WARNING: This book contains graphic torture scenes that may not be suitable for some readers. I don't think they're that bad but well.

IDRIS

Death or imprisonment? Idris would choose death any day. A life in confines is no life at all. Living in chains strips one of their free will. And what's living without free will?

But death. Death is instantaneous. Well, not when he tortures his victims. But it delivers them from captivity. It sends them to the afterlife with their dignity still intact. Why waste away behind a cell when you can be relieved of such punishment?

That's why Idris bestows the same fate upon all his victims. Such as the one in front of him.

This one has been confined to a chair. His ankles have been tied respectively to each leg, with hands bound to the back. He won't be doing much moving with how tight those ropes are.

"You're awake."

The victim searches for the source of the greeting until Idris comes into view. Instantly, he begins squirming within the rope. But try as he may, he's as good as mice to a trap.

Both Idris and his guard, Croff, eye the captive up and down with a couple of their men all armed and at the ready. They dragged him into an empty warehouse miles away from where anyone can get to him. But it's not like he could escape if they were any closer to civilization anyway.

"I'm hurt, Mateo. I heard you've been meeting up with outsiders to plan my downfall." Idris shows him a couple photos in black and white. In them is an unsuspecting Mateo chatting away with the enemy, his back to the camera. "What I'm trying to figure out is why."

Mateo can no longer keep his anger down. "You killed my fucking brother, psicópata!"

This is news at first. Idris shares a look with Croff that runs long overdue, to the point where the tension starts to give way to an awkward setting.

Then Idris asks, in Spanish, "He had a brother?"

Croff shrugs. "This is the first I'm hearing of it."

"I always knew he was crazy."

Mateo struggles within his confines again, too vexed at being mocked. But Idris pays him no mind. He thinks Mateo is fabricating tales out of thin air, that he's being accused of crimes he never committed. Until it finally clicks.

The memories come in still images, because they've been buried deep behind some hidden door in his mind. There's a gun and a man covered in blood on the floor. He remembers there being pleading and screaming. He remembers pulling the trigger.

"I did, didn't I?" Idris says while thinking it over. He'd gone and forgotten all about it.

Mateo violently tries tugging himself free from the rope, but to no avail. "I swear I'll have your fucking head, Idris!"

Idris dismisses the captive's threat and pulls out a gun from his pocket, but Croff decides to take matters into his own hands and strikes Mateo hard across his face, leaving him dazed and in a state of semi-consciousness. When his senses gradually begin returning, he spits out a mouthful of blood and slowly brings his eyes up to Idris.

Mateo still doesn't cower in fear. "Go to hell."

"I would love to," Says Idris with a smile too ridiculing for Mateo to look at. "But it's too crowded with people like your dead brother."

This makes Mateo boil in so much anger, it practically shoots steam out his ears. But this is no longer Idris's problem. He motions for one of his men to cut Mateo's hands loose, then does the unthinkable and hands him the gun.

"Since it's been established that your time has come to an end, I think you should do the honors." Idris tells him. "But don't waste my time, Matty."

Mateo eyes the gun, then studies Idris, then stares at the gun once more. Such simplicity. Idris can see his brain tick from one minute marker to the next. He will probably take his chances and aim not at himself but at Idris. He will do so because he's desperate. Peeved. And he despises none the way he despises Idris Verdonni.

Mateo ends up taking the chance. He quickly aims at Idris, clicks back the safety, and pulls the trigger.

But nothing happens. Mateo pulls the trigger again, and again. No bullets erupt from the muzzle. The gun is empty.

Laughter erupts from Idris. He tries his best to settle down, but the shock on Mateo's face brings him so much delight that he can't stop himself. "How fucking stupid can you be?"

Mateo's face contorts so shrewdly, it almost starts to look non-human. "MIERDA-"

Idris pulls the trigger. The body goes limp and lifeless, blood oozing from the hole in his chest. Nothing but the sound of Idris's sigh hangs in the air, as if his disappointment were more logical in contrast to Mateo's. It matters little now, though. Both brothers are dead; one to some circumstances which still aren't clear to Idris, and the other to a futile act of revenge.

Idris is handed a towel which he uses to clean off the blood. But it has made it places other than just his hands. He hurls out a few curses in Italian. "This shit's getting old. Look, it's all over my shirt."

"There's another one in the car." Croff tells him.

