┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
"They strike me as the type to
act first then ask for permission later."

- Vincent
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 21 - Through The Fire

▪️D O M I N I C▪️

Back in the forest, Vincent walked up next to me as the Mexicans drove off.

My second in command had silently watched the exchange, observing every minute detail. His eyes noted everything, no doubt observing the same things I had, from the way José favoured his right leg to the way the Fuentes twins fidgeted in the background.

"I don't trust them," Vincent simply said, while his stoic expression had an edge to it.

"Likewise..." I replied then made a clicking sound with my mouth before saying, "We're going to need to thoroughly check everything they bring into the city. I mean everything from the booze to the girls. José is as ruthless as they come. He desperately wants his drugs in Aelbank City and I don't see him giving up on achieving that."

Huffing slightly, Vincent replied, "I'm more worried about the twins. They strike me as the type to act first then ask for permission later. Especially if they think their actions will please their boss."

I knew that Vincent had paid particular attention to them, noting everything about their physical appearance, from their dark brown eyes to the way they sported identical short-textured, cropped, and skin-faded hairstyles. Their jaws were void of facial hair, allowing for the scars on their faces to be blatantly seen.

It was obvious to see that they wore their mutilations with pride. The look in their eyes told me that they were nothing more than rabid dogs being held back by a leash.

"I picked up on their edginess as well. They don't like me. I can tell, they had the same look in their eyes that the priests used to give me back when we were younger," I said with a hint of revulsion.

Moving to stand even closer to me, I could feel the tenseness in Vincent's body. He was no doubt briefly reminiscing back to when we had been roommates at a boarding school that doubled as an institution for disturbed children. It had been a place that we both had called home for five years, until we had managed to escape.

"Well, if things do take a turn for the worst, you'll just have to handle the twins the way you handled those priests," Vincent uttered in a hushed tone.

A small smirk formed on my lips as my breathing hitched slightly. My pupils dilated as I vividly remembered how they yelled and cried as the fire melted the skin off of their bones.

The murky memories of my past slowly crept in as my jaw ticked.

'The pain that had shot through my body caused me to scream out in agony. No matter how many times I had gone through this, the first lash always caught me off-guard.

As always, the pain came with cumulative breakers, the brief calms giving false hope of an end. Each peak would steal my voice, causing me to thrash against my restraints, my young body sweating and trembling.

"This is for your own good!" the stocky priest yelled as he put down the whip to administer another injection.

I had lost track of how many days I had been strapped to the hospital bed this time. Unfortunately for me, I had always been different from the other children. A little too different, according to my strict Italian parents.

As a result, at the age of seven, they had shipped me off to a boarding school that doubled as a rehabilitation centre for disturbed youth. The establishment turned out to be nothing more than a place of destruction.

So far, I had endured three years, and they had been absolute hell. Both my body and my mind had been forced to endure a suffering that would twist my psyche even further.

It was incredulous to think that they had expected to heal children through such extreme measures. My parents thought that I was an eyesore and that my love of fire was a gift from the devil. Their remedy had been to have the demon, as they called it, exorcised by any means necessary.

On top of my daily castigations, I had also received two injections. The shots were supposedly to help with my vitiligo, a skin condition that resulted in the loss of pigmentation.

What had started out as lighter patches on my already freakishly white skin soon turned into a depigmentation that encompassed most of my body. This resulted in an unnatural, pallid skin tone that covered me entirely.

The only thing the blood-burning injections had seemed to do besides making my life unbearable was to worsen my condition. So not only had my skin been altered, but their experiments also ended up transforming my blond hair into a stark silvery white.

I had overheard another priest saying that it was a permanent side-effect of an enzyme that was placed in the doses.

After my morning injection, I had usually been taken to receive my first flagellation of the day. It was amazing, the things a human body could endure, and over time, I had grown to embrace the pain.

I guess the saying was true, the pain that one felt today provided strength for tomorrow. And so, I had held on to those words and endured ever bit of torment that had been bestowed upon me, biding my time until I could retaliate.

"I told you, for the last time, there's nothing wrong with loving fire!" I had snarled as the whip sliced across the skin of my back once more.

With a wicked smile, the priest had replied, "Well it doesn't matter much now anymore, does it? I'd like to assume that after all this time you've spent here, that particular demon was purged. But just as a precaution, for as long as you're with us, you will continue to receive all treatments as your parents insisted."

Another sharp jolt of pain wracked through my body, causing my back to arch as I had gritted my teeth. My shirtless chest had glistened under the dim light of the overhead lamp, my skin was so pale that it seemed to glow.

"Unfortunately, we can't seem to be able to do anything about your other condition," the dark eyes of the priest had scrutinised my pallid skin. Making a tsk sound, he had added, "I suppose some things just can't be fixed."

It would be another two years before I would be able to escape with Vincent, rescuing as many other children as I could before I burnt the priests alive.

