Vicious (4) (Patreon)

author's note: hello everyone. This has been long waited and I am so sorry to keep you waiting. Chapter 5 is already ready, but it will be posted on MONDAY! I can't wait for you to read it !!! 

word count: 2K 

The scent of blood permeated not only one's nose but also clung to hair, clothes, and anything one wore. The atmosphere in the chambers was perpetually cold and damp, creating an unsettling ambiance. It was a dark, eerie place, one that instilled fear in young Harry when he was just a boy. Back then, he knew it as the forbidden place where his father would take people to "take care" of them.

It remained off-limits until Harry turned fifteen, and Arthur began to introduce him to the macabre secrets within. The first day proved harrowing; overwhelmed by anxiety and the overwhelming scent of blood, Harry couldn't endure it. He vomited and cried to his mother, vowing never to return. However, that resolution crumbled as his father included him in the sadistic practices of torturing their enemies.

Arthur meticulously groomed him, desensitizing him to the gruesome reality until he could slit someone's throat without flinching. The cold, merciless chambers became a training ground for the heir, shaping him into the unyielding figure he would eventually become.

Harry lingered in the shadows of the chamber, where the man accused of desecrating his father's corpse sat. Bound to a wooden chair in the room's center, the accused man met the somber gazes of the onlooking men. Sympathy tinged their expressions, but a collective understanding resonated - what needed to be done had to be done. Even in death, loyalty to the former boss persisted. Silence enveloped the chamber as Harry contemplated the situation, contemplating the best course of action.

"What did you plan to do with the body?" Harry inquired, his voice cutting through the chamber's heavy air as he methodically made his way from the back to the front. He aimed to confront the accused, locking eyes with him before delivering the punishment that awaited.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man named Dimitri retorted smugly, a hint of defiance in his demeanor. He understood the perilous situation he was in, yet he remained prepared to face the consequences. Dimitri had been sent on a specific mission, aware of the risks involved in targeting Arthur. What he hadn't anticipated was Harry's foresight in stationing men to guard his father's grave.

Harry cast a brief glance at Lex, and in that moment, the first blow landed on his face, sending him into a quick daze. Dimitri hadn't seen it coming, unaware of Lex standing beside him.

"I'll ask again. What were you planning?" Harry queried, turning his back to walk up to the tools laid out for the impending ordeal.

"You're just like your father. A fuckin' prick," Dimitri spat out, the second hit landing with brutal force, rupturing his eardrum and filling his senses with a piercing ringing. Despite the pain, a twisted laughter escaped Dimitri's lips, echoing through the chamber.

“You don't know who I am? I was here that day. I can still remember your mother's screams" Dimitri taunted in his mother language, revealing to Harry who had sent him, striking at the rawest nerve.

Harry moved swiftly, catching Dimitri off guard. A knife sliced through his leg, triggering screams and shouts that fueled Harry's anger. Dimitri's calculated reference to Harry's mother only intensified the fury within him, leaving no room for remorse.

Harry moved quickly before Dimitri could realize what he was doing. A knife went through his leg. His screams and shouts fueled Harry’s anger. He had brought up his mother which only proved to Harry that he didn’t feel one bit remorseful.

“I will ruin you "Harry whispered back to Dimitri in Russian, his voice cold and resolute as he took hold of one of his hands. The room bore witness to the painful, torturous task ahead as Harry embarked on the painstaking process of pulling off each of Dimitri's nails. The chamber echoed with Dimitri's agonized cries, a symphony of suffering orchestrated by the relentless pursuit of revenge.

Amidst Dimitri's agonized cries, the chamber transformed into a chilling tableau of retribution. Harry, unmoved by the torment he inflicted, continued his methodical descent into sadism. The room's atmosphere thickened with tension as each nail was ruthlessly torn away, leaving Dimitri writhing in unbearable pain.

Harry's movements were deliberate, fueled by a potent mix of anger, vengeance, and the haunting memories Dimitri had sought to exploit. The language of retribution spoke through every tortured scream, a visceral manifestation of the vendetta playing out in the dimly lit chamber.

As the gruesome task unfolded, the weight of Dimitri's betrayal echoed through the room. He had ventured into the territory of the family, a realm where loyalty was sacrosanct, and his actions had triggered a cascade of brutal consequences.

The air was charged with the scent of blood and the cacophony of anguish. Harry, unrelenting, continued his merciless pursuit, driven by a determination to extract the full toll for the transgressions committed against his family. The echoes of Dimitri's cries reverberated through the chamber, marking the relentless march of retribution in the heart of the shadows.

“This fucker” Federico muttered under his breath as he rose from his seat once again. The wait for Harry's return had stretched beyond an hour. "How can he keep us waiting?"

Y/N remained silent, wary of uttering words that might incite her father's anger. Her mind, however, couldn't help but wander, envisioning what Harry was currently engaged in and whose fate he was sealing. Having grown up within the mafia, Y/N was no stranger to the methods employed to handle business. From a young age, she had clandestinely listened to her father discussing the gruesome details of his operations.

