The storm ultimately never fell, merely shrouding the entire city with a stifling sense of impending doom, making the air as thick as congealed syrup. This oppression, inside the Vitale manor, materialized as a meticulously orchestrated chaos.

The alarm broke the morning tranquility without warning, its piercing buzz seemingly capable of rupturing one's eardrums. The first report came from the freight transit station in the south of the city, claiming that a rival faction was attacking the warehouse with intense gunfire. Just as Alessandro pulled up the footage in the monitoring room, an urgent communication came from the casino in the west of the city—one of his personally placed undercover agents had sent the highest-level distress signal, stating that his cover was blown and he was being hunted down.


"Send Team Three to the southern district to stabilize the situation. The other side is probably just testing us." Alessandro stood before the massive wall of monitors, his voice still calm, but his furrowed brow betrayed his inner unease. Staring at the chaotic street scenes on the screen, an ominous feeling, like a cold snake, coiled around his spine.

"Mr. Bona," he dialed one of the most trusted elders in the family, "Lucio is your nephew. He's at the casino in the west district. Contact him and confirm the situation."

The Elder Bona quickly responded on the other end of the phone, his voice filled with confusion and anxiety: "We can't reach him, Alessandro. All his communications are cut off. God, his last message said... said that Marco's people had found him..."


Marco. This name struck Alessandro's nerves like a precise bullet. Almost simultaneously, fire alarms and intrusion alerts erupted one after another at the armory in the northern suburbs and the dock in the eastern district. All these incidents were like carefully calculated chess moves, with clear objectives—to strip away, piece by piece, the core security forces he had deployed around the estate and dispatch them to all corners of the city.

"A trap..." Luca beside him remarked gravely, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, "Family head, they're drawing the tiger away from the mountain. These alerts are too concentrated, too coincidental."


"I know." A cold flame ignited in Alessandro's eyes. He suddenly turned and strode quickly toward the passage leading to the main house. "There's a traitor in the family. Only people in the inner circle know the complete response mechanism of our emergency plan." As he walked, he issued orders through an encrypted channel: "Everyone! Abandon all external missions and return to defend the estate immediately! Highest level of alert!"

However, it was already too late.

As if to confirm his words, the moment he rushed out of the underground passage and stepped into the main hall, a loud crash of breaking glass accompanied by a woman's scream came from the direction of the study on the second floor.

Alessandro's heart was instantly gripped by an icy hand. That direction—it was Isabella's room.

He drew the Browning from his waist, like an enraged lion, charging recklessly toward the stairs. And Luca, at an even faster pace, like a loyal shadow, overtook him, rushing first toward the source of danger.

When Alessandro reached the second floor, the scene in the hallway made his eyes bulge with rage. Two bodyguards lay in pools of blood, while Luca, that eternally calm and steady man, was using his body to firmly block the door, with two gleaming daggers visibly embedded in his shoulder and thigh, blood staining his expensive suit red. From inside the room came Isabella's suppressed cries and a man's rough cursing.

"Luca!" Alessandro let out a roar of fury.

"Don't worry about me, Master!" Luca firmly pressed his shoulder against the door, preventing those inside from coming out. His face was drained of color from the intense pain, but his eyes remained resolute. "Take Miss Isabella and go! Quickly!"

The door was violently kicked from within. Luca let out a muffled groan and staggered backward, but immediately gritted his teeth and pushed back. In that brief moment, the door was pulled open a crack, and a hand reached out from inside, holding a gun that was unhesitatingly aimed at Luca's heart.

"Bang!"

Alessandro's gun fired first, the bullet precisely tearing through the hand holding the weapon. A scream came from behind the door, but immediately after, the door was violently thrust open. Luca could no longer hold his position and fell heavily to the ground.

Marco's figure appeared at the doorway. His handsome face bore no wounds; instead, there was a morbid, triumphant smile of someone victorious. Behind him, two tall men were roughly holding Isabella, with a white cloth tightly gagging her mouth.

Isabella saw Alessandro, her beautiful eyes filled with terror and despair. She struggled violently, making muffled "mmm" sounds of distress from her throat.

