The sentence

Someone had knocked the door and Sofia had opened it just to see two masked men, Sofia, bravely attempted to defend Elena, their daughter. But she was beaten battered and bruised. They then subjected Sofia to unspeakable humiliation, all while their daughter bore witness. And then, they snuffed out their lives.

Marcus caught a glimpse of a wildflower tattoo etched onto one of the intruder's necks. He etched the image into his memory, ensuring not to overlook a single detail.

Suddenly, the sound of shuffling footsteps echoed through the halls. Marcus emerged only to find the police had surrounded the premises. Inspector Michael Harris, ordered his men to apprehend Marcus. Someone had tipped them off that Marcus had killed his wife and daughter.

"You are under arrest for the murders of Sofia and Elena Santini," Harris declared, as two officers stepped forward to restrain him.

"I didn't do it!" Marcus bellowed, the anger within him threatening to boil over. "I can prove my innocence! I have footage of the hitmen who took the lives of my wife and daughter!"

Harris signaled for his men to halt. "Where is this proof?" he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.

"On my laptop," Marcus replied, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. "The footage of the hitmen who did this is there."

Harris barked a single command to one of the officers, his voice cold and clipped. "Get the laptop."

He watched the footage, his eyes narrowing as they settled on Marcus. Then, in a blink, the computer slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor.

"Oops," he murmured, almost to himself, before lifting his boot and bringing it down hard on the machine, again and again.

As it turned out, Inspector Michael Harris was a dirty cop, his name etched onto the mafia's payroll alongside several other officers in the Los Angeles force.

"What other proof do you have?" Harris asked, his voice low and dangerous as he approached Marcus.

"Listen closely, because I'm only going to say this once. If you want to survive in this city, you need to understand that there's a king."

Marcus chuckled, a cruel sound that echoed through the room. "And that king is you?"

Michael Harris shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Not even close"

"It doesn't matter, but I do know where to start when I seek my vengeance. I'll kill you slowly and painfully, and then I'll find every person important to you."

Before he could continue, Harris pressed the barrel of his pistol against Marcus's forehead. "Don't get your hopes up, kid. You're going away for a long time for killing your wife. Boys, take this piece of shit away." He spat the words, his voice dripping with contempt.

Marcus's world had crumbled to ash with the passing of Sofia and their daughter. A searing, boundless agony consumed him, yet he was helpless to alleviate it. But a single ember of hope remained: Inspector Michael Harris had slipped up, revealing his own involvement in their demise.

The cold, unforgiving walls of his cell closed in around him, a tomb for the living as he awaited his own judgment. He sat, huddled in the corner, his eyes staring blankly into the void.

The ghostly image of Sofia emerged, a wisp of a memory, dressed in the red maxi dress she had worn on their first date. Her lips, red and inviting, curved into a smile that only twisted the knife in his heart.

He rose, stumbling towards her, a moth to a flame. "Sofia," he croaked, his voice hoarse with grief. "Why did you leave me? Why?" he wept.

His heart, already shattered, splintered further, as if stabbed anew.

But she vanished as quickly as she had appeared, leaving him alone in his despair. In his fury, he pounded the wall until his knuckles bled. And then, he collapsed to his knees, a broken man.

__________________________________________________

The gavel came down with a resounding crack, and the words of the judge echoed in Marcus Santini's ears like a death knell. "Guilty of manslaughter, life in prison."

He wanted to scream, to protest, to beg for mercy, but his voice was trapped in his throat like a choked-off sob.

As the guards led him away, he moved like a man in a trance, his mind reeling from the weight of the sentence. It was as if he was watching himself from afar, a helpless bystander to his own downfall.

"Always a violent man,"A witness had said, Marcus knew her, she was his neighbour, and had never liked them. She spat, as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life.

Michael Harris, the dirty cop, leered at him with a smug smile that said "I told you so." Marcus felt a cold fury building inside him, but he couldn't find the strength to fight back.

The prison bus was a mobile purgatory, filled with the worst of humanity. Marcus could feel their eyes on him, sizing him up, judging him. He knew what they were thinking - just another killer, just another convict.

And as he stared out at the world passing by, he wondered if he would ever be able to escape the darkness that had consumed his life.

The bus creaked to a halt, and the prisoners filed out one by one, their chains rattling as they moved. They stood in a line, the warden approached. A portly man of, if Marcus had to guess, Mexican descent, with a bushy mustache and a neck that spilled over his collar like a bowl of jelly.

"I'm not going to give you a warm welcome " he began, his tone dripping with disdain "This isn't a hotel, you know."

Marcus studied him coolly, having seen the inside of many prisons and the warden's attempts at intimidation fell flat. The man was all bluster, a mere sack of flesh. And the prisoners seemed unfazed by his outburst.

His cellmate, a man named Matteo, was a former millionaire, brought low by a frame-up orchestrated by his own wife. He'd been locked away for ten long years, and his endless talking had given Marcus an earful of his tale of woe.

___________________________________________________

Two Months Later...

Marcus awaited in the visitor's bay, having been informed of a visitor. A man, clad in black from head to toe, approached, his footsteps echoing ominously in the stillness. A black hat sat top of his head, and a briefcase was clutched in his hand.

"Marcos Santini?" the man inquired, his tone low and gravelly.

"Yes"Marcus replied, his gaze unwavering.

The man set his bag on the table and took a seat, reaching into his pocket for a packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Marcus, who declined. The man lit his own, inhaling deeply before releasing a thick cloud of smoke.

Marcus shifted in his seat, his patience wearing thin. He awaited news from his appeal that very day, a desperate plea that the evidence of his innocence had been destroyed by the very authorities who had put him there.

"I am your new lawyer" the man declared, his voice barely above a whisper.

Marcus raised an eyebrow " I have no money to pay you" he said flatly.

The man chuckled, taking another drag of his cigarette before releasing another cloud of smoke. He was a man who reveled in the art of manipulation, a master of his craft. He would stop at nothing to win, utilizing every tool at his disposal, from deceit and bribery to outright threats. He was, quite simply, the best lawyer in all of Los Angeles, and possibly the entire country.

The lawyer's voice was gruff as he spoke."Even if you had money, I doubt you will be able to afford to pay for my services"

Marcus scoffed, unimpressed by the man's words.

"And what is it that you want?"

"Someone has paid me to secure your release" the lawyer replied, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I've already filed for an appeal" Marcus said, though the doubt was clear in his voice. He couldn't shake the feeling that those who had taken his wife and child's lives were the same ones pulling the strings behind the scenes.

"You and I both know that appeal is a lost cause" the lawyer said, a hint of pity in his tone. "But suit yourself, I'll be on my way"

He began to stand, preparing to leave.

"Wait"Marcus called out, sighing in resignation. He knew that whoever had sent this man would want something in return.

The lawyer sat back down, pulling a paper and pen from his bag.

"Just sign this document, and I'll handle the rest."He placed the paper and pen in front of Marcus, taking a puff from his cigar as he waited.