★★Leon's POV★★



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The sound of Jasper's screams echoed through the desolate void in my chest, a haunting melody that resonated with the emptiness within. It was a cruel symphony, one that I conducted with precision and relish. If I was incapable of loving anything, then this – the art of inflicting pain – was my one true passion. The scorching branding iron, still glowing with a malevolent intensity, seemed to pulsate with an energy all its own as I pulled it back, revealing the ravaged landscape of Jasper's body.

His head lolled forward, his chin dipping towards his chest as his eyes fought to stay open, like a puppet whose strings had been brutally severed. The punches I had landed had left his face a swollen, bloodied mess, his features almost unrecognizable beneath the bruising. I grasped his hair, yanking his head back, and his eyelids fluttered open, like a trapped animal's desperate struggle for freedom.

"Wakey, wakey, Jasper," I whispered, my voice a mockery of gentle concern, as I tsked in disdain.

His gaze met mine, clouded with agony and terror, and for an instant, I felt a spark of pleasure ignite within me. It was a flame that I carefully nurtured, feeding it with every whimper, every plea, every tortured glance.

"Oh, Jasper," I sneered, my smile twisting into a cruel grin, "If you think this is bad, you're in for a real treat." I yanked his hair harder, and he groaned, his body shuddering in response.

"Now, where were we?" I mused, releasing him, and his head dropped forward, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

As I turned away, my back to him, I could feel his gaze upon me, sense his labored breathing, and I reveled in the power dynamic. I was the master of this twisted game, and he was merely a pawn, a disposable, insignificant piece to be used and discarded.

"Oh, that's right," I said, my voice dripping with malice, as I turned to face him once more. "You were going to tell me who stole the armory."

I leaned in closer, my hands resting on my thighs, locking eyes with him. With a sinister grin, I whispered, "Jasper, my patience is thinner than your excuses. Spill the beans, or I'll spill something you won't like." His lips parted, and he tried to speak, but the words were barely audible, a faint whisper that I strained to hear.

I narrowed my eyes, annoyance flashing through me like a spark of electricity. "Use your words, Jasper," I growled, my patience wearing thin. He cleared his throat, wincing in pain, and looked up at me with a glimmer of defiance. "I said... I don't know," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Here's the thing about liars," I snap back, my voice like a whip cracking through the air, each word laced with venom and disgust.

"I really fucking despise them. They kinda make me twitchy, actually. And you know what happens when I get twitchy?" I pause, my eyes glinting with a cold, calculated fury, as I walk over to the metal tray, the one where I had laid out all the tools of my trade, the ones I had used to extract the truth from Jasper earlier.

The tray is a stainless steel, gleaming in the light, with all sorts of instruments laid out on it, each one designed to inflict a different type of pain, a different type of suffering.

I run my gaze over the tray, my eyes lingering on each tool, remembering the sound of Jasper's screams, the look of terror in his eyes as I used each one on him. There are the pliers, the ones I had used to tear his flesh, to make him beg for mercy. There are the scalpels, the ones I had used to carve into his skin, to make him feel like he was being flayed alive. And there are the hammers, the ones I had used to break his bones, to make him feel like he was being crushed beneath my heel.

I turn around, my gaze flicking to the tool in my hand, a pair of needle-nose pliers, the ones I had used to pull out his teeth, to make him scream in agony.

"I start to think about all the lovely things I can do with them," I say, my voice low and menacing, as I walk back to Jasper, the pliers at the ready.

"I start to think about all the ways I can use them to make you suffer, to make you beg for mercy, to make you wish you had never lied to me."

I take a step closer to Jasper, the pliers glinting in the light, my eyes blazing with a fierce, unholy light. "You see, Jasper, I have a bit of a reputation, a reputation for being one of the most creative, one of the most ruthless torturers in the business. And I intend to live up to that reputation, to make you suffer in ways you never thought possible, to make you wish you had never crossed me." I pause, my chest heaving with anticipation, my mind racing with all the horrible things I can do to Jasper.

"So, are you going to tell me the truth, or do we need to get creative?"

"No... N-no. Please!" he begged, his voice cracking, and I felt that familiar rush of excitement, that intoxicating thrill of power.

I chuckled, the sound low and menacing, as I approached him, the pliers at the ready. "Jasper, buddy, open wide," I whispered, my grin twisting my lips into a grotesque parody of friendship.

As I forced his mouth open, his screams and whimpers filled the air, music to my ears, and I reveled in the chaos, the anarchy of the moment. But then, he mumbled something, and I paused, my attention piqued. He repeated the words, his eyes locked onto mine, tears streaming down his cheeks like a penitent's confession.

