UNTIL DEATH ( Love should Never be this deathly )

CHAPTER 3

**Mention of Violence**

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

"Take these files and inform Ana that she is to manage all my upcoming projects and appointments until my return. And make it clear—no mistakes!" Vincent's voice was cold, his directive punctuated by the weight of authority. He closed the file with a decisive snap and pushed it across the desk towards his manager, who stood nervously in the imposing presence of his boss. With a quick nod, the manager responded, "Yes, boss," before hastily grabbing the file and exiting the office.

At that moment, Vincent occupied his opulent office in one of his many enterprises, a titan in the construction sector responsible for 80% of the country's monumental edifices. In the realm of legal business, he was known as "the boss," but in the clandestine world of the Mafia, he was a figure of dread—The King of Italy's underworld. Whispers of his name filled the air with trepidation; those beneath him were mere puppets in his grand design.

It had been six months since the death of his right-hand man and closest friend, Luca. Vincent had orchestrated a meticulous revenge against the architect of his demise. Yet, he understood the peril of declaring war on Massimo Rosario, the King of the American Mafia, a rival with equal power. Thus, he resolved to dismantle Massimo's empire through cunning rather than outright confrontation.

He launched a series of covert attacks on Massimo's warehouses across continents, reducing them to smoldering ruins. The weapons and narcotics contained within were annihilated, leaving no trace that could implicate him. If Massimo sought revenge, he would find himself unable to justify it to his allies. Vincent had tasted the bitter medicine of betrayal, and now, he was prepared to deliver a similar fate to his adversary.

Tonight, he was set to travel abroad to oversee the grand opening of his new elite nightclub, a venture promising to radiate luxury and indulgence.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," he commanded, his voice icy.

Enzo entered, bowing slightly in deference. "Master, the shipment has arrived, but... we encountered an issue," he reported hesitantly. Vincent shot him a piercing glance, urging him to continue. Enzo swallowed hard. "We apprehended a man attempting to film a video. He appears to be a journalist. What are your orders, Master?"

Vincent's lips curled into a dark chuckle as he reclined in his chair. Enzo tensed at the sight of his Master's unexpected amusement. "Foolish people never seem to learn not to meddle where they don't belong," Vincent sighed, irritation creeping into his tone. Rising with an air of confidence that exuded power, he swiftly donned his suit jacket. "Contact his employer and have him terminated," he ordered coldly. "Let's pay him a visit," he added, a sinister smile crossing his lips.

Enzo complied, though he couldn't shake the feeling of dread about what was to come. They exited the building and entered the waiting car, Vincent settling into the back seat while Enzo took the front.

After a twenty-minute drive, they arrived at their destination. Vincent stepped into his mansion, which concealed a network of prison cells beneath its luxurious façade—cells reserved for those who dared to defy him.

He strode purposefully towards the basement, entering his personal prison. As the door slid open with a biometric scan, a high-pitched scream echoed from the farthest cell. Vincent grinned, knowing his target was being subjected to harsh treatment.

Inside, three of his enforcers mercilessly beat a man. Vincent stepped into the room, a mocking smile on his face. "Well... it seems you're enjoying my hospitality," he said, laughter lacing his words as he assessed the man's injuries—broken nose, fractured ribs, and bruises from the relentless assault.

"Did he explain why he was filming on my territory?" Vincent asked one of his men, who stammered in reply, "Y...Yes, Master. He intended to broadcast our illegal operations on his news channel to gain international exposure."

Vincent let out a low, dark chuckle, his gaze fixed on the battered journalist who was precariously teetering on the edge of consciousness. With a deliberate movement, he crouched down, his grip tightening around the man's jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You sought the honor of being in the spotlight, didn't you?" he taunted, shaking the man's head violently to bring him back to awareness. "Consider yourself fortunate that I have pressing matters to attend to first."

He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with malice as he continued, "However, you will have your coverage once my men are done with you. They'll start by breaking those legs of yours—the very legs that dared to trespass on my territory. And then, they'll sever your arms—the same arms that tried to capture my secrets under the guise of journalism."

Vincent's manic grin widened as he reveled in the palpable fear reflected in the journalist's eyes. "Once they're done, your footage will be sent to the black market, where other twisted souls will revel in the miseries of others. If, by some miracle, you manage to survive this ordeal, congratulations—you'll have your coverage being watched by those who enjoy such spectacles. Though I must warn you, I can't guarantee you'll be alive to witness it."

As he spoke, the menace in his tone was unmistakable, and the atmosphere crackled with a chilling intensity, leaving no doubt about the fate that awaited the unfortunate journalist.

"P... please, don't do this!" the man pleaded, tears streaming down his face as he attempted to crawl toward Vincent, desperation writ large on his battered form.

Vincent responded with a swift kick to the man's face, cutting off his pleas. "You should have considered the consequences before stepping onto my ground," he hissed, devoid of sympathy. He strode out of the cell, leaving the man to endure the wrath of his enforcers.

**A FEW HOURS LATER:**

As night fell, dark clouds gathered ominously overhead, signaling an impending storm. The moon hid behind the thick blanket of clouds, as if reluctant to witness the unfolding events. The patter of rain began, creating an atmosphere that felt almost mournful.

"Master, it appears the rain will be heavy and relentless. Should we postpone the flight or delay it for a few hours?" Enzo inquired with concern as they drove to their private jet.

"No," Vincent replied curtly, leaning back with his eyes closed. Suddenly, the car jolted to a halt. He instinctively reached for his gun holstered at his waist.

"There's an old man in the road, waving for us to stop. He seems anxious," the driver announced.

They watched as the drenched old man hurried to the driver's window, knocking twice. With permission granted, the driver rolled down the window.

"Apologies for the inconvenience, but our car has broken down, and we need assistance to jump-start it. I have children and a lady in the car who need to get home," he explained, breathless with urgency.

"Didn't you call for help?" Enzo asked, confusion written across his face.

"We made every effort, but unfortunately, the battery on our Madam's device died, and my phone, being quite old, is unable to pick up a signal," the man responded, desperation clear in his voice. "Please, sir, we would be immensely grateful for your assistance. It's late, and the surroundings are far from safe."

Unbeknownst to him, he was pleading for assistance from the very kingpin who had just condemned a man to a brutal fate for a similar intrusion.

Vincent listened, an unexpected voice within urging him to intervene. To everyone's astonishment, he instructed Enzo to help the man, despite the impending departure of their flight.

As the words left his lips, Vincent felt a disconcerting vulnerability, compelled by an inexplicable sense of compassion. Little did he know, this moment would fuse their fates in ways he could never foresee.