That was the chain still binding him. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. This would be the last time. After this, he swore, they would never use him again.
***
Luis sat in the back of the luxury car, the leather seats swallowing him in silence. The city lights flashed across his face, half of it swallowed by darkness, half illuminated in fleeting bursts. His expression was twisted, sinister, like a fiend thirsting for blood.
Marcel. Always Marcel. He had never once given him a good face, never once treated him as an equal. From the day Marcel was dragged into their house, he carried himself with that cold, indifferent look, as though he were above everyone else. Luis hated it.
By fifteen, Marcel was already being allowed into meetings, sitting at tables where decisions were made. Luis, at seventeen, was handed sportscars and told to go play with his friends. Why could Marcel sit in those rooms while he was kept outside? Why was the bastard child trusted more than him?
When Marcel was finally cast out of the family, Luis thought it was his chance to shine. But no. His father still asked about Marcel's whereabouts, still sent men to track him down, still wanted him to do the jobs that mattered.
"Fuck!" Luis roared, thrashing his limbs like a child throwing a tantrum. "I hate that bloody bastard!"
The driver stiffened, staring straight ahead, trying to shrink into invisibility.
His phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He yanked it out and his jaw tightened when he saw the name. It was his father. He gritted his teeth and answered.
***
Rossario Verrochi stood on the grounds of the family estate, a shotgun in his hands. He fired at clay pigeons, the cracks echoing across the manicured lawn. Behind him, a man knelt in cuffs, his face bruised, blood dripping from his nose. Three stern henchmen stood around him, silent and vigilant.
Tears streaking down his bruised face, his voice cracked as he begged for mercy, words tumbling out in desperation. Rossario's cold gaze cut through him like a blade. "Shut him up," he ordered.
One of the henchmen stepped forward, yanked down the man's crooked tie, and stuffed it into his mouth. His cries turned into muffled whimpers, his body trembling under the weight of fear.
Rossario adjusted the shotgun resting against his shoulder, the earpiece in his ear buzzing faintly. "Did he agree?" he asked.
Luis's voice came through, hesitant. "He said… he will call you."
Rossario's lips curled into a sinister smile. His eyes narrowed as he raised the shotgun, tracking the clay pigeon launched into the air. With a thunderous bang, the pigeon shattered into fragments.
Luis heard the shot through the line, his body trembling involuntarily. His father always seemed more easygoing than the old man, but Rossario terrified him far more.
"You did good," Rossario said, his tone deceptively calm.
Luis bit his lip, hesitating. "Father… why not let me do it? It's just stealing from a vaul—"
Rossario's energy shifted instantly, his tone colder and sharper. "Just do your part and stay out of it. Do you understand me?"
Luis's chest heaved, anger rising. The resentment he had buried for years clawed its way up. In their circles, everyone flattered him, called him rich, spoiled and untouchable. But behind his back, he knew the truth. They called him a pampered playboy, useless.
That hadn't bothered him much. Not until he learned they respected Marcel more.
Luis remembered one time, years ago, when he overheard the girl he had pursued for so long whispering to her friend. She said she was only hanging around him to catch a glimpse of Marcel. The words had cut him deeper than any blade. Luis hated Marcel with a passion, and it was nearly impossible to hide the resentment that burned inside him.
Rossario, sensing his son's tone had grown brittle, softened his own. "Take your mother and sister somewhere nice for two weeks, okay?"
Luis swallowed his emotions, forcing composure. "Alright. I will take them to Lumora." Lumora was a private resort island, a place the family often vacationed to, secluded and luxurious.
Rossario's lips curled in satisfaction. "Good boy. Remember, don't tell your grandfather about this."
"I won't," Luis replied quickly.
Rossario hung up the call, raised his shotgun, and fired again. With a deafening bang, another clay pigeon shattered in the sky. He turned, his gaze settling on the trembling man kneeling in the dirt. He snapped his fingers, and one of the henchmen yanked the tie from the man's mouth.
He smiled, the smile like that of a predator. "Are you ready to talk?"
The man nodded frantically, terrified of losing his life here. What he didn't realize was that speaking of what his godfather knew about the Castel mansion in the hills would seal his fate far worse than death.
Meanwhile, Luis sat in the car, his knuckles white against the leather seat. His father had told him to stay out of it, but anger churned inside him. He vowed to sabotage Marcel, to drag him down into the dirt, to see that cold, indifferent face finally crack.
What Luis didn't understand was that Marcel only wore that mask for the Verrochi family. To those he cared about, he was someone else entirely.
***
Vernon Maximum Security Prison
The cell was suffocating, a segregated block drenched in shadows. The aura inside was so heavy it felt like a beast lurked within, waiting to tear free. The darkness seemed alive, a portal to hell itself, with energy so thick it pressed against the walls.
The prison guard approached cautiously, his boots echoing against the concrete floor. He opened the small window in the door, and instantly his body tensed. The hairs on his arms stood on end, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. His eyes gleamed, dark and sinister, piercing through the slit in the door. His face was sharp, chiseled, his jawline strong, light stubble shadowing his features. His hair, swept back, fell to his chin, framing those pale, piercing eyes that seemed to strip the guard bare.
AN: Let me know what you guys think. See you tomorrow.