine, his hands steadier now as he pours two glasses.
When Monica points to the chocolate lava cake, I catch a glimpse of her belly button piercing glinting in the light.
The briefcase sits heavy beside me as I wave the waiter over.
Monica's eyes sparkle when she describes how the warm chocolate reminds her of childhood visits to her grandmother's bakery.
"Did you ever think those childhood memories would lead you here, sitting across from someone like me?" I ask, my voice low and probing.
She pauses, her eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and curiosity.
"Honestly, no," she replies softly, "but maybe that's what makes this all the more intriguing."
I watch the waiter approach with our dessert, his hands still trembling as he sets the chocolate lava cake in front of Monica.
She takes a delicate bite, closing her eyes in appreciation, while I keep my gaze locked on the waiter.
Standing up slowly, I adjust my suit jacket and step closer to him, my guards subtly shifting their positions to block the view of other diners.
The waiter freezes when I grip his shoulder firmly but relaxes slightly as I smoothly tuck a crisp hundred-dollar bill into his shirt pocket.
Leaning in, my voice takes on a clear warning, "You never saw us here. Forget our faces."
The waiter's eyes widen, and he nods quickly, whispering, "Of course, sir, I understand."
Monica watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.
"Is this part of your usual routine?" she asks, her tone a mix of amusement and concern.
I lean close to her, maintaining eye contact while subtly signaling my guards with a hand gesture.
Two of them step forward, their movements fluid and unobtrusive as they escort the waiter through the kitchen's back door.
Monica's fork pauses halfway to her mouth as she notices their departure.
"My men just need to make sure he understands the importance of discretion," I explain casually, my voice low and controlled.
She sets down her fork, her interest in the chocolate cake momentarily forgotten.
"And how do they ensure that?" she asks directly, her eyes searching mine for answers.
I smile, my gaze never wavering from hers.
"Some lessons require hands-on teaching."
Monica leans back, her expression a mix of intrigue and skepticism.
"And what lesson are you trying to teach me tonight?" she inquires, her voice steady but curious.
I chuckle softly, taking a sip of wine before replying, "That sometimes the most unexpected paths lead to the most interesting destinations."