Welcome to Hell (by Williane Kassia) novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142

Thomas Delgado..

The smell of burnt eggs filled the stuffy cafeteria. The clatter of metal utensils against trays was constant, irritating, and made my head throb.

I sat in my usual corner, surrounded by my men, and began eating calmly.

My meal was different from the others–hot, well–portioned, and prepared exactly the way I ordered

1. it.

Being the boss has its perks.

The taste was decent, but I was used to it.

Nothing surprised me anymore.

Even the best food tasted bland compared to the dragging routine of this prison.

Two years.

I’ve been stuck in this hole for two years, sentenced to life for triple homicide and international arms trafficking. A perfect combo to earn the black uniform I wore. Since day one, this place has

been pure hell.

Every step needs to be calculated.

Every look, measured.

It’s kill or be crushed.

You fight to stay on top.

One mistake, and you’re done.

The guards don’t get involved in conflicts between bosses.

They think if we settle things among ourselves, it saves them bullets. The wing I’m in is massive, but

not even I control it all.

Half of it is mine.

The other half belongs to Dragão–a sadist with the face of a monk and the hands of a butcher. We’ve never clashed directly. Not because we lack the guts, but because each of us controls our territory, and that’s been working.

174

Chapter 142

For now.

But honestly? I’m exhausted.

Always the same orders.

The same people.

The same faces, deformed by time or fists.

Every morning, I wake up already knowing what’s waiting: putting out fires.

Drugs that need to circulate, gambling debts, armed fights in the yard between inmates who barely know why they’re even fighting.

And me, like a shadow, watching it all.

Organizing.

Controlling.

Nothing changes.

Hlook around, and everything feels black and white.

This prison drains me.

Even my name feels dead inside these walls.

Thomas Delgado.

A thirty–four–year–old Latino, covered in tattoos that hide deeper scars underneath–scars that tell stories crueler than any word could.

Every mark on my body is a reminder of what I’ve lived through–and what I’ve done.

Out there, my name made people tremble.

I was respected, feared, even admired by those who wanted me dead.

But in here, I’m just another monster among others even worse.

One more soul sentenced to rot until death decides to show up.

That’s what’s been eating me alive.

It’s not fear.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify