"You're a brave man, talking trash about my future slave," Ross sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.
He lifted the hammer, its weight steady in his grip as he eyed the Don with cold malice.
"Guess I won't feel a shred of guilt sending you to hell in the most painful way imaginable."
The Don's face twisted in panic, a flicker of desperation replacing his former arrogance.
"No, wait! I can give you anything—money, power, whatever you want. Just… stop! Don't do it!"
But Ross wasn't interested in bargaining. The Don attempted a feeble parry, he wanted to raise his arms in a last-ditch effort to defend himself.
But the rope on his body held true. It was a wasted effort. Ross brought the hammer down with brutal precision.
"Ahhhhh!" The Don's scream filled the room as the hammer struck his knee, the sickening crunch of bone echoing in the silence.
He looked at his broken leg, his face contorted in agony. Hatred flashed in his eyes, his voice a guttural snarl.
"You… you son of a bitch! I'll kill you! I'll destroy your whole family, you hear me? Damn you to hell!"
Ross tilted his head, his expression unchanging, almost bored.
"Oh, you're still talking?" He raised the hammer again, his grip steady, his gaze icy. "Let's fix that."
"Bang!" The hammer crashed down on the Don's other knee with even more force, shattering the bone beneath.
The Don choked on his own saliva, the sheer, unrelenting pain stealing his breath.
Tears streamed down his face as he writhed on the floor, his body convulsing under the assault of agony coursing through his legs.
Gasping for air, the Don managed a shuddering whisper. "You… you can't do this. I'll make you pay… I'll…"
Ross crouched beside him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Keep making threats if it makes you feel better, but we both know you're not in a position to back them up."
The Don's resolve finally cracked as he looked up at Ross, fear pooling in his eyes.
But Ross only watched, a twisted satisfaction gleaming in his gaze, as if each scream and broken bone were just the beginning of the punishment he had in store.
"And your cries of pain… they're music to my ears. I want to hear you cry some more. Cry for me, bitch!" Ross's grin widened as he spoke, his voice laced with sadistic delight.
Without hesitation, he raised the hammer again and brought it crashing down.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
"Bang!" The sound of each strike echoed, the blows coming down with relentless force.
Blood splattered across the floor as the Don's legs were reduced to nothing but shattered bones and mangled flesh.
His legs, once sturdy, were now twisted, bloody messes that barely resembled human limbs.
Even the sturdy chair to which he was tied couldn't withstand the onslaught, splintering beneath the force of Ross's fury.
But Ross didn't stop. He leaned in close, watching the fear in the Don's eyes as he struggled, bound and helpless.
Each scream only fueled Ross's determination. It was as if every ounce of hatred, every dark corner of his soul, poured into each swing.
The room reeked of blood and fear, a grim theater for Ross's cruelty.
"Please... please... stop!" The Don's voice was hoarse, each plea weaker than the last, but he clung desperately to life, his survival instinct strong despite the overwhelming agony.
Somehow, he managed to stay conscious, forced to endure the torture without the mercy of passing out.
Ross continued his assault, moving from the Don's legs to his shoulders, arms, and chest, each blow methodically calculated to cause maximum suffering.
The hammer smashed down on the Don's ribcage, shattering bones that punctured the skin, blood seeping through his torn clothes.
His arms hung at unnatural angles, fractured and useless, his body a grotesque collage of agony.
The minutes dragged into an hour, the room filled with the wet, sickening sound of bone breaking and flesh tearing.
Ross was merciless, leaving no part of the Don's body untouched—except his head, which remained perfectly intact.
The Don's face twisted in pain, his breaths shallow, each one a struggle as his body deteriorated into a pulpy, unrecognizable wreck.
In the background, the once-defiant Maya was trembling, her face pale. She had started the day with bold words and fierce resolve, but now, faced with the raw brutality unfolding before her, she couldn't contain her disgust.
"Arrrrggghhhh…" She doubled over, her stomach heaving as she retched, the grotesque scene overwhelming her.
Her hands shook, her bravado shattered by the horrifying reality of Ross's brutal means.
Ross paused, glancing over his shoulder at her, a mocking smile on his lips.
"What's wrong, Maya? Didn't think you'd lose your nerve, especially after all your tough talk earlier." He looked back at the Don, who could do nothing but gasp weakly, his body barely clinging to life.
Satisfied with the carnage he'd inflicted, Ross leaned close to the Don's bloodied face.
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"See, that's what happens when you get on my bad side. And don't worry—this is only the beginning."
He stood back up, a cruel glint in his eyes, ready to savor the final moments of his savagery.
Ross turned to the remaining men and uncovered their heads, bound and helpless, their faces pale with terror as they took in the blood-slicked room and the horrific remnants of Don Garcia.
His smile stretched wider as he slowly picked up the hammer, letting the weight of it swing in his hand with practiced ease.
"These are the ones who killed your brother, Maya," he said, his voice calm yet laced with venom.
He glanced back to where Maya sat slumped against the wall, a ghost of the confident woman she'd once been.
She hugged her knees, her face buried, her entire body trembling. The sight of blood and broken bodies, the metallic stench that filled the room—it was all too much for her.
Every nerve in her body screamed for her to run away from the place, but she was paralyzed, rooted to the spot by the overwhelming horror.
"Are you sure you don't want a chance to make them suffer?" Ross pressed, his tone taunting, almost gentle, as if coaxing her into some twisted game.