Chapter 0001

Author's POV:

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

Ace Salvatore's eyes snapped open to the persistent beeping of his alarm, a feeling of irritation washed over him, disrupting his peaceful slumber.

Annoyed but disciplined, he rose from the warmth of his bed and reached for a towel to wrap around his lean body.

He made his way towards his bedroom because he doesn't have any sexual relations in his bedroom.

After completing his morning routine and donning a sleek black suit that complemented his fit physique.

Then he was faced with a reliable figure stepped into his path – Ivan Smith, a man who had transitioned effortlessly from bodyguard and assistant to confidant and friend.

"Buongiorno capo ( Good morning Boss)" Ivan intoned, the words carrying a sense of familiarity tempered by respect.

Ace acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod, his eyes momentarily betraying a flicker of warmth before settling back into an icy mask that had long become his trademark.

He maintained his usual composed demeanor, a facade Ace chose to keep intact even among close companions like Ivan.

"Capo le spedizioni sono arrivate, le armi sono pronte per la spedizione. Cosa dovremmo fare con il capo Larry? ( Boss the shipments are arrived, weapons are ready for shipment. What should we do with Larry boss?)" Ivan inquired, walking a few steps behind Ace.

Ace hates one thing - betrayal. Which Larry has done already.

"Manda le armi al secondo quartier generale e uccidilo (Send the weapons to the second headquarters, and kill him.)" Ace instructed, his voice carrying an air of finality.

"Si Capo (Yes boss.)" Ivan acknowledged the order, knowing that in their world, loyalty was paramount, and betrayals had severe consequences.

Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat.

As the sound of their footsteps reverberated throughout the vast corridors of the mansion, everyone hurried to their predetermined positions, the anticipation palpable in the air.

With hearts racing and palms sweating from the overwhelming sense of fear that gripped them, each individual braced themselves for the impending encounter, their anxiety almost tangible in the tense atmosphere.

Taking a seat, Ace observed Melinda, the main cook who had faithfully served the Salvatore family for generations.

As she skillfully and discreetly served the meal, a subtle tension lingering between them as their eyes briefly met, betraying the mutual wariness that existed.

Despite Ace's trust in Melinda's loyalty, a lingering sense of unease still flickered within her gaze, hinting at a deep-seated fear that remained.

Amidst the exchange of information shared by Ivan regarding the day's mafia dealings and ongoing meetings.

Ace navigated the volatile world of organized crime and his own rapidly expanding business endeavors with practiced expertise, seamlessly treading the fine line between power and peril.

Juggling the responsibilities of his infamous status as a mafia leader and running a legitimate side business served as a welcome distraction, offering him a rest from the haunting memories of his past that often threatened to resurface.

And his friends also helped him a lot.

Ace POV:

Irritated, annoyed, and consumed with anger — these things are swirling within me right now, stirring a tumultuous sea of unrest.

I’m restless. My mind races from one thought to another, each one darker than the last.

Tapping the pen tip on the table, the sound echoes around the room, each rhythmic tap driving me further into my restless thoughts.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I focus on the noise, trying to drown out the chaos inside.

It’s a small, almost insignificant action, but it helps keep me grounded for now.

Suddenly, a knock on the door makes me straighten up my posture.

My shoulders tensed but I didn't stop tapping my pen.

“Come in,” I say, my voice low, barely masking the irritation that laces each word.

The door opens, and Hedrick walks in, carrying a bundle of files, his tired eyes giving away how long he’s been working.

But he’s composed, as always. The man knows his place. He knows how to handle me, how to tolerate me without saying a word.

He places the files in front of me, his movements efficient, as if he’s done this a thousand times.

“Sir, the files are complete,” he murmurs, his voice steady, as though nothing could disturb the calm veneer he presents.

But I know better. I see the subtle tremor in his hands, the way his gaze flickers to me, nervous but determined to remain composed.

I hum in acknowledgment, my pen tapping faster against the table, the noise growing louder, more intense.

