Dreams of the past

Inside the Mafia king's chambers, Vincent stared at the riding crop in his hand. Prudence had left more than a minute ago as he heard her trying to open the door of her room. She had yet again fled the conversation without understanding what he was trying to say and why. 

Vincent could hear her ragged breath and the images of her tear-filled eyes flashed in front of his eyes. 

That was a sight he loved to see but not in the way Prudence felt. She was a mess and Vincent doubted if he had forced her anymore. The entire point of doing this would have gone down the hill. His grip tightened around the handle of the crop before he threw it on the ground with rage. This patience was killing him. Over it all, the thought that Prudence must have counted him in the same category as the men he was trying to warn her about.