UNTIL DEATH ( Love should Never be this deathly )

CHAPTER 2

** Please be advised that this chapter contains discussions of death, violence, and bloodshed.**
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He struggled to comprehend the horrifying scene unfolding before him, his body thrashing against the iron grip of his Master.

"Please... my son," he cried, desperation lacing his voice.

"Master, he has nothing to do with this... please, let him go!" Vito begged, his heart racing as he witnessed his son, beaten and shackled to a chair, a guard's gun pressed ominously against the back of his head.

In a fit of rage, his Master struck Vito's face with a brutal punch, barking, "DID LUCA HAVE ANY PART IN THIS? ANSWER ME, VITO!" Another blow followed, punctuating his fury. "You did this all for a few measly dollars. You and your pathetic accomplice had a vendetta against me, but why did you agree to abduct and kill Luca?"

"M-Master... please... forgive me... he's just a child," Vito sobbed, his voice trembling.

An evil gleam flickered in his Master's eyes, draining the color from Vito's face as he uttered his next words.

"KILL HIM!" he roared, maintaining an unyielding gaze on Vito.

Before Vito could utter another plea for his son's life, the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the air. His heart plummeted as he turned to the screen, watching in horror as a bullet pierced through the back of his son's head, blood splattering onto the camera before the video call abruptly ended.

Vito stood paralyzed, shock rendering him immobile as his mind went blank, the reality of his son's death crashing over him like a tidal wave. His expression remained vacant, caught in the iron grip of his Master.

Observing Vito's reaction with a twisted sense of satisfaction, his Master shoved him to the floor. Revenge had been served—an eye for an eye.

"And as for your punishment..." He tilted his head, his voice dripping with malice, "Enzo, feed his body to my pets; they must be hungry for fresh meat."

Enzo's eyes widened in shock at the brutal decree, but duty compelled him to obey.

"Yes, Master," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"One more thing..." Vincent turned to Vito, venom in his tone. "When my pets tear you limb from limb and feast on your flesh, remember the name of the man you have betrayed... Vincent Salvator!" As he finished, Vincent wiped his blood-stained hands with a cloth handed to him by Jack, who had quietly observed the grim scene.

He tossed the soiled cloth onto Vito's face, turning to leave his office, abandoning Vito's stunned form.

As Vincent reached for the door handle, Vito's voice broke through the silence. "VINCENT SALVATORE! I never took an innocent life like you have. Luca, your friend, was no saint—a ruthless criminal, yes, a monster like you. I did the world a favor by eliminating a scum like you... mark my words, Vincent! You killed an innocent child! You carry the blood of many innocents on your hands. I pray to God..." **sob** "... that one day you will lose someone you love, just as I did!"

Vincent listened, his expression unchanged, untouched by Vito's anguish. He had no one to lose, no one to love or care for him; Vito's words fell on deaf ears.

"Throw him away... and clean this mess," Vincent ordered, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Enzo complied, executing his Master's harsh orders without hesitation.

Vincent ascended to his master bedroom on the third floor, a space that epitomized luxury. Sumptuous bedding, elegant chandeliers, and a blend of grays and silvers created a haven of wealth and isolation. The marble floors and plush carpets beckoned, yet the emptiness of the room reminded him of his solitude.

He had grown accustomed to this void. Losing his parents at fifteen thrust upon him the burdens of power in both legal and illicit realms—managing hotels, restaurants, construction, arms dealings, drug trafficking, and more. The traumatic loss had left scars on his psyche, pushing him into a deep well of grief from which he struggled to emerge.

At a tender age, he was thrust into a world fraught with loss and peril, the tragic murder of his parents left him burdened with responsibilities that no child should bear. The shadows of rival mafias loomed large, their threats amplifying the turmoil within him and spiraling him into a deep abyss of mental anguish.

For months, he shunned the memories of his parents, retreating into the confines of his room, where silence reigned. Not even the gentle attempts of his uncle to lift his spirits could penetrate the fortress of grief he had constructed around himself. His uncle, a steadfast protector against the encroachments of their adversaries, yearned for him to channel the strength of his father, yet each effort to coax him from his sorrow met with failure.

As time wore on, what began as a profound sorrow morphed into a relentless bitterness. The prolonged grief transformed him, rendering him cold-blooded and detached from the warmth of love and compassion. The desire to inflict pain became his sole companion. The recent death of his only confidant drove him deeper into madness—a tormenting echo of guilt that reverberated through his mind, gnawing at the remnants of his sanity.

"I will do worse to him this time!" he vowed fiercely to himself, the words igniting a dark resolve within.

With a swift motion, he shed his suit jacket and shirt, the fabric falling away like the remnants of his former self. He made his way toward the bath, yet paused momentarily to send a hasty message to someone—a single step toward a path he knew would lead to chaos.

Once refreshed, Vincent emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water glistening on his muscular frame.

Seated at the edge of his bed was a stunning woman clad in expensive lingerie.

"Master, you asked for me," she purred seductively.

"Get on your knees and do your work," he instructed, offering her little more than a fleeting glance.

She obeyed, as she knew exactly what to do—after all, she was his personal pleasure toy.

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As night faded and the morning sun rose beyond the horizon, far from Vincent Salvatore's lavish mansion, a private jet landed. A striking man in an elegant gray suit stepped out, his tall, muscular frame and devilishly handsome features commanding attention. His steel-blue eyes, sharp nose, and full lips radiated charisma, his dark hair styled impeccably.

He strode confidently towards his Bugatti La Voiture Noire, his guards trailing closely behind in armored vehicles. Once settled in the driver's seat, he dialed a number, placing the call on speaker as he sped through the streets, unconcerned with potential traffic stops—no one dared to challenge him.

"Give me the update, Matteo... I'm eager to hear what he did," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Boss, he discovered that his accountant, Vito, was leaking information to us ten days ago. He tortured Vito to the brink and killed his son in front of him for revenge over Luca, then fed him to his pets."

Massimo chuckled darkly, "Poor soul..." **tsk**

But Matteo's concern was palpable, "Boss, he knows we were involved. What if he retaliates?"

"Matteo, you've worked with me for years. If he strikes back, the damage will be mutual. He deserves to suffer for what he's done. I, Massimo Rosario, will take everything he loves and cares for. I am the only one who can stand against him and challenge his power."

"Yes, boss... you're absolutely right." Matteo agreed.

"In one hour, I'll be there," Massimo replied calmly before ending the call.