𝑷𝑼𝑹𝑬, 𝑼𝑵𝑨𝑫𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑫 within Valentino, a volatile storm threatening to consume everything in its path.
With a speed that defied the weight of the moment, he lunged forward, and the sickening crack of bone meeting flesh reverberated through the room.
His fist collided with brutal precision; the force so unrelenting it sent a shockwave shiver down my spine.
The man wielding the bat didn't stand a chance; his grip slackened, the weapon clattering uselessly to the ground as his knees buckled. He crumpled into a heap, lifeless save for the shallow, ragged breaths escaping him.
Blood smeared across Valentino's knuckles, his chest heaving as the echo of violence lingered in the air. The rage that had overtaken him hadn't yet abated; it radiated from him, a palpable force that made the very air heavy.
His gaze didn't waver, locked onto the broken man before him, as if daring him to move.
In that moment, Valentino was unrecognizable.
The controlled, calculating Valentino I knew had been obliterated, replaced by a being of pure, unbridled rage. The stillness that followed was thick, oppressive, broken only by the low, guttural, Italian curses that escaped his lips as he stepped back, flexing his bloodied hand.
This was a side of him I had never seen before, a side that didn't just demand power-it commanded it.
Each strike that followed became part of a brutal symphony, a macabre rhythm composed of raw fury and unrelenting power.
The sharp, visceral sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberated through the room, mingling with the dull thuds of impact and the harsh rasp of Valentino's labored breathing.
Each blow seemed harder than the last, a crescendo of rage that shattered the suffocating silence.
The sickening crunch of bone fracturing beneath his fists punctuated the violence, a sound that felt more intimate than it should have. It was the kind of noise that lingered in the air, crawling under the skin, impossible to ignore.
Blood splattered in dark arcs, staining his cheekbones like an unholy mural, and yet Valentino didn't pause. His movements were precise, relentless, like an unstoppable force with one singular focus: destruction.
His knuckles, now bloodied and raw, collided again and again with unyielding ferocity, each hit an unspoken declaration of power, of vengeance, of pain channeled into raw violence. The weight of his fury filled the space, suffocating, as though the very walls absorbed the chaos of his wrath.
