The Maid's Guide to the Mafia

42

(Go read the announcment I had made before otherwise you may not understand what is going on. If you are here after the book is finished, you may carry on..)

(The scenes below feature very, very descriptive details about violence. If vivid imagery of ripping someone's body up is too triggering for you, I would suggest not reading this chapter or at least skipping through the details and onto the plot. You have been warned.)

Even in death his eyes his eyes were still reeked with terror.

His heart dropped from
Alister's hand towards the floor, landing right beside the man's motionless hand that hung loose, decapitated from his body.
His torso was completely ripped apart, his ribs taken off one by one were now splattered across the cell floor. With the Russian flag sawn into his bloodied uniform, it was almost impossible to recognize the man that originally stood in the lifeless body that was now carelessly dislodged around the dungeon.

Alister stood above his torn apart body, fury rolling off of him. With eyes , his fists collided with the metallic railing. He did not yet want to kill the man but the second he landed his first punch, all he could see was Kamala's motionless body, whips and scars grazing her back. Those were the only thoughts running through his mind when he ripped out the Russian's throat.

He was going to kill them.

All of them.

He would kill all of them one by one until he would feel their heart stop still in the palm of his hand.

He didn't care that they returned her. He didn't give a fuck that they returned her half-dead body back and the fact that they thought that what they did would save them only infuriated him more.

He wanted to hear them beg. He wanted them to know how powerless they were against him. He wanted them to tell him every single thing they did to Kamala while he would rip open their backs and pull out every bone blocking his entrance to the lungs. He wanted to see them pleading for their lives while the sound of their hysterical screams would fill his ears.
But most importantly, he wanted them to pay.

He had been hunting them down one by one ever since he found out who exactly was responsible for the word imprinted on her calf. The fury he felt overpowered his mourning as it was the only thing that kept him going.

His heart was empty. It died along with Kamala and he knew now that there was nothing stopping him from committing his very own unforgivable sins anymore. He couldn't feel anything anymore. The bloodlust was the only thing he had left.

The guards flinched as he walked past them. They had been scared of the Don before but after seeing what he did with his victims in the last few months, they were horrified. They heard what happened to Lord Tate just a few hours back and that was the moment they realized that Alister didn't care who he killed. All he craved was the power and pure savagery he felt as he watched the life drain from his prey's eyes.

The stench of whiskey reeked throughout the warehouse as Alister walked past. With no clear destination in mind, he kept walking further and further away from the man's cell whose blood was splattered across his sleek and well-fitted suit. Drops of red were falling off of his muscular arms as he trudged past the warehouse, leaving a bloody trail behind him. Prisoners cowered in fear and in what can only be described as almost amazement as they watched the most powerful man in the modern world as they know it stroll past them.

Alister knew cruelty and violence . It was all he knew.

Even from a young age, that was the only way he had been taught to handle any situation that had arisen. His family was far from a loving one. His mother tried her best, but it was obvious to everyone around her that she, herself was incapable of loving her own son. He reminded her too much of her husband who had never showed her anything other than harshness and sadism. Growing up, he used to try and impress her, hoping it would get her to love him but the resemblance he held to his father was too clear to the point where his mother could not stand to be in the same room as him without feeling sick to her stomach and as he got older he simply stopped caring.