The iron gates of the Vitale Manor closed slowly behind him, making a heavy sound like the end of an era. Alessandro drove the black Maserati like an arrow released from a bow, piercing into the night-soaked arteries of the city. He brought no one with him, carried no weapons except for a spare handgun hidden under the driver's seat. This was the first time in his life that he had completely, nakedly placed himself under the knife of his enemies.

He had no plan in his mind, no backup strategy. The family rules, the duties of a godfather, cold calculations... all the solid principles that had sustained his life until now had completely collapsed when he heard Isabella say, "Don't come." That voice was like a blade piercing through all his pretenses, letting him clearly hear the sound of his own heart breaking. He had always thought himself a king in control of everything, only to discover now that he was merely a man about to lose his entire world.


The city's neon lights stretched and blurred before his eyes, transforming into flowing, mocking patches of light. Every red light seemed like Marco's triumphant sneer, every brake made him feel his own helplessness. Never before had he so despised the order he had established with his own hands. He could control an underground kingdom of a city, yet he couldn't protect the woman he wanted to hold in his arms.

He could not lose her. This thought was no longer a rational judgment, but an uncontrollable, instinctive roar from the depths of his soul. Isabella was not merely an accident that had stumbled into his world; she was the only color on his desolate wasteland, the only flame beneath his frozen throne. To lose her would be to extinguish with his own hands the last light in his life. So, he came. Even if hell lay before him, he had to step into it.

Meanwhile, in warehouse number seven permeated with the smell of rust and fish, Isabella's battle was also silently unfolding.


She gave up her futile struggle and concentrated all her energy on the rough hemp rope around her wrist. Sweat soaked her hair, sticking it to her cheeks, causing an unbearable itch, but she was oblivious. In her world, only the increasingly burning friction on her wrist remained, along with the barely audible "snap" sounds as the rope fibers broke one by one.

What Alessandro had taught her flashed back in her mind like movie scenes. Not those passionate, intimate moments, but him in the training room, emphasizing key points over and over again in his deep, magnetic voice.


"...Power comes from your core, breathing must be steady, don't let fear control your muscles..."
"...Observe your opponent, but also observe your environment, anything can become your weapon..."
"……When you decide to strike, don't have even a trace of hesitation. Hesitation will kill you."

She was no longer the quiet Isabella Thorne from the flower shop. She was Alessandro's student, a work of art sculpted by his own hands. Now, this work of art was ready to show her edge to the world.

Marco was adjusting the camera equipment with his subordinates, occasionally letting out malicious laughs as they discussed which angle would best capture "the Godfather's humiliation." They were so immersed in their impending victory celebration that they completely ignored the woman they viewed as a fragile sacrifice, who was gradually breaking free from her restraints through sheer willpower.

With a soft "snap," clearer than any before, the rope on her left hand broke.

Isabella's heart began to race, but she immediately suppressed the urge for freedom with her powerful willpower. She didn't immediately untie the rope on her right hand; instead, she maintained her bound posture while keeping her peripheral vision firmly locked on the pile of miscellaneous items she had spotted earlier.

There would only be one chance.

She waited patiently, like a cheetah lurking in the grass. Finally, the man responsible for guarding her stood up out of boredom and walked to the warehouse entrance to smoke, his back turned to her.

Now!

Isabell...

She violently broke free from the restraint on her right hand. Her wrists were already raw and bloody from the chafing, but she felt no pain at all. Like a cat, she silently slid off the chair and crawled on all fours to that corner full of junk. The rusty crowbar was too heavy; she couldn't lift it at all. But right next to the crowbar, a sharp piece of metal that had peeled off from a damaged tin box gleamed with deadly radiance in the dim light.

She grabbed it. The cold, sharp edge cut into her palm, but she paid no mind. She clutched this life-saving, yet lethal weapon tightly in her hand, silently returned to the chair, and once again put her hands behind her back, pretending to still be bound.

After completing all this, she raised her head and looked toward the warehouse door. Her breathing was rapid and hot, but her eyes were cold as frost.

She was waiting for her man. Not waiting for him to come and save her, but waiting for him to come and fight alongside her.

The heavy iron door of the warehouse was kicked open from outside, making a deafening noise. Alessandro appeared at the doorway like an avenging god bursting out of hell, alone. He wore only a simple black shirt, emanating a suffocating murderous aura.

"Marco!" His voice wasn't loud, but it hit everyone's heart like a sledgehammer.

A flash of surprise crossed Marco's face, quickly replaced by greater ecstasy. "Oh, look who's here! My good cousin, you really came! I thought you would at least act like a man and send your army to die for you."

He waved his hand, and four henchmen immediately surrounded Alessandro in a fan formation, blocking him at the doorway.

