In a dimly lit warehouse, shadows danced eerily across the concrete walls, casting a sinister glow on the imposing figure of Deather "The Scarface," the ruthless Don of the Scarface Cartel. Dressed sharply in a jet-black suit, his polished shoes reflected the dim light, and in his hands rested a heavy metal baseball bat slung lazily over his shoulder. His icy eyes carried a chilling, calculating gaze, their cold depths betraying no mercy. He was totally Hades himself for being as ruthless as him, and he feared nothing, not even the gods forcing together. “Well, well, well…” Deather's voice sliced through the thick silence, smooth yet dripping with mockery. He stood tall, looking down at a trembling Mr. Wong, who was on his knees, shivering on the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. Wong's hands were pressed together in desperate prayer, his head bowed, unable to meet the penetrating gaze of the Don. “How does it feel to kiss the ground, Mr. Wong?” Deather sneered, a sadistic smirk cre
Last Updated : 2025-01-15 Read more