Taken By The Mafia Lord

Note: This scene is violent and might be uncomfortable for a few readers.

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Pain.

That was the only thing Marcel could feel as he sagged against the chains that held him back from retaliating. He couldn't feel his arms anymore and his legs hurt from supporting his limp form. The only thing that kept him going was the burning desire to get his hands on his oppressors. But then, it was becoming obvious to Marcel that he was going to die an unfair, pitiful death.

"Let him go," Richardo said to his men, cracking his knuckles.

The men obeyed him, two of them holding up Marcel while they unlocked the cuffs. As soon as Marcel was free, he launched a blow at the one closest to his right; however, he was weak and didn't deliver as much impact as he wanted. If anything, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, crawling on all fours.

Marcel's worst fear came true, Richardo had not spared his face and from the burning pain he felt whenever he tried to open his eye wider, he had an inkling he was sporting a black eye. As if that was not enough, blood dripped to the ground, and knelt, lifting a hand to his nose only for his finger to come up bloody.

Okay, there was no piercing pain in his nose which meant it wasn't broken. But then, his entire face hurt like a bitch and why does he keep seeing dots behind his vision. Marcel shook the dizziness from his eyes knowing he could not show weakness when an opportunity to destroy Richardo just dropped on his lap.

"Get on your feet, Marcel!" Richardo commanded and from the dark excitement in his tone, the fella plans to make a mockery of him.

Nonetheless, Marcel stood up. He would not go down without a fight. He would not surrender, until his last breath. So the instant Marcel stood, he lunged at Richardo and grabbed him around the waist, however, the bastard easily flung him to the side and he landed on the ground gracefully to the amusement of the audience.

The crowd cheered him and just as Marcel thought, Richardo wanted to make a mockery of him before he ended him.

"Is that all you got, Marcel?" Richardo goaded him on purpose, "Here is your opportunity to try and end me, so why aren't you taking it? What happened to the brave Marcel or are you a chicken?"

Marcel got up to his feet with a lot of effort, grunting in the process. His eyes crossed with Daniel's and held, a sneer at the corner of his lips. Was his father enjoying this? Marcel bet it pleased him to know that Richardo was proving what he thought of him. Weak.

But he was not weak. Marcel was tired as hell but he was not giving up. He would die a brave man and hopes the scene would play before his father for the rest of his life. He should not forget!

Marcel launched himself at Richardo once again and unlike before, he managed to head him hard, drawing blood from his lips. The pain in his temple was sharp and hot, not that Marcel cared. This was a death fight. Richardo staggered back before his eyes flashed with anger at the fact that Marcel managed to make a move even in his condition and he pounced on him.

He grabbed Marcel by the arm, exposing his side, and then began to hit him continuously on the ribs. Marcel howled at the pain, having not healed entirely from the rib injury and now, Richardo was creating new ones. With a battle cry, Richardo landed an uppercut that sent Marcel flying back to the ground, the breath knocked out of his lungs.

Marcel couldn't move. He couldn't lift a muscle, his body refusing to cooperate having pushed it to the limit. The clamors were loud, the crowd frenzy with a taste for blood, his blood. He was lying on the floor with his knee raised only for Richardo to hover over him with a menacing smile. He was satisfied to see him in this condition, helpless and weak. While he hated to admit it, Richardo won this round.

"Oh, how the mighty falleth," Richardo had a dark grin, right before he lifted his feet and stomped down on his knee.

A scream tore from Marcel's throat as Richardo stomped hard on his knee the second time till the cracking sound was heard. The asshole just broke his knee! Hot tears coated his forehead while it took everything in him - his nails crawling into the bare floor- not to cry and moan out instead.

Marcel didn't know how much pain he could take and it seemed to come from all over. Drool dropped from his mouth as he panted hard, dragging himself away from Richardo. If the bastard wanted to bring him to his lowest, he succeeded.

Richardo's laughter reverberated across the walls, taking delight in Marcel's pain. They were in the hotel's conference room, not that anyone would come to his rescue since normal people have been forced to evacuate. Not even the staff remained.

However, one of his men rushed into the room and came over to Richardo, hurriedly whispering something into his ear.

"They found us already?!" He did not seem pleased by the news and turned to Marcel with a deadly look.

"I guess it's time to end this once and for all even though I would have loved to extend our foreplay a little longer," He gestured to his second in command to hand him a gun.

Marcel did not react. At this point, he had accepted his fate that he was going to die here. Moreover, death was a big mercy than to continue to suffer like this.

Richardo tilted his head, the gun pointed at him, "Any last word, Marcel?"

Marcel managed to lift his face and spat, "I will be waiting in hell for you."

Richardo snorted, "Sad thing you are going without me."

He then shot at him.

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