"I am here. Let her go." Alessandro's gaze bypassed everyone else, shooting directly at Isabella who was tied to the chair. When he saw her pale face and the blood on her wrists, the last trace of rationality in his eyes was devoured by a beast-like fury.

"Let her go? Of course." Marco smiled brilliantly, "But before that, we need to play a game. A game you'll never forget for the rest of your life."

Before he finished speaking, the four henchmen had simultaneously lunged at Alessandro. A chaotic, extremely bloody fight erupted instantly. Alessandro was barehanded, yet he fought like a tireless beast. Each of his strikes was fast, precise, and lethal, clearly meant to kill. Fighting against four opponents, every block he made produced a dull sound of flesh and bone colliding, and every counterattack was accompanied by the painful groans of his enemies.

Isabella's heart leapt to her throat. She watched as Alessandro was surrounded by enemies for her sake, saw one enemy drawing a dagger to stab his side, only for him to snatch it away and plunge it viciously into the attacker's shoulder. Blood splattered, staining his black shirt red.

It was at this moment that Marco made his move. Instead of joining the fight, he swiftly stepped behind Isabella, grabbed her hair, and roughly dragged her up from her chair. Simultaneously, he pulled out a gun, pressing its cold barrel firmly against her temple.

"Everyone stop!" Marco shouted.

The fighters instantly froze. Alessandro's chest heaved violently, his face smeared with both his enemies' blood and his own. He stood like a blood-soaked war god, glaring at Marco with eyes that seemed ready to tear him apart alive.

"Put the gun down, Alessandro!" Marco pressed the gun barrel hard against Isabella's temple, with a victorious smile on his face. "I know you've hidden one. Throw it on the ground and kick it over. Otherwise, I'll put a hole in her pretty head!"

Isabella was forced to tilt her head back, feeling the cold gun barrel and the nauseating smell of sweat coming from Marco. But she wasn't afraid; all her attention was focused on Alessandro's eyes.

She saw his anger, his pain, and that love which was about to burn him to ashes.

Alessandro slowly pulled out the backup pistol from behind his waist. His movements were filled with humiliation and reluctance.

"Don't..." a weak moan escaped from Isabella's throat. She couldn't let him put down his weapon again for her sake.

"Shut up, you bitch!" Marco snarled, his attention drawn to her.

This was the moment!

In that split second when Marco was distracted, Isabella's long-accumulated strength exploded! She didn't go for Marco's gun hand, but instead used all her might to drive the sharp metal piece she had been hiding behind her back deeply and viciously into Marco's inner thigh!

"Ah——!"

Marco let out an inhuman scream of agony, the excruciating pain causing all his muscles to spasm instantly, and the gun pressed against Isabella's temple involuntarily lifted up a few centimeters.

These fatal few centimeters were the distance between heaven and hell.

Alessandro moved. He didn't even bother to pick up the gun from the ground. As Marco screamed in agony, he lunged forward like a cannonball, at a speed inconceivable to humans. He gave Marco no chance to react whatsoever, one hand gripping Marco's gun-wielding wrist like an iron vise, while the other hand drew a dagger from the waist of a fallen subordinate.

"Bang!"

In his terror, Marco fired a wild shot, the bullet hitting the warehouse dome and sending up a spray of sparks.

But that was also his final sound.

Alessandro's dagger, swift as lightning, precisely and mercilessly sliced open his throat.

Warm blood gushed forth, splattering Isabella's face. Marco's expression froze in extreme shock and agony, and he collapsed like a puppet with all its strings cut, his gun clattering to the ground.

The warehouse instantly fell into deathly silence. The remaining three thugs, terrified by this bloody and swift reversal, fled the warehouse in panic, scrambling to escape.

Alessandro didn't pursue them. In his eyes, there was only the girl who, though covered in blood, still stood firm.

He walked toward her step by step, each step feeling as if he were treading on his own shattered heart. With trembling hands, he undid the last ropes binding her feet.

The moment her restraints were removed, Isabella could no longer support herself. Her body went limp and she began to fall forward.

Alessandro caught her in his arms, using all his strength to hold her tightly against himself, as if trying to merge her into his very flesh and blood.

No words, no kisses.

In this ruin filled with gunpowder smoke and blood, they were like two beasts surviving a storm, desperately drawing warmth and breath from each other. His arms held her so tightly that it hurt, but she had never felt safer. She buried her face in his chest, her nostrils filled with his scent, gunpowder, and the heavy smell of blood—this mixture of odors became the most moving fragrance in the world at that moment.

He lowered his head, rubbing his rough, blood-stained cheek forcefully against her cheeks and hair. It wasn't a kiss, but the most primitive, most wild marking.

They had become each other's destination in life and death. From this moment on, nothing could ever separate them.