𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭| 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 |𝟏𝟖+

Chapter 54 | Criminals and maids

DEMETRIOS' P.O.V.:

The interrogation room is dimly lit, a single overhead bulb casting harsh shadows on the concrete walls. The smell of sweat, blood, and fear permeate the air, blending into a familiar concoction. I sit in the corner, the darkness wrapping around me like a shroud, watching the scene unfold with a detached interest.

Maxim is a master of his craft. One of more reasons why I chose him for the second in command. Chuckle erupts from his chest as he deliveres another precise blow to the Italian. The man's screams are pathetic, a high-pitched wail that grates on the ears. It echoes off the walls, a symphony of pain and desperation. It is a sound I had grown accustomed to, though it never ceases to amuse me how quickly fear strips away any semblance of dignity.

The Italian is truly a pitiful sight, his once pristine suit now a torn and bloodied mess. Sweat plasteres his hair to his forehead, and his eyes, wide with terror, dart around the room, seeking any escape. There is none. Not from this.

Not from me.

"Please," he gasps, blood bubbling from his split lip. "I don't know anything. I swear."

I let out a bored sigh, rising from the chair I step forward, my polished shoes clicking against the cold floor. The sound alone is enough to silence him, his eyes snapping to mine with a mix of hatred and pleading. I allow a small smile to play on my lips, though it never reaches my eyes. After all, cruelty is a language I speak fluently.

"Do you take me for a fool?" I ask, my voice low and measured. "You Italians think you can waltz into my territory and act without consequence. But here you are, a perfect example of what happens when one forgets their place."

Maxim chuckles again, pausing his work, stepping back to give me a clear view of the man's ravaged form. I can see the hope flicker and die in the Italian's eyes, replaced by a resignation that I find rather satisfying.

"You have one chance," I continue, leaning down so our faces are inches apart. "Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps I will consider letting you die quickly."

He whimpers, his breath hitching as he tries to form words. "I-I don't--"

I straighten, nodding to Maxim who doesn't need further instruction. The sound of breaking bone fills the room, accompanied by another scream as I slump back down on the chair.

I turn away, my interest already waning. It is always the same. Men like him always break, sooner or later. And when they do, their secrets spil out in a torrent, desperate attempts to buy more time, more life. I glance back one last time, catching the Italian's gaze as he chokes on his own cries.

"Remember," I tell him. "This could have been avoided."

The man's eyes widen, his mouth opening in a final, silent plea. I let out a bored sigh meeting Maxim's gaze and beckon my hand. "Kill him," I command at last, taking a glance at my rolex.

Maxim's hands wrap around the Italian's throat. The man's eyes bulge, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps, a wet, gurgling sound as he struggles to draw air. His legs kick out weakly, scraping against the floor in a futile attempt to escape. Priceless sight.

But the process is taking too long. The sound of his strangled breaths grate on my nerves, each rasping inhale a reminder of his pitiful existence. I feel a surge of irritation, my patience wearing thin. For fuck's sake, would you fucking kill him?

"Maxim," I snap, my voice cutting through the room like a whip, "dostatochno. Slomay yemu sheyu uzhe." (Enough. Break his neck already)

"You are no fun." He complains, wicked grin pressed across his face as he continues to play with my captor.