"Alessandro!" Marco opened his arms as if displaying a trophy, his tone full of gleeful mockery, "Look at your handiwork! A loyal servant, about to bleed to death for a worthless whore. How does it feel? Are you proud of yourself?"

"Let her go, Marco." Alessandro's voice was terrifyingly low as he steadily aimed his gun at his cousin's forehead. Each of his words seemed to be squeezed through clenched teeth, carrying intense killing intent, "This is between us men."

"Oh? Between men?" Marco laughed dramatically, "No, no, no, from the moment you decided to bring her into this world, she became the most important matter between you and me. I warned you that she would be your weakness, your Achilles' Heel. See? Wasn't I right?"

He waved his hand, and one of the men holding Isabella immediately pressed a cold dagger against her long, fair neck. A shallow cut instantly appeared, bloodied and jarring to the eye.

Isabella's body froze, but her eyes looking at Alessandro were desperately shaking her head, as if begging him not to act rashly.

The veins on Alessandro's gun-holding hand bulged. His powerful will, strong enough to make the entire city tremble, was now engaged in an intense internal struggle. Reason told him that his cousin before him had gone mad and would not follow any rules. Yet emotion gnawed at his heart like ten thousand ants in a frenzy.

"Put the gun down, Alessandro." The smile disappeared from Marco's face, replaced by an icy command, "Or would you like to see firsthand whether my knife can slit her throat faster than your bullet can travel?"

Time seemed to stretch in that moment. In the hallway, there was only Luca's increasingly faint gasping and Isabella's rapid breathing driven by fear.

Finally, Alessandro slowly and humiliatingly bent down, placing the gun that represented his power and dignity on the ground.

"A wise choice." Marco nodded with satisfaction, then gave his men a signal, and the two immediately backed away with Isabella in their grip. "Oh, right," Marco turned to Alessandro with a bright but cruel smile, as if remembering something, "Take good care of your dog, and then, wait for my call."

With that, he left with his men and his most coveted trophy, quickly disappearing at the end of the hallway.

Alessandro stood frozen like a stone statue until their footsteps completely faded away. Then, he suddenly rushed to Luca who was lying on the floor, tore off his own shirt, and pressed firmly against the wound that was gushing blood.

"Hang on, Luca! Hang on!" For the first time, his voice revealed uncontrollable trembling and fear.

……

Cold water splashed on her face, making Isabella cough violently as she awoke from unconsciousness.

She discovered herself firmly bound by hands and feet to a hard wooden chair, the cloth in her mouth preventing her from making any sound. The air was filled with a heavy odor that mixed the smell of fish and rust. This seemed to be an abandoned dock warehouse, with a few dim light bulbs hanging from the high dome, barely illuminating the surroundings. Rusted containers were stacked like monsters, while the floor was covered with dirty oil stains and puddles.

Marco was sitting on a table not far across from her, methodically polishing a dagger. Seeing her awake, he looked up and displayed a gentlemanly smile.

"Good evening, my future sister-in-law. Or should I say, the Vitale Family's newest... disaster?"

He stood up, walked over to Isabella, and extended his hand not holding the knife, impertinently gripping her chin, forcing her to look up.

"Don't look at me with those eyes, my dear. You should thank me." His fingers caressed her delicate skin, yet his gaze was like someone admiring a cold piece of art. "I am saving Alessandro, and saving the entire family. A king should not have weaknesses. And you are his most fatal, most foolish weakness."

Isabella stared at him intensely, her eyes without tears, filled only with anger and hatred suppressed to the extreme.

"Tsk tsk, such defiant eyes." Marco seemed to enjoy her resistance. He leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear, "Do you know? I really want to see what expression Alessandro will have when he hears your screams of agony because of him. That eternally calm and composed mask of his will surely shatter beautifully."

After speaking, he straightened up, took out his phone, and dialed a number. He deliberately turned on the speakerphone.

The call was answered after just one ring.

"Marco." Alessandro's voice came through the speaker. It wasn't a question, but a calm, poison-laced statement. No angry roars, only deadly silence, more chilling than any roar could be.

