Destined By Hate

CHAPTER-4

                                                         ~Alessandro~

Ever since I had returned from the bar, with those hoes all over me, some on my neck and some on my dick. They all became useless the moment I heard about that old raged man's daughter.

At first, she was just a detail, a footnote in his pathetic story. He mentioned her in passing, like an afterthought, a throwaway line about his daughter. He didn't realize that that was the mistake. He thought the money he owed me was the end of the story. He didn't understand how deep my reach went, how I always found leverage. The moment he brought her into my world, she was mine.

I had my men watch her, track her every move. It's routine for me—part of the business. You can't control what you don't understand, and I understand everything. I knew where she worked, who she spoke to, what time she left the café every night. I had a folder on her thicker than she could imagine, and the more I learned, the more my interest grew.

She was a contradiction: fragile on the surface, but strong underneath. Her life was a mess, a pitiful existence weighed down by her father's failures, yet she kept going. Most girls would have crumbled under that kind of pressure, but not her. No, she endured.

And I couldn't help but wonder—how far would that strength go? How much could she take before she broke?

I am not a man who wastes time on sentiment. I've crushed men beneath my boot, made examples of those who thought they could stand against me. Fear is a tool, and I wield it like a weapon. People respect power, and I've built an empire on the bones of those who didn't. This girl—this insignificant speck in my world—didn't know it yet, but she was about to be pulled into the shadows where I rule.

I ordered my men to dig deeper. I didn't want just the surface details. I wanted to know everything—the darkest parts of her life, her secrets, her weaknesses. Every crack in her armor. And when they brought the information back to me, it confirmed what I already suspected: she was holding that broken family together by sheer force of will. But she was just as vulnerable as anyone. She could be broken. She just didn't know it yet.

I've seen her pictures now, the ones they took when she wasn't aware, going about her pathetic routine. There's something in her eyes—pain, anger, defiance. It intrigued me. It made me want to see that fire up close, to extinguish it myself. That's the thing about defiance—it's sweet, but only when it bends to your will.

I imagined her in my bed. It wasn't a fantasy; it was inevitability. I could see it so clearly—her small body, trapped under the weight of my control, the fear in her eyes as she realized there was no escape. She would fight, of course. They always do. But I don't mind. In fact, I enjoy it. Watching them resist, watching that moment when they realize their struggle is pointless—it's the best part.

She wouldn't be the first to think she could outlast me. But I know how to break people. Slowly. Methodically. She'd submit eventually, whether by fear or by pain. It didn't matter to me how long it took or how much she fought back. I had all the time in the world, and she had none.

I leaned back in my chair, a slow smile curling at the corner of my mouth. My men were efficient, ruthless, just like me. They would watch her every move, make sure she knew she was being hunted. Fear, when applied just right, makes people crumble. And when she crumbled, she'd come to me, whether she wanted to or not.

That fire in her eyes would fade soon enough. She'd be in my bed, beneath me, and when she looked up, she'd know. She'd understand that resisting me was a mistake, that in my world, no one escapes. No one walks away untouched.

I stood and walked to the window of my office, overlooking the city that belonged to me. Everything in this place was under my control—every corner, every person, every broken soul that had crossed my path. And now, she was part of it, caught in a web she couldn't even see yet.

The game had already begun. She just didn't know it.

But she would. Soon enough, she'd know exactly who I am—and what happens to those who cross me.