CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

VINCENZO

THREE MONTHS LATER

Pain was all I could feel, a relentless ache that seemed to infiltrate every fiber of my being. The torment I endured was beyond anything I'd experienced before. Days melded into nights, a haze of suffering that blurred my sense of time.

My body was a canvas of bruises, each one telling a story of brutality and torment. Dried blood streaked my arms and legs, a gruesome testament to the violence inflicted upon me. Nausea gnawed at my stomach, a constant companion in this hellish ordeal.

I struggled to piece together the events that had led me here, to this nightmarish existence. The memories were fragmented, like shards of glass in my mind. One moment, I was driving, the world spinning around me. And then, I woke up in this wretched place – a grimy, dimly lit room that reeked of despair.

The people responsible for my captivity were shrouded in masks that concealed their identities.