Flashback continues.
🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐
Trigger ⚠️ warnings. Please avoid reading this chapter if you don't like gore scenes.
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦
Vincent's car, a sleek black beast, ate up the asphalt as he drove to his secret torture celld the very place that had seen the demise of countless souls who had dared to cross him.
The hostage, named Alex, was trembling in the cold, damp cell, his hands bound behind his back and his eyes wide with terror.
The stench of fear and urine filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.
He had heard the whispers of what happened to those who crossed Vincente Castellanos, but he never thought it would be him.
The heavy footsteps grew closer, and the door to his cell creaked open.
Alex tried to shrink back into the shadows, but it was no use.
The guards dragged him out, the chains on his ankles rattling as he was brought before the man he had dared to look at.
Vincente Castellanos's eyes were like two cold stars in the darkness of the room. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice low and dangerous.
Alex, the hostage, couldn't help but comply, his eyes meeting the icy stare of the Don.
Vincent stood before him, his posture that of a predator ready to pounce.
The muscles in his arms flexed, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos that snaked up to the edge of his wrists.
His hands, large and calloused, were clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles white with the effort of holding back his rage.
"Bring me the knife" he barked to his men, his voice echoing off the damp walls. They scurried to obey, their booted feet thudding against the concrete floor.
The sound of a drawer opening and closing was followed by the clink of metal. A tool, gleaming under the harsh light, was placed into Vincente's waiting hand.
"Do you know why I've brought you here, Alex?" he asked, his voice low yet cold.
Alex swallowed hard, his eyes darting from the tool in Vincente's hand to the cold, unyielding gaze that bore into him. "P-please, Sir..." he stuttered. "I'm sorry. I didn't know she was your wife. I didn't mean any disrespect."
Vincent's grip tightened on the metal instrument. "You didn't know?" He stepped closer, his breath hot on Alex's trembling face. "Or did you just not care?"
The man's eyes grew wide with terror. "I-I didn't know, I swear!"
Vincent leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "You see, Alex," he began, "In my world, there are consequences for every action. You chose to look at what is mine, and now, you will pay the price."
Alex's eyes darted around the cell, taking in the gleaming metal surfaces and the stains of past suffering that marred the floor.
The walls were bare except for a single hook that dangled from the ceiling, casting a long, ominous shadow.
Vincent's men watched with smirks, enjoying the spectacle of fear that played out before them.
They had seen this look on many faces before, and it never failed to amuse them how quickly the bravado of the arrogant and entitled dissolved when confronted with the cold, hard reality of their situation.
Alex was a mess, his clothes torn and stained with his own blood, his body a canvas of bruises and welts.
The smirk grew on Vincent's face as he took in the sight of the broken man before him.
Vincent stepped closer, the metal sharp knife glinting in his hand. It was a simple object, but in his skilled grip. He knew what was coming.
Alex's eyes grew even wider, like a deer caught in headlights. He knew he was going to die.
With a swift, precise movement, Vincent raised the tool, a serrated knife that had seen more than its fair share of blood.
Alex's eyes darted to it, then back to Vincent's, desperation and regret warring in their depths.
He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The blade flashed in the stark light of the cell, slicing through the air with a sickening sound.
Vincent's hand was steady, his gaze never leaving Alex's face as he brought the knife closer.
The man's pupils dilated to the size of coins as he tried to look away, but Vincent's grip on his head was unyielding.
The cold metal met Alex's eyelid, pressing down with a gentle but firm force.
A thin line of crimson appeared, a stark contrast to the stark white of his skin.
Alex's painful deadly screams filled the small space, echoing off the cold walls as the knife continued its descent.
The screams filled the air as the knife sliced through the tender flesh of his eyelid.
The crimson line grew into a river, running down his cheek, staining the once pristine white of his shirt.
Vincent's face remained expressionless, his eyes as cold as the steel in his hand.
He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction, a dark thrill at the sound of the man's pain.
