Chapter Seventy-Two.

Aydem and I walk hand in hand into the barn.

Upon our arrival, we are greeted by Neriman who has Castello tied to a wooden chair. Blood spills from his fresh bullet wounds, as crimson liquid stains the hay that is randomly scattered across the ground. 

Castello grunts as he raises his head, new bruises in the shades of blue, purple and black as well as a cut lip mar his features. In my opinion, he deserves far worse and I have the perfect method that will have him screaming like a little bitch that hides beneath his cool, calm and collected demeanour. 

Neriman approaches us, and she begins to communicate with Aydem in their mother tongue. In the meantime, I take the pleasure to allow my eyes to continue observing the Italian scum in the vicinity. His usually pristine iron pressed attire is covered in filth and he is missing one of his extremely overpriced shoes. 

He still looks like a smug son of a bitch who would be a joy to break.