Just like Marcello promised his father, he stood there, watching him till he took his last breath.
The old man tried to scream, but his voice was swallowed by the thick gag in his mouth. Not that he would be heard of he screamed. They were hidden deep in the Morano estate that had been abandoned.
Tears pricked the corners of the old man's eyes as the needle drove deeper into his flesh. Pain throbbed through his veins like wildfire.
Marcello took his time. Every movement was deliberately and controlled. He wasn't trying to rush. He wanted the old man to feel every wave of agony, to drown in it. That's the reason for his torture after all.
Philip groaned faintly, his eyes glassy from whatever drug they had used to sedate him. He watched, helpless, strapped to the spinning leather chair nearby. His face twisted in horror as Marcello began his work... cutting, injecting, slicing, whispering.
The building echoed with muffled cries. No one came.
Marcello didn't flinch.
