His Villain

46

Venezio sat in his office chair, fury etched on his features. He held a cigar in his left hand, taking long puffs as his gaze remained fixed on the screen opposite him. For the past five minutes, an unannounced video call had kept him and a woman locked in a silent confrontation. Not a word was uttered by either party. She maintained a cool, smug expression, relishing the upper hand she seemingly possessed. Venezio seethed inwardly, his anger resembling an erupting volcano, but he masked his emotions, refusing to give her the satisfaction. She was well aware of his notorious ill temper.

"Long time no see, brother-in-law," she taunted, savoring the feeling of superiority after six long years.

"This time, I'll make sure to distribute your body equally among my pets, Ricci," Venezio's voice carried a menacing tone, his words dripping with a threatening undertone.

"Oh, come on, man. We're reuniting after so long, and you're trying to intimidate me," she replied dramatically, displaying her disapproval of his ill behavior.

"If he even gets a single scratch on his body, I'll welcome you personally to my hell, Ricci," Venezio yelled, his patience slipping through his fingers. Ziana had proven to be a formidable adversary, requiring over fifty men to subdue her during that incident. When he received news of her impending demise, trapped in a coma, he felt a fleeting sense of relief. However, first came the unknown gang case, and now this audacious woman was testing his patience once again. He knew the boiling heat and depth of his rage all too well.

"I hold no grudges against my own husband, but you, Venezio D'Amico Cassano, will pay this time," she paused, taking a deep breath before twitching her lips into a smirk, "and this time, they aren't wolves, but a snake." Venezio narrowed his eyes at her.

"The person is very close to you, someone you're not on good terms with," she cautioned.

"I'm on vacation with my husband, and don't worry, I'm not going to harm him. But you've entered a game you don't know how to play, yet. Best of luck, because this time it will lead to your downfall, Mister D'Amico Cassano," she concluded before abruptly ending the call, aware that he was tracing her location.

"Did you trace her?" Venezio asked impatiently.

"Yes, Don. They're still in Italy, in Genoa," the man responsible for tracking the phone's connection informed him.

"Alessia, I want her alive and unharmed. I don't care if you have to burn the city or cause an explosion, but I want her before sunrise," Venezio's voice grew deeper and rougher as anger and restlessness surged within him. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth, disliking the new ultimatum that had been thrown his way.

Its either they or only us now.

And it definitely aren't those fucking bastards.

****

The night enveloped him in an ethereal cloak as he reveled in the spoils of his wicked deeds. It was a luxury for him to be the harbinger of death, a devil lurking in the shadows, relishing the final breaths of his victims. The thick, red blood concealed beneath his white shirt bore witness to the recent venture he had undertaken. Twenty-nine lives had been mercilessly extinguished by his hand within a mere twenty-four hours.

Yet, despite the satisfaction he derived from his actions, a frenzied rage, an insatiable fury, and an unquenchable thirst for chaos coursed through his veins like a potent drug. He had not eaten in hours, subsisting solely on the smoke of his addiction, chain-smoking like a devoted fiend. For twenty-four hours straight, he had inflicted misery upon his own men, subjecting them to relentless interrogation and cross-examination. Every human within his dominion and his bases across the country had been scrutinized. And still, not a single shred of evidence had been found to expose the traitor working treacherously within his mafia. His once impeccably styled hair now lay disheveled, his eyes ablaze with bitter acrimony, and his jaw clenched with unrestrained anger.