Mr. Ruthless

Chapter 1

Picture is Zander. 

True redemption is seized when you accept the future consequences for your past mistakes.
It's something my father used to say.

I don't agree, not anymore. There simply is no redemption, and if there was, I don't deserve it.

Redemption is the act of redeeming or the condition of having been redeemed. Perhaps it is Christianity Salvation from sin through Jesus's sacrifice. At least that's what the internet had claimed when he felt like looking it up once more. 

God would never forgive him for the things he has done, the people he hurt, the decisions that he made.

If a person cannot even forgive himself, then why would an old man with white hair and a halo circling above his head be able to do so?

It's not like it mattered anyway. He was way passed that phase, he wasn't going to feel sorry for himself and drown in self-pity. He wasn't going to feel anything at all.

They called him a beast for a reason.

He chuckled dryly.
No, that wasn't the reason behind his name. His actions may be cruel and barbaric, inexcusable even but that's not how he earned that title.
He knew better, he was reminded of it every day. Every moment he even dared to glance at his reflection, he saw it.

He saw why they called him a beast, a monster. And they were right.

Drawing in a deep breath before swinging his legs over the side of his humongous bed. At last rubbing the remaining exhaustion from his eyes as his feet hit the cold wooden floor.

"This is going to be a long day." A humorless laugh followed his statement.

He lifted himself from the bed and fished for a random shirt draped over the couch, gladly covering the damaged skin on his body. Not even bothering to change out of his pajama sweatpants as he marched his way down the stairs.

"Morning Sir-" he cut the man off by shaking his head.

"Don't talk to me." He hissed, shooting a warning glance towards Samuel.
The lad knew not to disturb him in the morning. Yet he kept proving to have a dead wish every single time.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He snapped, hauling Samuel up by the collar of his shirt, his fingers angrily clawing into his neck as he pushed him against the wall.

"I told you to shut it." He snapped only receiving a grunt in responds. His muscles protested against the heavy weight he held but anger overpowered every rational fiber in his body.

"Zander!" Bjorn's monotone voice shot through the tense air. "Put him down."
Not even bothering to look up at the bickering duo Bjorn made his way to the fridge.

He sighed. Samuel should have seen it coming. Everybody knew not to mess with Zander. Especially not now, not today.

"Zander, do it now." Bjorn finally turned to look their way, not surprised at what he came to see. Samuel was bleeding, a small trail of red ran down his neck from where Zander's nails had torn through his skin, his eyes fearfully eyeing his boss' shaking fist.

Nothing new. Still he kept wondering why the lad kept provoking il suo capo mafioso every time, knowing nothing good would ever come from it.

(Translation: his mafia boss)

"You'd do better to listen next time." Zander tightened his grip around Samuel's neck before discarding him in a coughing fit on the ground.

"Why are you always so uptight?" Bjorn grumbled, already knowing he wouldn't be getting an answer from him.