CHAPTER 002

Roman's POV:

The warehouse smelled of old metal and dried blood, cold and damp as I stood in its center with my gloved hands neatly clasped behind my back. My men dragged in the battered figure.

Barely touching the ground, he was pushed forward by two bodyguards like some inexplicable, useless vessel; blood trickled from his nose, scattering onto the concrete floor in delicate, powdery clouds.

I stayed still, unsure of what to say, letting silence fill the space. The only noise was the deliberate clicking of my shoe soles on the pavement as I stepped forward beneath flickering fluorescent lights, which cast an eerie glow.

One of my men pushed the wounded man to his knees, but though he wobbled, he managed to stand again. His face was swollen, his lip torn off, the left eye swollen shut, bruises in shades of red and purple marked his skin.

I sat down and fixed my gaze on him steadily. We stayed silent—calm yet charged—each breath thick with tension.

“Who sent you?” I finally asked, my tone calm, almost gentle.

He spat blood onto the floor, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “Go to hell.”

Well, newsflash: I’m from hell itself.

With a sigh, I rose and signaled one of my men, who promptly pressed against the man’s ribs. A choked grunt escaped, and the wounded man barely shook his head.

“I admire your endurance,” I said, tilting my head. “But I don’t have time to watch this play.”

A faint chuckle escaped him as he lifted his swollen eyelids and met my gaze. “Then kill me. You know as well as I do where this ends.”

A flicker of amusement warmed my otherwise cold eyes. “Not yet. I understand where this leads, but I’m not sure you do.”

Turning away briefly, I walked to a small table in the corner where a variety of torturing tools lay neatly arranged—knives of all shapes and sizes, pliers of different kinds, even a blow torch. I examined them all, contemplating my next move. When I faced him again, I held a knife, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“People like you never grasp their true place,” I said, returning slowly toward him. “You think you can spy on my empire and walk away unscathed?”

Crouching down once more, I pressed the cold steel of the knife against his throat. His smirk wavered, but he refused to look away.

“I’ll ask you once more,” I whispered, “Who sent you?”

Silence met me.

There is something about the way people who had messed with me, instead of being sorry and pathetic, choose to act brave. There is a sense of satisfaction knowing that their stupid acts would be their end.

I sighed again and, without a second thought, pressed the knife’s tip into his shoulder, letting it sink in and watching the fresh wound bleed. He clenched his teeth but remained mute.

Leaning in, I said, “Do you believe staying silent is courageous? That it protects the one who sent you? It won’t.”

A breathless laugh escaped him. “I think… you’re the true coward, hiding behind all your power.”

A slow smile curved my lips. “Is that what you think?”

Suddenly, I twisted the knife deeper into his bone until i felt his bone. A sharp gasp broke from him, and I savored the flicker of pain on his face.

“You’re losing blood,” I said casually. “Soon you’ll be too weak to stand. What, then? Still hoping to bury your secrets with you?”

His breathing became heavy, his skin pale from blood loss, but his eyes stayed steady. “Stronger men than you have failed to break me.”

I chuckled. “Then they simply didn’t try hard enough.”

One of my men stepped forward, pressing a hand on the man’s already crushed fingers. A sickening crack echoed through the warehouse as another bone snapped. This time, he groaned, strangled, and broken.

I leaned back, intrigued. “It’s fascinating—how much the body can endure before surrender. You’re nearing that point, aren’t you?”

Returning to the table, I picked up a pair of pliers. He should have known better than to provoke me.

His eyes widened in fear, though he masked it with false bravery.

I signaled to two bodyguards, who restrained him firmly. He struggled, his facade crumbling.

“What are you doing?” he gasped, fighting their grip. I could see real fear in his eyes, the regret of not speaking earlier when I was still calm.

“Making you bleed. Making you beg” I clamped the pliers onto one finger and pressed down, pulling it out with force. His screams resonated through the empty warehouse, a twisted symphony to my ears.

“Please,” he begged, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll tell you everything. Just stop.”

“Too late,” I smirked. “I don’t need it anymore.”

His breath grew shallow; sweat and blood mixed on his face. His body wavered, close to collapse.

I heaved a dramatic sigh. “I was hoping for a bit more entertainment.”

Rising, I slid off my gloves and tossed them onto the table. “End it.”

Without hesitation, my men moved. A final, brutal strike landed against the man’s chest, and he let out a sharp gasp before slumping forward. His body convulsed once, twice, then stilled.

I observed the lifeless figure before me, my expression indifferent. Blood pooled beneath his body, seeping into the cracks of the warehouse floor.

One of my men turned to me. “What should we do with the body?”

I straightened my cuffs, adjusting the expensive fabric of my suit. “Dispose of it. Make sure it’s untraceable.”

My men nodded, already moving to clean up the mess. I cast one last glance at the corpse before walking toward the exit, my footsteps, the only sound echoing in the vast, empty space.

The night was young, and there was still much to do tonight.