I’m not sure if I’m doing it to distract myself or to make him go away. Maybe both.

I can’t kill him. Yet.

I watch him carefully, waiting for something — an excuse, a reason for him to leave, something that will stop me from killing him.

He shifts on his feet, but I don’t stop the incessant tapping.

"Are you okay, Sir?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I stare at him without blinking. He’s nervous. I can tell.

But there’s something about the way he asks, the way he looks at me, that gets under my skin.

Hedrick Donovan. A good man.

Loyal, respectful, an innocent man, who has tolerated me for years, in my controlled business world.

My secretary. Hedrick Donovan.

An innocent man, who has tolerated me for years in my business life.

“Sir, can I go now?” His voice trembles slightly, and I notice how his eyes dart to the door, as though already planning his escape.

“No,” I finally say, my voice cold, detached.

“Are the tax papers rectified?” I place the pen down, the sound of it hitting the desk sharper than I intended.

Hedrick hesitates, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. Hurt and betrayed. Meh.

He shifts again, eyes darting to the files on the desk. “No, sir. But you told me to do it later because—”

I cut him off with a quick motion.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re going out with your family to celebrate your birthday. But who cares?” The words left my mouth, harsh and biting.

I throw the pen across the room, irritated by the simple delay in something so trivial.

The sound of it hitting the wall echoes in the room, adding to the tension that’s already unbearable.

Do I feel bad for treating him like this? No. He’s just doing his job.

I stand abruptly, the movement sharp, too quick. It’s a signal that this interaction is over.

He knows it, too. He’s been with me long enough to understand that silence is the loudest command I can give.

I leave the room without another word, not even a glance in his direction.

I don’t care that he’s probably going to have to deal with those damn papers before his birthday celebration. He knows the drill. And that’s all that matters.

The world keeps turning, and I don’t have time for his little grievances.

The cold air hits me as I step out of my office, the weight of everything still pressing on my chest.

I need to get away from here, away from all this noise and humans.

I slid into the backseat of the car, the leather of the seat cold against my skin, I turned to Ivan with a command that cut through the silence like a blade, “take me to headquarters.”

The journey to the main headquarters was as tense as my own nerves, each passing moment heightening my anticipation.

Upon arrival at the place that had become my second home, I felt a surge of adrenaline as I prepared to confront my addiction head-on.

Stepping into the torture chamber, a sense of grim satisfaction washed over me as I beheld the battered figure of a boy sprawled on the ground.

His body bore the marks of a violent struggle - bruises mottled his skin, deep knife cuts oozed crimson trails. Yet, as my gaze swept over him, I felt no sympathy.

He was not merely an innocent victim— a boy who had clearly crossed a line that led him to this place where his fate rested in my hands.

A fucking pervert, a minor kid who do thefts, drugs and rapes.

The lack of concrete evidence often saw him slip through the cracks of the legal system, allowing him to walk free after mere months.

As I stood over the fallen figure, a dark satisfaction permeated my thoughts - the guards had brought him to me, knowing well my penchant for the thrill of spilling blood.

It was this crimson river that afforded me moments of peace amid the chaos that filled my existence.

Well even if the police caught him once more, only for him to reappear from juvenile detention without a trace of reformation in his heart, bound to repeat his malevolent actions.

Instead of allowing this cycle to continue, I entertained the idea of utilizing his presence to soothe my restless mind and give him what he deserves.

Though his physical form may have betrayed his youth, the darkness lurking within his soul was nothing short of chilling.

Malevolence knows no age. And I was living proof of that truth.

The world often assumes that evil is something that comes with age, something that matures with experience.

But I knew better.

I had witnessed its birth in myself, a corruption that emerged long before I was ever old enough to fully understand it.

A sinister smile tugged at my lips as I approached him, the glint of malice dancing in my eyes.

"Cominciamo, va bene? (Let's start, shall we?)" I whispered softly, the words a chilling promise of the horrors to come.

