Chapter Twenty-six

Elia

''Do I need to ask you twice?'' I ask.

The man coughs out blood before glaring up at me—his eyes filled with hatred and revenge but I continue to look deeply into his eyes, not giving a damn. Both of his hands are tied at the back of the chair as he is being tortured; giving him endless pain. It bothers me most when I ask questions and they start responding like shit so due to that, I give them pain.

''Fuck you,'' He replies through gritted teeth before he continues to clench his jaw. I look at him with anger raising in my eyes but I keep calm, trying to get answers out of him but he keeps on being stubborn. My patience has its limit and if ever cross it, I might do worse than this.

''That's the thing, you can't.''

As I crouch down to his level, I let out a smirk before running my fingers through my hair. Both of his eyes won't stop glaring at me so I glance at one of my men, asking them to raise the electricity volt; trying to make sure that he'll bleed, he'll suffer and he'll beg for me to stop.

I raise my hand up for my men to stop the torture. It's tiring and it's such a waste of time when the person you're torturing gives you nothing in return; like, you're giving a shit ton of effort but that man continues to be stubborn when he can give me the damn answer and I'll end his life. Easy.

''Look, I don't have much time. You may think that I enjoy torturing people and yes, I do sometimes but right now is a really bad time. So—'' I hold tightly onto his jaw, making him look at me, straight into my eyes, ''—fucking tell me. Tell me the fucker who hired you so I can get all of this done! That's not so fucking hard, is it?'' I push his face back.

''Over my dead body,'' He breathes.

With one last glance, I nod my head as I gesture my men to continue before I start making my way out of the room—leaving him screaming and shouting from the ultimate pain. ''Why the fuck would it be so hard? Just tell me who that damn motherfucker and I'll end your life, you didn't have to go through all this pain.'' I mutter to myself but then I realise that my men would do the same.

Yet, I'll never know. They might spill.

''You need to calm down,'' Marc says from behind, making me turn to look at him and see that he's currently smoking his cigarette, ''All of that cursing, it won't get you anywhere.'' He smirks.

''Be in my shoes and calm down,'' I glare at him before heading down the dark hallway as he follows behind me but I still try to keep calm; if I don't, I would've stabbed that guy. He deserves to rot.

Then again, I'm not a saint either.

Once we've reached his office, I continue to walk before sitting down at his seat; ignoring the fact that our roles are being reversed. He's standing the opposite from me as he exhales the smoke, ''I actually think that you're good at controlling your anger,''

I continue to look at him, without uttering a single word. He leans forward, ''If I were in your shoes, I would've killed my men and let them pay for being irresponsible. Then, I would kill him.'' He smirks.

Him.

''Oh come on, Elia. Don't tell me that you've never thought of him. He killed your father, you killed his father, you stole his money and he stole your money. It's clear as fuck,'' He inhales the smoke as I stay still, thinking. He may be right but I killed his father because he killed mine, that was supposed to end everything. Every single revenge.

''It couldn't be him,'' I mutter.

''Fucking idiot. Then, who else?'' He rolls his eyes.

I breathe out before pinching the bridge of my nose, feeling stress radiating from my body and I can't help but wanting to throw everything out. Kill everyone. That feeling is likely irresistible but highly impossible.

As I put my jacket on, I quickly grab my keys before making my way out; earning another sigh from Marc. I immediately get on my motorbike, starting the engine and roaring it into life. Then, I speed down the road.

Once I've reached the apartment, I turn around to see an unknown black van parked near the entrance, quite near from me so I stay still at my spot; not dared to take my helmet off

Once I've reached the apartment, I turn around to see an unknown black van parked near the entrance, quite near from me so I stay still at my spot; not dared to take my helmet off.

As I make my way inside, I ignore the glances that I'm receiving—I don't have much time so I don't bother wasting them. After getting on the elevator, I press the floor that I want to go as I wait for it to take me up; take me to a place where I thought I'll never go again.

My eyes focus on the two men as they stand still, guarding the door before I quickly take my gun to shoot them; not even letting them react as they were too shocked to see me. I kick the door open, revealing the person I'm looking for and three other men.

They start to shoot at my direction but I shoot back as I make my way towards one of the walls—needing protection. My heartbeat raises every moment and I know that; every time, when I go and risk my life, I know that I'll either come out unharmed, injured or dead. Three possibilities.

I immediately run towards his direction, ignoring the shootings before I start to target one of the men—hitting his head perfectly, causing him to fall onto the ground, dead. My attention goes elsewhere, to the other two men. They target me from afar yet they miss.

As I pull the trigger, he falls.

Two down. One more to go.

It takes me less than a minute to shoot him by the neck, immediately causing his death. The way his eyes are staring widely in horror; it leads me to anything but sympathy or regret. I walk over their dead bodies with only one person in my mind—Carlos.

He tries to reach out for the gun on the ground but I kick it away, leaving him with no choice as he raises both of his hands up in the air; slowly crawling his way towards the nearest wall. His dead end. Then, I raise my gun up to his head level before looking straight into his eyes, not a single emotion pass through my eyes because this is what I do. I kill.

''Was it you?'' I ask.

''The real question is, wasn't it me?''

I grip harder onto my gun, causing him to raise his hands higher and looking away from the gun. Yet, his face doesn't show any sign of fear or troubled. He seems fine. He seems relaxed, like he expected me to be here anytime soon—knowing I'm bad when it comes to controlling my temper.

''I don't have time for games. Dimmi, voglio sapere.'' I breathe, knowing that I just want to end all of this so I can go home—meet the woman of my dreams, the woman who has managed to catch my heart because that's what I want. I don't want any of this. I used to not care but now I do.

''I don't have time for games, either. Look, what if it wasn't me? What if you came all the way here but you're targeting the wrong person? Wouldn't that be a waste of time? A waste of bullet?'' He smirks, trying to get into my head but I'm not easily fooled. Yes, he might be the wrong person but he might also be the right person. I, either pull the trigger and let him fall onto the ground, lifeless or I leave him here as I let him breathe.

''Dimmi, Carlos.''

His eyes are looking straight into mine, ''It wasn't me

His eyes are looking straight into mine, ''It wasn't me. It wasn't me who killed your men, but you killed mine. It's alright though, it's nothing compared to the men you've lost.'' Then, he breathes out.

''I didn't tell you why, how would you know that I've lost my men?'' I raise an eyebrow, wanting to know his answer because obviously, as far as I know, not a lot of people knew.

''Elia, you own half of Europe. News travel fast, especially when it comes to you. You have a lot of enemies and a lot of allies, it's not possible for other people to find out. I work in this industry too, not just you.'' He stops for awhile, glancing down at his bleeding ankle, ''Ma, mi dispiace per la tua perduta.''

I have a hard time trusting people because it fears me most of being lied to. That kind of pain seems impossible to recover; one of the reasons why I keep my distance, ''I'll see you later,''As he let out a sigh of relief, I start to pull the trigger but instead of targeting his head—that would cause his death, I target his arm. He screams out in pain before biting his lip, trying to endure.

''Fuck you, Elia.''

With a smirk, I leave the apartment and dropping my now ammo-free gun onto the ground—not bothered to carry it along. My mind feels trapped, troubled and it makes me fluster. I don't know who and it's almost impossible to find who; it's not entirely impossible if I have the patience but I don't.

I guess killing is in my instinct.