Alex's eyeball bulged as the blade pierced through, the pressure building until it was released with a sickening pop.
The eyeball dangled for a moment before being plucked out, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.
Vincente did the same for his other eye that was left.
The screams grew louder, more desperate as the blood flowed freely, painting his face in a gruesome horror.
"Take him and throw him to the sharks. They will enjoy their meal," Vincente said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
His men obeyed without question, their grips like iron as they dragged the screaming man out of the cell.
Alex's desperate pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as he was hauled through the corridors of the other torture cells where other hostages were looking the scene in horror, his muffled cries echoing off the stone walls.
They reached the courtyard, where a massive aquarium had been built, filled with the lethal grace of sharks that circled ominously in the water.
"Drag him over," Vincente ordered, his voice cold as the steel he wielded.
One of his men complied, tossing Alex into the water with a splash that sent ripples through the bloodstained pool.
The sharks sensed the intrusion, their sleek bodies shooting towards the new meal with a frenzy of teeth and tailfins.
Alex's screams grew louder as the first set of jaws closed around his leg, the sharp teeth tearing through flesh and bone with ease.
The water churned red, the once elegant party attire now a tattered mess in the jaws of the predators.
Vincente watched with a cold, detached interest as the sharks feasted. He nodded to one of his men, who stepped forward with a small dish. "Take his eyes," he said, his voice calm despite the chaos in the water. "My dogs enjoy a good snack."
The menn did as they were told, plucking the still-wet eyeballs from the blood-soaked floor and placing them into the dish.
They approached the two German Shepherds that were waiting eagerly by the caged door, their eyes glowing with anticipation.
They were well-trained beasts, loyal to their master and always eager to please.
After that incident, 1 year had passed.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Vincent returned from his business trip feeling drained, but the thought of seeing Isabella's smile was the only thing keeping him going.
The mansion felt eerily quiet as he stepped into the grand foyer, his shoes clicking against the marble floors. The scent of her favorite roses filled the air.
The maids curtsied as he passed, their eyes downcast, as they informed him of Isabella's visit to her sick friend.
He climbed the stairs to their bedroom. The room was as he'd left it, the bed neatly made with not a single thing out of place—except for a crumpled piece of paper on the velvet comforter.
Vincent picked it up with a flicker of curiosity, his thumb smoothing out the creases. It was a hastily scribbled note.
"Vincent," it began, the handwriting unmistakably Isabella's.
His heart quickened as he read the words that would forever change their lives. "I can't do this anymore. I've found happiness elsewhere. With Antonio."
His eyes narrowed into slits, and his hand clenched around the paper until it crumpled. Antonio—his right-hand man, his best friend. The man he had trusted with his life.
"And I'm carrying his child," the note continued. "I'm sorry for the pain this will cause you, but I had to tell you." The words stabbed at him like a thousand knives, each one twisting deeper into his soul. "Please, let me go."
Vincent's eyes burned with fury as he read the betrayal inked onto the paper.
His world crumbled around him, and all he could hear was the deafening roar of his own rage.
He threw the note across the room, watching it flutter to the ground like a lost bird. Without a second thought, he kicked the armchair next to the bed with a force that would've made it shatter into a hundred pieces if it weren't made of solid mahogany.
It slammed into the wall, the impact echoing through the silent mansion like a gunshot.
The walls seemed to close in around him as he strode through the hallways, his mind racing with the images of Isabella with Antonio.
The thought of her carrying another man's child, his enemy's child, was a wound deeper than any knife could cut.
His breath came in short, angry bursts as he descended the stairs, the cold rage in his eyes leaving the maids to cower in his wake.
"I will make her regret the day she was born," he murmured to himself, the words a vow that hung in the air like a dark promise.
His hand balled into a fist so tight that his knuckles cracked, the pain a small comfort compared to the fury that seethed within him.
Flashback ended.
🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐
Hey, flashback has ended hope you liked it plz lemme know how to improve.
How are you liking the story so far lemme know.
Thanks.
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