With deliberate precision, I donned my gloves, the cool leather a stark contrast to the fiery intensity burning within me.

I looked down at him once more, and that was when I saw it: the flicker of desperation in his eyes.

But it wouldn’t save him. Nothing would.

Author POV:

*Gore*

Screams pierced the air, echoing in Ace's ears as the only sound amidst the chaos.

It was a twisted symphony that, strangely, brought him an inexplicable sense of pleasure.

Cutting off the boy's tongue, fingers, toes, and groin, and then slashing his eyes and stomach.

The boy's screams were swallowed by the room, absorbed into the chilling atmosphere that surrounded Ace.

The metallic scent of blood filled his senses, seeping into his very being.

The once pristine fabric of his expensive suit now bore witness to the sin's he had committed, the deep crimson stains a stark contrast to the elegance it once exuded.

His face, normally composed and refined, now marred by blood splatters that portrayed a macabre painting of his inner darkness.

His hands, once symbols of power and control, now intertwined with the essence of death that had engulfed the room.

The sheer horror of the scene would have been enough to make even the bravest soul falter, the grotesque display of violence and gore enough to haunt any onlooker's nightmares for years to come.

The floor served as a gruesome canvas, scattered with the remnants of the boy's body and bathed in the sickening stench of death.

Yet, amidst the horrendous, Ace remained an enigma of calm indifference.

His sinister gaze, obscured by the tendrils of smoke that came from his cigarette, portrayed a man devoid of remorse or empathy.

It was as if the brutality he had just inflicted was merely a mundane task, a routine part of his existence that held no weight upon his conscience.

Ace stood as a chilling embodiment of darkness and cruelty, an enigmatic figure whose very presence exuded an aura of malevolence and terror that was impossible to ignore.

Thud, Thud, Thud.

The repetitive thud on the door pulled him back from his deep contemplation.

"Si accomodi (come in), " Ace brusquely ushered, his voice low and commanding, the words cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Ivan came inside and he was petrified of the room and the sight in front of him was sickening.

Ace stood amidst the chaos, his presence a chilling contrast to the carnage that filled the room.

The raw ferocity emanating from him was palpable, and in that moment, Ivan questioned everything he thought he knew about the man he worked for.

Despite his years in the organization, Ivan had rarely seen Ace like this.

He had always been a figure of power, a cold, calculated leader who controlled everything with ease.

The man in front of him now was something different.

The bloodstained hands, the unbothered, almost bored expression — it was as if Ace didn’t even see the violence anymore, as though it was part of him, as natural as breathing.

Ivan watched in silence as Ace, seemingly unfazed by the surrounding, his hands and clothes stained with crimson.

The way Ace carried himself, exuding power and dominance even amidst the blood and gore, sent a chill down Ivan's spine.

In that moment, Ivan saw not a man, but a beast, a primal force driven by insatiable bloodlust.

He realized just how dangerous his boss truly was, how easily he could switch from a calm demeanor to a ruthless force to be reckoned with.

"Puliscilo (clean it)," Ace's voice was a mere whisper.

He was already walking towards the back of the room, disappearing behind the heavy curtains that separated the rest of the house from the horrors within.

Ivan was left standing there alone, the weight of the scene pressing down on him, the silence now louder than ever.

His mind began to race, a dark realization creeping into his thoughts.

He knew now. He understood why Ace was so driven by the sight of blood.

It wasn’t just for power or control. There was something deeper, something more sinister.

Blood was his solace, his release.

And if that thirst for blood remained unchecked, if Ace couldn’t find peace in anything other than violence, how much worse could he become?

Ivan had always respected his boss, feared him even.

But this — this was something different.

The man he had followed, the monster who ran the underworld with absolute power, was more dangerous than he ever imagined.

If Ace’s bloodlust grew too strong, if it consumed him completely.

What would be left?

What kind of monster would that create?

The thought lingered in Ivan's mind like a poison, a foreboding omen of the darkness that lay ahead.