"Why are you so quiet?" he asked her in Italian. "You've barely said anything since we came."

"I am fine," Y/N responded, her gaze fixed on the backyard of the estate. "I've just been analyzing everything."

"You have to report everything back to me," Federico declared, his eyes scanning the estate's surroundings. "I must know everything that happens within this house." The motive behind agreeing to Y/N's marriage to Harry became clear—Federico sought intel and marrying her off to Harry was the strategic move to have someone on the inside.

As Federico spoke, Y/N nodded subtly, concealing her inner reservations about the web of alliances and deceit that surrounded her. The weight of her dual role—Harry's wife and her father's informant—pressed upon her, creating a delicate balance she had to maintain.

Federico's watchful eyes turned back to Y/N, a stern expression etched on his face. "Your role is crucial," he emphasized. "We need to know Harry's every move. The success of our family depends on it.”

Y/N nodded again, her gaze flickering toward the entrance as anticipation built. The door creaked open, and Harry stepped into the room. His demeanor was composed, betraying nothing of the tumultuous affairs that had transpired in his absence

"You're still here," Harry pointed out as he strode into his office, taking a seat behind his desk.

"Is everything alright?" Federico inquired, his curiosity evident. He wanted to understand what had caused the delay.

"He won't be a problem anymore," Harry replied succinctly, weariness evident in his voice. "Is there anything else pending?" His desire for a drink and a moment of respite was palpable. The mention of his late mother had taken an emotional toll, a vulnerability that he seldom allowed to surface. She didn’t deserve what had been done to her. She was an angel among all the devils.

Y/N observed the change in Harry's appearance—different suit, bruised knuckles, slightly damp hair, and flattened curls. Something had transpired, and she couldn't help but wonder about the details.

"Just determining where the wedding will take place. I personally think it should be in Italy, at our home," Federico suggested. However, Harry shook his head, instantly dismissing the idea. He wasn't about to lead his men into a foreign country, into the lion's den, even if they were allies. Harry knew better than to underestimate potential risks.

"Here is best. Safer," Harry asserted, leaving no room for debate. The location of his wedding wasn't up for negotiation with Federico. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to take care of." With that, Harry signaled the end of the conversation, his focus already shifting to the matters that awaited his attention.

Federico stormed out of the door, visibly irritated by the dismissal of his suggestions. Y/N discreetly rose from her seat, feeling the weight of Harry's intense gaze on her.

Lex wasted no time entering the office once the Italians had departed. "How was that? When are you getting married?" he inquired, adding with a smirk, "She's not ugly."

"In a month," Harry revealed, a sardonic laugh escaping him at the absurdity of Federico's proposal. "Federico wanted us to have it in Italy."

"Fucker," Lex chuckled. "What are we doing with the Russians?"

"I think we should send them back a gift, don't you think?" Harry suggested, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. He looked up at Lex, who nodded in understanding. "Send back what they sent," Harry instructed. Lex acknowledged the order and said, "Take care of that and let me know when the package is ready." The plan was set in motion, the wheels of retribution silently turning in the shadows.

Lex nodded, acknowledging Harry's directive. "Consider it done." he affirmed, a steely determination in his eyes.

Harry lingered in his office for a few more hours, seeking solace amidst the familiar surroundings. Pouring a glass of whiskey and lighting a cigarette, he settled into his seat, attempting to find a moment of respite. The day had been a whirlwind of chaos, and though the desire for rest weighed heavily on him, the pressing tasks ahead refused to be ignored.

The dim glow of the office cast a reflective ambiance as Harry contemplated the intricate web of responsibilities that now rested on his shoulders. Each sip of whiskey brought a momentary warmth, and the tendrils of smoke from his cigarette curled lazily in the air.

With a few more meetings lingering on the horizon, the dimly lit corridors of the English manor buzzed with the hushed conversations of individuals seeking Harry's favor. The air was thick with the weight of their requests, each plea underlined by an unspoken acknowledgment of the shifting dynamics within the English mafia. These were more than routine meetings; they were symbolic gestures of allegiance, a testament to Harry's emerging reign and the challenges that lay ahead.

As the last petitioner departed, their gratitude hanging in the air, Harry emerged from his office. The room behind him held the scent of aged leather and the echoes of decisions made, a silent witness to the myriad responsibilities he bore as the new don.

Intent on locating Charlie to discuss matters of importance, Harry's purposeful stride led him to the foyer. There, amidst the surroundings, he unexpectedly discovered her presence. YN sat on an intricately patterned rug, her form a stark contrast to the grandeur that surrounded her. Two suitcases, well-worn and marked by the passage of time, stood sentinel by her side.

"What are you still doing here?" Harry's voice echoed through the space, genuine surprise etched on his face as he beheld the unexpected scene. His eyes, sharp and discerning, sought answers. "Where is Federico?" The inquiry hung in the air, anticipation threading through the atmosphere like a subtle current, as the layers of loyalty, alliances, and unspoken tensions played out in the grand foyer of the manor.