Idris pats his guard on the shoulder. "See, that's why I like you, Croff. You always know how to make me feel better."

He even thinks back to that day seven years ago, when Croff was nothing short of a rowdy sixteen year old who he'd stumbled upon. At the time, he'd realized the man in front of him now was to be a great asset. And like everything else in his life, Idris was right. It was Croff who captured and brought in Mateo himself.

"I need a drink." Croff states once the two exit the building. "But the alcohol at Cosmo has been lacking lately. It may as well be sewage."

Cosmo is a bar owned by Idris, except he doesn't go there often. Instead, he leaves a man in charge of the place to do the work for him. But from the way things have been shaping up the past few months, it seems it's time to search for a new replacement.

"Remind me to have a talk with Anthony." Idris tells Croff.

But Croff isn't on board with the idea. "Don't do it. This is the third replacement."

"I wasn't going to do anything," Idris exclaims, trying his best to clear himself of the accusation. "I just want to talk this time. That's it."

"You said the same thing about the last one and look where we are."

"I was lying when I said that, but I mean it this time."

Croff comes to a stop and eyes Idris, as if to inspect him. He takes the time to think in one of the four languages he speaks. "I don't buy it."

Idris feigns distress. "How can you work for me when you don't even trust me, your friend?"

"Because you always lie."

Idris pulls out a cigar and places it in his mouth, then with a grin, tells Croff, "You're right."

Croff exhales and follows Idris to the car where he takes his place behind the wheel. A couple minutes of driving brings them to their destination: a nightclub. The two are granted access to the roof which serves as a place for privacy; much more important than the VIP sections below.

No busy crowd there. Scarce bodies, just the way Idris prefers. He picks and chooses who's allowed entry, which doesn't seem to be much according to the list. There's a mini bar with a bartender who instantly begins mixing drinks as soon as he sees the two men, like he's been trained to do.

Idris throws himself on one of the sofas in the corner, lights up another cigar, and blows a smoke into the air. With his eyes closed, he begins to wonder if he'll live as long as his father did or if his twenty-five years of life has now begun its countdown. He thinks it won't matter much when the time comes because it will mean dying an honorable death.

But how decent will his death be? Will it be as surprising and lackluster as his father's car crash or as intense as he wants it to be? He will wait to find out.

No such motherly figure in his life either. He only remembers the trips he took to his mother's homeland in Mexico, where he would spend blissful days out on the coast with his family. Even the ones he took to Italy for his father's business affairs are the last of few happy memories. What happened after that is a topic Idris doesn't tread. He keeps it buried.

"Hey."

Idris looks up only to find Elly. With a smile too wide, she peers down at him with arms crossed and a look in her blue eyes that immediately lets Idris in on her visit's purpose. Being one of the few people with access to the roof stems from one reason only: sex. Much like the list of women Idris keeps on himself.

Elly climbs and sits on his lap, then takes a drag from his cigar. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"We hooked up three days ago."

Elly rolls her eyes, because clearly the hyperbole is lost to him. "That's three days too long."

"I have others to fuck, Elly." Idris tells her. He entertains her no further and instead, peers over and into the busy street.

New York City brings a certain mixture of people together that would never interlace if the geography were any different. Even now as Idris sits a couple stories above much of civilization, he can see the mixes and matches. Tall, furnished buildings with garbage loitering not too far away. Lights so enthralling under the night sky, it covers up the real issues that plague the city. But come daylight, things will revert back to the way they were.

A new mix and match draws Idris's attention. There's a girl being dragged by two others. This girl is reluctant. It seems they're in an argument, but there's not much he can tell from where he is.

What's really worth noting is the fact that she's able to spot him all the way down there. Idris doesn't really mean to, but he looks her straight in the eye. And to his surprise, she returns the stare.

Eyes so dark and mystifying, he has to wonder what secrets she has hidden within. Hair thick and soot black. Lips full and coated in gloss, with skin like the harvest moon night-when the moon meets umber and casts upon the sky a rich chestnut tint.

Idris finds himself staring more than he should. Even the girl, who is now no longer as curious as she is revolted, gives him a scowl too mean, which leaves him wondering just what he's done to warrant such hostility.

The girl spares him no more of her time and hurries on into the club with the rest of the group. Now Idris is back to his own world with a new sense of purpose at bay. He knows what he has to do next.