Blood in the Mansion

The door to Vincent's cell opened with a loud crash. Three big thugs walked in, their faces looking fierce. One had a skull tattoo on his neck.

"Come on, bastard," growled the tattooed one, his voice rough. "Boss wants to see your face before you die."

Vincent stood from his seat on the bed. His body still felt sore, but his eyes stared at them sharply.

"Your boss will regret calling me," he said, his voice low and full of threat.

"Shut your mouth!" snapped the thug, jabbing Vincent's shoulder with an iron baton he carried. They grabbed both his arms roughly, dragging him through the mansion's corridor. Glass walls, crystal lamps, marble floors, everything looked very fancy, the kind you can't get with just clean money.

They brought him to a big room with a black wooden table and matching leather couches, also looking very fancy. In front of the window behind the table and couches, a man stood with his back to them, staring at the garden through the window.

His hair was gray, his suit looked expensive, and his aura was like a king who wouldn't forgive anyone who opposed him. With one look, Vincent knew this guy wasn't ordinary.

The thugs pushed Vincent into a chair, and the iron baton hit his back, making him wince. The man turned, his face fierce with a neat beard, about fifty years old. His clothes looked casual, but very expensive and branded.

"Vincent, right?" his voice was smooth but sounded creepy. "I'm Alexander Moretti, owner of everything in this city. Dario told me everything about you."

Vincent tensed, his stomach feeling sick. Moretti was the backer of Dario, the guy behind the scenes running the gang's operations.

"So you're the king of filth singing in this city," Vincent mocked with a sneer.

Moretti laughed, his voice sounding cold. "Filth? This is a kingdom, kid. And you, with your stupid plan to take over Dario's gang, are just a rat looking for death. You think you can steal what I've built all this time?"

Vincent stared at him with a challenging look. "I'm not stealing, Moretti. I'm taking what you can't hold. Dario's just your dog who's already lame. This city is mine now."

Moretti's eyes narrowed, the smile on his face instantly gone. "You're really stupid, Vincent. And stupid people don't live long."

He snapped his fingers, and five thugs walked in. Two carried knives, two carried pistols, and one carried an iron chain.

"Destroy him. Slowly."

Vincent's heart felt like it stopped beating, his body tense. The system didn't appear in front of him, and he felt like he could die now.

Just him, his blood, and his guts now.

The thug with the chain attacked first, swinging the iron chain at Vincent's head. He ducked, and the chain hit the big wooden table, making it crack.

Vincent grabbed a sharp piece of wood from the broken table, stabbing it into the thug's thigh. Blood sprayed from his wound, and the man screamed, the chain he held falling to the floor.

The thug with a knife lunged at Vincent, who was half-kneeling, his knife aiming for Vincent's neck. He twisted his body, the knife cutting his left arm, and he felt his blood flowing from the wound.

Vincent growled, then grabbed the man's arm, breaking it with one hard yank helped by his body's twist. The bone in the arm broke with a sickening sound, the knife the thug held fell. He slammed the man's head into the table where it was broken and shattered. Blood from the thug's smashed face flooded the table fast.

Two other thugs with pistols shot at him, but Vincent rolled to the floor, making the bullets hit the walls and glass behind. Vincent grabbed a small leather couch and threw it at one of the shooters. The couch hit his chest hard, breaking his ribs, and the man fell with his pistol thrown away.

He jumped, grabbing the thrown pistol, and shot two bullets into the second shooter's legs. The man screamed and fell to the floor, blood from his legs pooling on the marble.

The last thug with a knife attacked from the side. Vincent dodged, but the knife cut his waist, making him wince in pain.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the man's neck, smashing his head into the glass wall over and over like a madman, until the man's skull cracked, blood sticking to the glass, which only cracked because it was bulletproof glass.

The man collapsed, his body twitching a few times, before finally not moving anymore.

Vincent stood, breathing hard, blood dripping from his arm and waist. His ribs felt sore like they'd been hit by a big hammer.

The room he stood in now looked like a battlefield. The floor was full of blood, some glass from display cabinets broken, some bodies moaning or not moving forever.

Moretti stood at the end of the room, his face cold but his eyes full of anger.

"You make me impressed," Moretti said with a low voice, like a growl. "But you won't live long enough to enjoy this win."

Vincent grinned, blood staining his teeth. "I'm not just wanting to live, Moretti. I want your kingdom. Everything."

Moretti laughed, but there was tension in his voice. "You think you can negotiate? You're just trash with a pistol in your hand."

Vincent stepped forward, ignoring the blood soaking his shirt and his wounds throbbing.

"I know you need Dario to keep your business on the streets. He fails, you're done. Hand over your kingdom to me, or I burn everything, your gang, your mansion, your name."

Moretti's face looked hard. "You don't have a position to threaten me, bastard."

He nodded toward two thugs who appeared at the door, but Vincent was faster. He shot his pistol at one thug's knee, who fell screaming.

The second swung an iron baton he carried, but Vincent dodged, then smashed the pistol's grip into the man's skull. His head broke, blood spraying from his wound.

Vincent looked at his bloody hands, shocked because he'd become much stronger than before. And he felt he was faster and his mind calmer when fighting.

Hearing a rustle behind him, Vincent spun and aimed his pistol at Moretti, who tried to run. "Make the contract and sign now, or your brains stick to your bulletproof glass," he growled, finger ready on the trigger.

Moretti stared at him, his breathing heavy in Vincent's ears. Then with slow movement he walked to a desk not far from where he stood, and took out a paper from the desk drawer.

He wrote the contract while standing, signing the agreement to hand over his businesses, both legal and illegal, to Vincent.

"You'll die for this," he said, pushing the paper toward Vincent.

Vincent took the paper with his bloodied hand, then checked it.

Suddenly Moretti grabbed a pistol hidden behind his desk drawer. But Vincent was faster.

He ducked, then shot three times, chest, neck, head. Blood sprayed from Moretti's wounds, his body staggered back, then collapsed to the floor.

Vincent stood again with heavy breathing, and the pistol still in his hand. He glanced at two more thugs who just arrived and stood at the door with pale faces.

"Want to try your luck?" Vincent asked them with a voice cold as ice.

They shook their heads, but still stood there watching Vincent, who then walked to the desk chair. He kicked Moretti's body blocking the chair, then sat down.

He took a cigarette lying on the desk and lit it. After taking two drags with a slightly shaking hand, he said to the thugs, "Clean this place."