𝐼𝑛𝑎𝑑𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦: 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛; 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦.
In this mystifying tale, Nora Adette Seong finds herself in a strange predicament where she is heavily distraught because of a man that will inevitably cause he...
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A/N: Enzo's Office Vibes!
LORENZO'S POV
✧˚ · .
A satisfying crack reverberated through the walls of torture chambers. The chambers were made of mahogany, with very high ceilings.
They were used to extract classified information, interceptions that my intelligence made from the CIA.
As I have mentioned before, the government is completely under my grasp with the amount of funds that I donate.
Politicians that I have planted into the government ranging from senators to cabinet. The President himself.
The Ferrucci Mafia, was beneath every single decision made in by the government. It was honestly quite clever, the way I was able to gradually embed my own highly skilled associates until it became our own administration.
Yet, this administration would remain intact for years to come.
The tormenting that happened in these chambers usually were inflicted upon sex traffickers, rapists, informers. The information that leads me to be ahead of this industry, lies within these dimly lit spaces.
I despised the pitch dark rooms that I, myself would be tortured in. The searing pain would be felt join by joint, limb by limb.
On a little child's body, for entertainment purposes naturally. My screams were what my fathers associates reveled in.
A devious smile appearing on their faces, smoke trailing from their disgusting mouths. Watching.
This was their daily source of dopamine, what makes them tick. Although I could not have the pleasure of tearing my father down, his associates would suffice.
The screams of each decrepit old man that were completely torn apart. I savored in their pain, their useless begging.
Like how I begged.
It fed into my insanity. I was never sane to begin with, born from the most deranged of them all. A demented couple.
One was psychotic the other sociopathic. Those bastards blood was poison in my own system. It was what made me disgusted of myself growing up.
I'd lay bloody and battered, seeing a mixture of their blood on the floor. I was never pure. I was a never supposed to be born.
My existence would not benefit the world, it simply reaps from it. The old men's revolting touches, cigar burns on my arms are what led me to tattoo them completely.
Something so grotesque, became tolerable to glance at. Other peoples' touch physically made me murderous, never mind conversing with them.
I could possibly exchange a few words with strangers nothing more. Small talk is not enticing to me. It is a waste of time.