I smirked, my grip on the pliers relaxing, and I stepped back, crossing my arms over my chest. "So, did you wet your pants enough to tell me?" I asked, my voice laced with mockery, as I tilted my head to one side, a look of exaggerated curiosity on my face.

"Or are you just holding it in, like a good little boy, waiting for the right moment to unleash the floodgates of truth?" I chuckled, a low, menacing sound.

"Because, let's be real, Jasper, I've seen some impressive leaks in my time, but I think you might just take the cake. Or should I say, the Depends?"

Jasper's gaze met mine, and he whispered, his voice barely audible, "It... was... Niko." I raised an eyebrow, a look of mock surprise on my face.

"Niko, you say? Ah, that little scamp. I should have known he was behind it. I mean, who else could pull off a heist like that and still manage to look good in a pair of skinny jeans?" I chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "But seriously, Jasper, you're telling me that Niko, the guy who can't even steal a decent Wi-Fi signal, managed to pull off the impossible? That's like saying I'm the Queen of England. Not buying it, buddy"

"I swear-" He pleads, his voice trembling, as he looks up at me with a mixture of desperation and resignation in his eyes. I narrow my eye, a cold, calculated glint in my gaze, and chuckle, a low, menacing sound.

I can see the defeat in his eyes, the realization that he's reached the end.

I walked over to my cigarettes. I knew exactly who he was talking about - that little fucker, Niko Zervos. The Greek mafia's golden boy, always so smug, so self-assured, thinking he was above the law. My family had a long history of... difficulties with him, to say the least.

I lit a cigarette, feeling the flame ignite the tobacco, and took a long drag, inhaling the smoke deep into my lungs. The nicotine coursed through my veins, calming my nerves, focusing my mind.

As I exhaled, I turned to face Jasper, watching as his whimpers died on his lips, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of fear and pleading. I felt a surge of contempt for him, for his weakness, for his willingness to betray his own kind.

"That little dumb cunt," I sneered, my voice dripping with disdain.

"Niko fucking Zervos." I said his name aloud, testing the sound, feeling the disgust rise up in me like a tide.

"The Greek mafia really has some balls," I said, my voice loud, carrying across the room.

And big ones.

I walked over to Jasper, my footsteps deliberate, my eyes locked on his. He watched me, mesmerized, as I took one last drag on my cigarette. The ember glowed bright red, and I could feel the heat emanating from it, like a tiny, malevolent sun. I leaned forward, my face inches from Jasper's, and pressed the burning cigarette to his cheek. He screamed, his eyes wide with terror, as I held it there, feeling the skin sear, the flesh burn.

"Jasper, wanna know a secret?" I said, my voice low, conversational, as I pulled back, the cigarette still clutched in my fingers. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of fear and hatred. The burnt circle on his cheek was already beginning to blister, the skin red and black, like a brand. "I really fucking hate the Greeks," I said, my voice cold, detached, as I reached for my gun.

The metal felt cool in my hand, a comforting weight, as I brought it to Jasper's head. He didn't even have time to react, to flinch, before I pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was loud, a deafening crash, and the smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils, a metallic tang that was both familiar and comforting. I inhaled deeply, feeling the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the kill.

Fucking Greeks.

As I exhaled, I felt a sense of satisfaction, of closure, wash over me. I tossed the cigarette onto Jasper's lifeless body, the ember still glowing, like a tiny, malevolent eye. Blood dripped from his head, pooling on the floor, and I could feel it splattered on my clothes, a warm, sticky wetness. I looked down, smirking, as I saw the stains spreading, like a dark, sinister flower.

I spun on my heel, walking out of the room, leaving Jasper's body behind, like a discarded, broken toy. The sound of my footsteps echoed through the silence, a lone, haunting rhythm, as I disappeared into the darkness, my clothes stained with the blood of my enemy. I felt alive, electric, like a spark had been lit within me, a flame that would burn bright, until it consumed everything in its path.

As I drive back home, the blood on my hands seems to sear my skin, a grim reminder of the carnage I've unleashed. My white button-up shirt, once a pristine canvas, is now a gruesome masterpiece, splattered with Jasper's lifeblood like a twisted work of art. The fabric clings to my torso, heavy with the weight of his demise, and I can feel the stickiness of his blood seeping into my skin, a morbid reminder of the brutality that I'm capable of.

But it's not the blood that's got my attention, it's the image of the damn princess that's seared into my mind.

Mariella De Angelis.

The way she stood tall, unwavering, as she pulled the trigger, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination that sent a jolt of electricity through my body. The way she seemed to relish in the chaos, her eyes flashing with a fierce excitement, sends a shiver down my spine, a thrill that courses through my veins like liquid fire.

