In your life of being a mafia executive, you never imagined you’d find yourself secluded between four walls inside a room with no windows.

Hands clung on concrete with two silver chains that were tight enough to leave a mark on both of your wrists. The air was thick—making it heavier for you to breathe. It carried a rotting stench of algae that painted the walls. You could hear water dripping from the rust covered pipes continuously echoing in your ears.

The next thing you heard was the metal door scraping on the floor. Dawning on you was his figure yet again, waiting for you to answer his numerous questions—which you’ve sworn that you’ll never acknowledge. Your loyalty was for the mafia only.

There was certainty that lingered in your head that you’d been kept in here for a little less than a week now and perhaps, his patience was starting to run thin with you. He took his time however, knowing that you’ll give up eventually, considering how easily irritated you can get.

Such long trains of thoughts were short-lived, seeing the same man stand before you with a cunning, yet unnerving smirk plastered on his face. You can only wish for him now to stop bothering you, but that too seems impossible at the given situation.

You could hear his footsteps draw closer to your fragile state, picking up your chin to force you to look at him. You weren’t fooling anyone by pretending you were still unconscious.

“Tell me, do you wish to continue doing this the hard way? Or will you finally give me the intel I ask of you?”