Lost In The Darkness {Edited}

Chapter~58

Viktor Smrinov's POV:

I lit the cigar with trembling fingers, the flame reflecting off the black gloves that clung to my hands. Beneath the leather were scars—etched into my skin like cruel reminders of the "Butcheress." A nightmare in human form. The gloves hid the evidence, but the memory of her torment lingered with every flick of my lighter.

"Finally," I muttered, the words barely escaping my lips as the door swung open and Luigi Giordano sauntered into the VIP lounge, oblivious to the darkness I carried in every breath.

"And here I thought the boogeyman got you," he joked, shaking my hand, his grip firm. If only he knew how close to the truth he was—how a demon much worse than any tale had left its mark on me.

I faked a smirk, though it didn't reach my eyes. "Takes more than that to get rid of me. I'm like a bad rash—persistent."

His grin faltered. "So, where have you been? You missed two meetings with the boss, and let me tell you, he's pissed."

"I've been here and there. Nothing personal," I said, inhaling deeply from the cigar, letting the smoke drift between us like a veil, hiding the impatience clawing at me. My gaze lingered on the amber glow of the cigar tip, trying to drown out the stench of vodka that now tainted the air.

"Tell that to my father. Not that it'll help you," Luigi grumbled, his hand already reaching for the bottle of vodka. He poured himself a glass, the liquid sloshing over the edges as he brought it to his lips, downing it in one go. I watched with detached interest—an addict hiding behind the pretense of power. The sooner this fool drank himself into oblivion, the faster I'd be rid of his whining.

"Why? Did something happen?" I asked, feigning concern. I leaned back, lazily exhaling smoke, eyes half-lidded as if this whole conversation was beneath me—but curiosity gnawed at the back of my mind.

"Yeah, fucking Aldo." His tone turned sour, venom lacing each word.

I raised an eyebrow, half intrigued. "What did your brother do now?"

"Don't call him my brother." Luigi's knuckles whitened as he gripped the glass, the cheap crystal threatening to crack under his hand. "That asshole botched one of our best shipments."

I paused, swirling the cigar between my fingers, watching the smoke spiral upward. How could Aldo have gotten the intel? Especially with how much the boss had been obsessing over security on this one. Something didn't add up, and that made it all the more interesting.

"Boss must've been pissed," I said, clicking my tongue, trying to sound sympathetic. His misery was almost amusing—the way he desperately sought approval, even from someone like me. Was it really this easy to play him? Probably some deep-seated mommy and daddy issues.

Luigi sighed, a dark cloud of resentment shadowing his features as he poured another drink. I resisted the urge to laugh. His desperation was a stench I knew too well.

"He was livid, and I was at the brunt of it. We lost all the products, and it was a blow to his fucking reputation," Luigi slurred, his words barely coherent as he downed one shot after another. Vodka spilled from the corners of his mouth, the glass trembling in his hand. He was fast slipping into a drunken stupor, and I let him. Drunk men talk more.

I watched him, expression impassive. I thought I had a twisted way of looking at things—referring to human trafficking as "slave trade" in my darker moments—but this fool took it a step further. He didn't even flinch when he called people "products." No hesitation. No guilt. Just business.

"But you know," he mumbled, his lips loose now, finally too far gone to keep up the act. "Something didn't add up."

I arched an eyebrow, mildly curious. His glass thudded against the table as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, like it was some big secret. "How did my brother get the intel? Who could've betrayed us?"