"I am the lightning that makes no sound until it strikes."
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Born in a life of blood and gore, Astrea Rose chose to raise hell.
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Being the only daughters of the Ferraris since the last four genera...
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"What the fuck is Astrea doing here?" One of the men with a deep Spanish accent asked.
His brother replied to him, "How the hell am I supposed to know hermano. We need to get inside quickly."
Inside the ball room, Luis knew that they were here. He subtly signalled Santiago who nudged Izan to scream. Izan's rough scream diverted their attention towards him.
As their hold on Astrea loosened, she took it to her advantage and kicked herself out of their hold. The Ferraris were left astonished at her capability to free herself. But they were unaware of the extent Astrea would surprise them in the near future.
In a second, the mutt was in her hold. The same dagger he had used to secure her was on his neck now. Oh how the tables had turned.
"Who's the little bitch now, huh?" She dug the dagger deeper in his neck. A smirk rose on her face as she saw him struggle. She was thirsty, needy for his blood.
Without wasting a second, she pinned his body to the ground. His left cheek was squished under her Birkenstocks. He squirmed as her sliders delved into his face. A maniac smile lit up her face hearing his little yelps and screams. An indescribable feeling of pleasure washed over her as she heard a crack.
His neck was snapped in place. His body was frozen. She left him unattended, waiting for later. He would be the key to their answers. She would torture him to pieces, until he would want to die but she would kill him in the most painful way possible. She had lot of ferocity pent up in her, waiting for it to be released.
She heard a man running on her from behind but before he could reach her, a roundhouse kick had his skull crushed on the ground. His teeth had snapped out by the strength in her kick.
The Ferraris were left in shock seeing at the beast in front of them. Never once could Francisco Ferrari believe that his youngest daughter would have such a cruel side to her.
She wanted nothing more than to torture them to death. Only seven men were left in the room.
Picking up a gun from the ground, she shot five of them mercilessly. As their blood splattered, a maniac laugh echoed in the ballroom. She was satisfied, the psychopath in her was pleased.
One of the two men who was left alive had decided to test her patience. He had placed his gun next to Ivan Volkov's head. If only he knew he would be dead soon. "Drop the fucking gun asshole." her dagger landed on the centre of his head, splitting his skull into two halves. Her loud laugh sent shivers down the Ferraris' spines.
She wasn't in a mood for much exertion. Those motherfuckers had disturbed her precious sleep, and she was going to make them pay for it.
Suddenly, a bullet grazed her shoulder, missing it just by a centimeter. Before she could act on it, another shot was fired, this time landing right on her left shoulder, very close to her neck. Her murderous eyes landed towards the last man left.
