Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
The moment we reach the doorway, sounds of choking and gurgling hit me, and I step inside to find the man I’m about to torture tied to a chair. His shirt and slacks are already blood-stained, and his face is a mess.
“What the fuck is going on here?” My voice booms through the vast space. Three of our men turn to look at me, shock apparent on their faces when they realize who’s walked in. Their boss, the man they’re meant to fucking bow to. The Dark fucking Prince of the De Rossi clan. Each of them dressed in black, from head to toe. They’re large, burly men, but their three-piece suits belie the violence that they’re capable of, and that’s why women drop to their knees for our soldiers.
“B-boss,” one of them snivels. “We were just having some fun.” His face is a picture of guilt and fear. I sneer. Good. He needs to be terrified of me because I’m not in a good mood at all.
“Fun?” I arch a brow at him, my face void of emotion, but my anger is palpable.
He nods slowly before straightening his spine. “Sorry, boss. We got a little carried away knowing what he did. We found him in an abandoned house with a young girl.”
This piques my interest. “Oh? How old?”
“N-n-no I-I d-didn’t d-d-do—”
“Shut. Up.” My words are annunciated, so the asshole in the chair slumps lower in his seat. Blood fills his mouth from his missing teeth, which is a shame because I would’ve loved to have pulled them out myself. But I’ll make do with the rest of him.
“Sir,” one of our other men steps forward, his expression filled with confidence as he hands me his cell phone. Taking it from him, I peer down at the screen, which has my stomach twisting in knots, bile forcing its way up my throat, and I have to swallow down the acid before lifting my gaze away.
“I’ve seen enough.” I hand him back his phone before reaching for my blade. The knife that’s been sheathed glints in the weak light that comes from the overhanging bulbs. The warehouse is nothing more than an empty shell, no closed rooms, only metal and steel.
“P-please,” Olivetti begs as I near him slowly. A hunter about to slay his dinner. I stop in front of him, and his head tips back so he can watch me, but there’s nothing he can say or do to stop the inevitable.
“You know,” I start. “There are times I wonder about men like you.” I step around the chair, trailing the tip of my knife along his shoulder, up his neck and over the edge of his ear. “Men who do vile things.” My words are a whisper, but he hears them. “Men who I enjoy flaying slice by slice before watching their life drain from soulless eyes. Those are the men who make my job so much easier.”
All the men who stand watching can hear me. Their rapt attention is on my movements.
They don’t flinch when I nick flesh with steel. Sharp metal against wrinkled skin. There’s no match for it, which is why I enjoy this so much. Leaning in, I inhale the fresh smell of blood, the metallic fragrance that’s filled my nostrils since I was a young boy.
I smile.
“I think you need to learn a lesson,” I inform my victim. “But before you do, you’re going to tell me exactly who the fuck is selling you drugs and young girls.” It’s not a question, it’s not even a fucking request, because he will give me what I need. Before he can answer, I press the tip of the blade to his ear, the sleek steel slipping easily into the shell, slowly and gently, slicing the old, tanned skin.
“I-I… P-p-please, D-De R-Rossi,” he begs, only for me to push the weapon deeper into the canal where it disappears. His screams are music to my ears.
“Please?” I taunt, twisting the metal until I see blood oozing from his ear. “I think I’m being very lenient with you here,” I inform him before pulling my knife from him. “I could fuck your mouth with this.” I flick the weapon in front of his face, only to listen to him whimper and beg some more.
“The man isn’t someone to be messed with. If I tell you—”
“I don’t give a fuck what he’ll do because you’re dead, anyway.” My words are delivered with a dark promise of what’s coming. “Who are the men dealing in our territory?” I ask once more. My teeth clenched so hard, my jaw ticks.
When Olivetti doesn’t answer fast enough, I sink the blade into his shoulder. Crimson spurts from the wound drenching me in his life force, which I’m about to snuff out. His scream bounces off the walls, his body cowering in agony as I twist my hand, opening him more and more with every tilt of the knife.