I'm drawn to her, inexorably, like a moth to the flame. The way she challenges me, dares me, tantalizes me with her very presence, is like a siren's call to my darkest desires. I can feel my body responding to her, my cock twitching with a primal hunger that I've never experienced before. The way she looks at me, with a mix of disdain and fascination, only fuels the fire that's burning inside me.

I want to break her, to shatter her confidence.

As I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turn white with tension, and my foot presses down on the pedal, accelerating the car down the highway. The speedometer climbs higher and higher, but my mind is already at my office, fixated on the bar and the liquor that awaits me.

I need a drink, a sip of something to calm the storm brewing inside me.

As I enter my office, my eyes immediately lock onto the bar, and I pour myself a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid gleams in the light, and I raise the glass to my lips, feeling the cool glass against my skin. I take a sip, and the burn of the liquor spreads through my chest, warming me up from the inside out.

Just as I'm starting to relax, a knock at the door breaks the silence, and I'm pulled back to reality.

Why can't people fuck off for once.

"Enter," I say, my voice a little annoyed, as I'm not in the mood for visitors.

Damien and Anotino walk in, their eyes scanning me from head to toe, taking in the bloodstains on my shirt and shoes. I can sense a mixture of curiosity and concern emanating from them, but I just smirk and take another sip of my drink.

Damien raises an eyebrow as he and Anotino make their way to the chairs across from me. "Wow, brother, by the look of your attire, I'm guessing things with Jasper went well?" He says, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice.

As I lean back in my chair, my eyes drift up to the ceiling, and a sly grin spreads across my face. "You can say that," I say, the memory of Jasper's demise still fresh in my mind, and a sense of satisfaction lingers in my voice.

Anotino's question cuts through the air, and I turn my attention back to him, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. "Did you find out who stole the armory?" he asks, as he pulls out a cigarette and prepares to light it.

I look at both Damien and Anotino, and my expression turns mischievous. "Would you believe me if it was Nick Zervos?" I say, my voice low and even, as I watch their reactions.

Their eyes widen in shock, and they exchange a stunned glance. Damien's face is a picture of incredulity, and he bursts out laughing. "Niko Zervos from the Greeks?" he says, still trying to process the information.

Anotino chuckles, shaking his head, and Damien leans back in his chair, snatching the cigarette from Anotino's hand. Anotino shoots him an annoyed look, but Damien just takes a long drag, his eyes never leaving mine.

I hum in confirmation, a small smile playing on my lips. "No fucking way. Haven't heard that name in a fucking while," Damien says, exhaling a stream of smoke.

I take a sip of my drink, savoring the taste.

Antoino's eyes locked onto mine, his voice low and urgent. "We need to take care of Niko, Leon. He's been a thorn in our side for far too long." I met his gaze, my mind racing with strategies.

The only thing I knew for certain was that Niko had a weakness - his addiction to gambling.

A sly smile spread across my face as I leaned forward, my eyes glinting with a plan. "I've got it," I said, my voice dripping with confidence.

"We have someone host a private, high-stakes gaming event, invite the who's who of the business world, and make sure Niko gets an exclusive invite. We'll turn a blind eye to his past transgressions, for now." My fingers drummed a staccato beat on the table as I outlined my plan.

"We take him when no one's looking, disappear before anyone even realizes we were there. It's the perfect setup."

Damaine and Antoino exchanged a look, their faces reflecting a mix of awe and admiration. Antoino chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "Leon, you're a genius. I don't think anyone could come up with a better plan than that." Damaine nodded in agreement, a puff of smoke curling from his lips. "You always were one for thinking outside the box, brother."

I leaned back in my chair, my legs stretching out before me as I smirked at my cohorts. Damaine's next words, however, brought my attention crashing back down.

"Speaking of events, the American mafia is hosting a gala next week. We've been invited, and Father is... enthusiastic about attending." His tone was laced with amusement, but I could sense the undercurrent of obligation.

I groaned, my head dropping back in exasperation. Gala events were the last thing I wanted to deal with, especially when it came to the mafia. The pretentiousness, the forced smiles, the endless small talk... it was all so suffocating.

"Is this shit mandatory?" I growled, my eyes rolling heavenward in frustration.

Damaine's chuckle was low and husky. "Let's just say father is... insistent. The whole family is attending, and we're expected to put on a united front." His words were laced with a mixture of warning and amusement, and I knew I was in for a long, grueling night.

Shitty galas.

I grabbed my drink and downed it in one swift motion, the liquor burning its way down my throat. "Fuck me," I muttered, the words barely audible. Of course, our father would drag us to this farce. It was just another way for him to exert his control, to remind us of our place within the family hierarchy. I slammed my glass down on the table, the sound echoing through the room.

This is going to be a long night.

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Did i hear a gala???

I wonder who's gonna be attending...??? hehehe

*slow burn or fast burn?*

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