𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟏𝟐| 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝

ANTHEA

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

The room was entirely soundproof, with thick walls and a heavy metal door that could only be opened from the outside. The air was thick with the smell of blood, fear, and desperation. This was the torture room in the mafia hideout, a place where the most horrifying acts were carried out.

As soon as one entered the room, they were greeted with a scene of horror. The walls were lined with dark wooden panels, stained with blood from previous victims.

Chains hung from the ceiling, their metal links creaking ominously in the stillness. The floor was covered in a grimy layer of dirt and blood, with scattered torture tools lying about.

In the center of the room stood a large wooden table, covered in rusty tools and various instruments of torture. The mere sight of it was enough to send shivers down anyone's spine. The room was dimly lit by a single flickering lightbulb, casting eerie shadows over the gruesome scene.

The furniture in the room was old and worn, with scratches and gouges from years of use. There was a chair in one corner, with restraints attached to it. This was where victims were tied down and forced to endure the brutal torture that the mafia was notorious for.

The chair was surrounded by a collection of whips, knives, and other brutal weapons, all used to inflict pain and extract information from helpless victims.

One corner of the room was dedicated to a large, blood-stained tub.

This was where victims were drowned, their screams muffled by the water as their bodies convulsed in agony. Above the tub hung a collection of rusty blades, ready to be used to make the torture even more excruciating.

Oh , how I love it.

But the most terrifying part of the room was a small, barred window that overlooked the torture chamber. It was through this window that the mafia leaders would watch their victims suffer, enjoying every agonizing scream and cry for mercy.

I love watching them.

As the door to the room creaked open, the smell of fear and death filled the air. The sound of footsteps echoed off the walls as two dark figures entered, dragging a trembling man behind them.

"Please," the man begged, his voice trembling with fear. "I'll do anything, just let me go."

The two figures only chuckled in response, their faces hidden behind black masks. They roughly shoved the man into the chair and began to tie him down, ignoring his pleas for mercy.

The screams that echoed from the torture room could be heard throughout the entire hideout, causing even the bravest of men to shudder. This was the price to pay for crossing the mafia, for betraying their trust or refusing to cooperate.

But I would like to play a bit. He cried and begged for mercy, but I paid him no mind. He was just another pawn in my game.

I leaned forward in my chair, fixing him with a cold, unfeeling gaze. "You thought you could cross me and get away with it?" I asked, my voice low and menacing.

He nodded frantically, his eyes wide with terror. "I-I didn't know who you were," he stammered. "I-I swear, I won't tell anyone!"

I let out a harsh laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of the small room. "Oh, honey. It's not about what you know, it's about who you know. And you'll never know anyone like me."

I stood up, a sly smile playing on my lips as I walked towards him. He squirmed and tried to back away, but he was tied to a chair and had nowhere to go.

"Torturing people is just a part of the job," I mused, tracing a finger along his cheek. "But with you, I think I'll have a little fun."

He let out a whimper as I picked up a knife from my desk, the blade glinting in the soft light. I could see the terror in his eyes grow with each passing second.

"Please, I'll do anything, just let me go!" he pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

I shook my head, my expression remaining unchanged. "Too late for that," I said, before plunging the knife into his shoulder.

He screamed in agony as I twisted the blade, reveling in his pain. Blood dripped from the wound, staining his shirt and the floor beneath him.

"I have no use for traitors, and I have no mercy for them either," I said coldly, watching as he writhed in agony. '"Consider this a lesson, for anyone else who dares to cross me."

I continued to torture the man for what felt like hours, taking a sick pleasure in his suffering. But eventually, his screams faded and he was no longer able to plead for his life.

I cleaned the knife and put it back on my desk, before turning to leave the room. As I walked out, I could still hear his soft gasps for air, his body still clinging on to life.

But to me, he was already dead. Another victim in my path to power and control. And I didn't feel an ounce of remorse.

And as long as the torture room existed, the mafia would continue to reign in fear and terror.