"Good evening, my dear cousin. Is your dog dead?" Marco asked cheerfully.

"Luca is still alive." Alessandro's voice had no inflection whatsoever. "State your conditions."

"Excellent!" Marco laughed, "My conditions are simple. Within one hour, come to Pier Seven at the end of the West District. Come alone, without any weapons, without any backup. If my men see even a single fly following you outside, I promise..."

He paused, bringing the phone to Isabella's mouth, and yanked the cloth gag from her mouth.

Isabella was breathing heavily, but she didn't scream or call for help as Marco had expected.

"Say something to him, darling." Marco tapped her cheek with the back of his dagger, coaxing her, "Tell him how much you miss him."

Isabella raised her head, looking at Marco's face full of anticipation, then, addressing the phone, she used all her strength to say clearly and calmly: "Alessandro, don't come!"

Marco's expression instantly darkened.

And Alessandro, on the other end of the phone, the moment he heard her voice, that facade of deathly silence completely shattered. His breath caught sharply, and Isabella could even imagine him at that moment, gripping the phone so tightly he nearly crushed it.

"Oh, how touching." Marco sneered, roughly stuffing the cloth back into her mouth, then spoke into the phone, "Did you hear that, Alessandro? Your little lover has quite the spirit. But that only makes me want to break her bones even more. I've changed my mind. I won't just make you watch her die, I'll broadcast this process live to everyone in the city who knows you. Let them all see how the godfather of the Vitale Family becomes a dog ready for slaughter, all for a woman."

After saying this, he hung up without waiting for Alessandro's response.

The warehouse lapsed back into deathly silence.

Marco seemed very satisfied with the theatrical effect just now. He hummed a little tune as he walked to the other end of the warehouse and began setting up camera equipment with his men. He really intended to go through with it.

Immense fear, like cold seawater, engulfed Isabella. She thought of Luca lying in a pool of blood, of Alessandro's momentary shattered composure on the phone, of Marco's insane and cruel plan. Her body trembled uncontrollably with fear, tears welling up in her eyes.

She wanted to cry, to scream, to curl up into a ball and surrender to this cruel world.

But she couldn't.

Alessandro's voice echoed in her mind, words he had spoken at the shooting range when he had held her in his arms.

"At the moment you pull the trigger, your world consists only of you, the gun, and your target. Everything else ceases to exist."

She abruptly closed her eyes, then forced them open. The tears were forcibly held back. In those beautiful brown eyes, terror was receding, replaced by a cold, determined clarity.

She no longer looked at Marco pacing back and forth with his henchmen, no longer thought about the horrifying torture she was about to face. Her world had shrunk. There was only herself, this chair, and this warehouse.

She began to force herself to calm down, carefully examining her surroundings inch by inch.

What bound her wrists was coarse hemp rope, tied very tightly, but the knots were tied carelessly—simple deadknots. Her fingers could still move slightly. Alessandro had once taught her how to create tiny gaps by repeatedly contracting and relaxing muscles when restrained.

The chair was an old wooden one, with one of its legs seeming a bit loose. Each time she shifted her body slightly, she could hear a faint "creaking" sound.

To her left rear, about three meters away, there was a corner piled with miscellaneous items, where a broken, rusty crowbar seemed to be lying. It was too far away, but that rusty reddish metallic gleam, like a beacon of hope, was firmly imprinted in her mind.

On the floor in front of her was a puddle of water left from when water was splashed earlier. The water surface reflected the dim yellow light from above, as well as blurrily mirroring part of the scene behind her. Through this small puddle, she could observe the movements of the guard behind her without turning her head.

Everything Alessandro had taught her, those self-defense techniques, those teachings about staying calm and observant, were no longer lover's games but her only weapons now.

She is not a princess who needs to be rescued. She is the blade he honed with his own hands.

Isabella took a deep breath and began to rhythmically and ever so slightly contract and relax the muscles in her wrist. Sweat slid from her forehead, dripping onto her knee, but her gaze was more focused and sharp than ever before.