"Where did you say those two are again?" said Antonio while shrouded in shadows and seated on an antique wingback chair.
Ahead of him knelt a cloaked man, trembling and pleading for his life. Two hefty guards loomed by the kneeler's sides, their machetes glistening dimly. It was a threat, persuasion, and precaution.
"I-I don't know, sir," the man stuttered, his sobs intensifying. "They were attacked, and I-I was sure. I was sure they would die. And and–"
"That's not what the news tells me." Antonio steadily leaned forward. Emotionless eyes and a pale visage revealed under the faded light. "So are you lying, or are you just incompetent?"
"No-no, I am not!"
"Are you refuting my words? You dare to even raise your voice, mongrel?"
"Never, sir, never. I am sorry."
Antonio smirked, slowly revealing sharp serrated teeth, and that grin soon morphed into a demented cackling fit. "Cleave… his… arm," he said while occupied with his giggles.