The image of the crumbling building being consumed by flames and the screams of the men trapped inside would forever be ingrained in my memory. They had deserved what they had gotten for what they had done to us.

My only regret had been that they had not suffered longer, for the fire had consumed them faster than I would have liked.'

Vincent cleared his throat, pulling my mind back to the present.

Suddenly shaking away my past memories, I made a ticking sound in my throat as I stamped my right foot twice against the floor. My blue eyes narrowed as though pretending to see a bug.

"Be sure to double all our security and get in touch with Tolstoy and the others. Let them know that the Cartel is in town and to keep their eyes open," I ordered, then added, "we'll call a meeting soon to discuss the details."

With a nod, Vincent pulled out his phone, "On it, boss."

As my second in command walked off to make his call, I let out a ragged breath while I tilted my head upwards to watch as the cold wind blew through the trees.

I was proud of the man I had become despite what my parents and others had said about me. By no means was I perfect. Hell, I was a sadistic pyromaniac. A strange, pale-faced man who was considered a psychopath by most and a freak of nature by others.

Although, were I not so insane, I might not have been as brilliant as I was. In any case, I did what I had to do in order to survive. I may have been a disfigured outcast, but that did not mean that I could not be a God among men.

For in the end, I realised that it was our deepest pain that allowed us to transform into the best versions of ourselves.

To say that I had been put through the fire was an understatement.

I had worked hard to get where I was today, and men like García did not faze me one bit. A small chuckle escaped me as I thought about how I had made a name for myself.

After burning the boarding school to the ground we had taken to the streets with our newfound freedom. I was only twelve at the time and Vincent was sixteen. We had travelled to New York, where Vincent had a cousin who was working for an established mafia organisation that had existed since the prohibition era.

Francesco Russo, a man in his late sixties, who had been the head of the family at the time, had agreed to take us in. There was one condition though. We needed to kill someone from one of the rivalling factions.

An initiation test no doubt, and I knew that they looked down on me. I saw the disdain in many of their cold eyes as they took in my pale and haggard appearance. They had been more accepting of Vincent. After all, he looked like them. But he would not leave my side, his loyalty had been unwavering.

The bond between us was unbreakable. They said that blood made you related but loyalty made you family, and Vincent was the only family I had.

If the Russo crime syndicate did not want to take me in, Vincent would not join them, even though he had already been guaranteed a spot.

In the end, however, it did not matter because I did more than Francesco had expected, blowing his expectations out of the water and earning a bit of his respect.

I had not only killed a member from one of the rivalling families. I had burned one of their main warehouses to the ground, destroying all of their merchandise and anyone else who had been unlucky enough to be in the building that night. This included the man's two sons, leaving the family fractured, allowing Francesco to come in and pick up the pieces.

After my display of efficiency, the elderly mafia boss would have been stupid not to give me a chance. In fact, to my surprise, I became a sort of unofficial right-hand man to Francesco himself.

Vincent and I had worked for the Russo family for almost seven years, but after being passed up on getting formerly promoted many times, I had decided that I needed to branch out and do things on my own.

In the end, I had left New York City with Vincent at my side. I had felt that there had been no place for me there and I just knew that I could make a name for myself elsewhere.

Even though I had Italian blood flowing through my veins, I had always been seen as different by the other men within the criminal organisations. They would never accept me, even if they respected and feared the things that I had shown them to be capable of.

The paleness of my skin and the pallor of my hair would always set me apart from everyone else. Since being with them, I was no longer a scrawny pre-teen anymore, but a tall and leanly-muscled man and my appearance was more intimidating than ever.

Even though Francesco had appreciated me and the skills I possessed, I knew that the old man would never fully accept him as one of his own. I was tired of being known as Francesco's lapdog, his 'White Shadow' as they would call me, seeing as I was always at the mafia boss' side.

It came as no surprise to me when Francesco chose his eldest son, Alessandro, to take over the organisation when he retired. Of course, everyone knew that I was the better candidate, but I was an outsider. Not to mention they felt like I was too young and still had much to learn.

Relocating to Aelbank City had been a calculated move.

Though I had only been twenty at the time, by the time I was twenty-five, I had more than managed to solidify my dominance within the new city, and with Vincent at my side we had been unstoppable.

I was proud of the strong empire I had grown and built, proving to those back in New York that I possessed the skills necessary to run an organisation regardless of my appearance and age.

It was as they said, kill them with success and bury them with a smile.

Alessandro had reached out to me a few times over the years, seeking my help in a few domestic matters. This did not surprise me as he was not cut out for this life, but he had no choice in the matter.

Out of respect for his father, I had helped him each and every time. After all, Francesco had taught me a lot, and I was not someone to forget where I had come from. But I had to admit, having them beg for my assistance was very satisfying none the less.

"The irony..." I said to myself as I shook my thoughts clear and made my way back to my vehicle.