A prominent scowl was on his face as he looked out towards the packed club as he sat hidden in his private booth. Damian was annoyed. Angry even, and the people could feel it. Two captives escaped, four torture sessions gone wrong with the people dying, not giving him the information he needed. Ten upcoming parties that were back to back, and his henchmen and soldiers being idiots at the moment.

The recluse mob boss's scowl deepened as he scanned the club from where he sat, quietly sipping on his drink. He had long since taken over the 'family business' from his father, growing it into the feared underground empire it was today. And he was one to be feared, respected, his very name wasn't even said because of the fear of accidentally summoning him or getting wiped off the earth. And still some bastards still test his patience.

He sighed heavily and down his drink, motioning for the one of his men to get him another. A lot of people were going to die that night. And he'll torture them himself. He needs to let off some steam anyway.