Ɲȭ Øɴɇ

The letters twist unnaturally, as if they shift when looked at too long. The symbols seem almost alive, carved into the darkness itself, whispering a secret that no one should ever hear.

The night stretched long and cold, wrapping itself around the city like a funeral shroud. Smoke still curled from the edges of the Bianchi estate, a dark smear against the sky, carrying the scent of blood and fire. The gala was over, the bodies had been counted, and Antonio Bianchi still breathed.

I crouched on the rooftop of a building nearby, the fabric of my mask damp against my skin from the night air. My breath remained steady, though my heart drummed a slow, measured rhythm. Below me, Antonio's men moved in frantic synchronization, their bodies tense, their hands twitching toward their holsters as they dragged away the dead and tended to the wounded.

They had believed themselves untouchable.

Until tonight.

I adjusted my grip on the edge of the rooftop, my gloved fingers pressing against the cool stone. This wasn't over. It had barely begun.

Antonio stood among the wreckage, a dark figure against the dim glow of burning lights. Blood stained his once-pristine shirt, his jacket discarded somewhere amid the chaos. He was still standing—bruised, battered, but very much alive.

And he shouldn't have been.

I had planned for this moment meticulously. Months of preparation, of training, of assembling soldiers willing to die for a cause they didn't even understand. They had been tools—sharp, precise, and entirely disposable.

And yet, despite everything, the moment I had waited for had slipped through my fingers.

Because of her.

My jaw clenched beneath the mask.

Sofia.

She had ruined everything.

The plan had been crafted down to the finest detail. My recruits had been tested mercilessly, drilled until they became weapons of war. They knew nothing of me, only the name I had given them. To them, I was no one. Just a faceless commander, a voice whispering orders in the dark.

They never questioned me. Not when I forced them to endure sleepless nights, not when I drove them past the brink of exhaustion, not even when I sent them to die.

They had served their purpose.

Their deaths had not been in vain.

The attack had been a message, a warning carved into Antonio's very foundation. I had struck at his heart, had made him bleed.

But I had not killed him.

I had wanted to watch him fall, to see the moment the light faded from his eyes.

And I would have.

If Sofia hadn't interfered.

She had thrown herself into the fire for him, fought with the kind of reckless abandon that only came from something deeper than loyalty. She had been desperate to keep him alive.

That wasn't duty.

That was attachment.

It was unacceptable.

Antonio was mine to break.

And she had stolen that from me.

The rooftop beneath me was slick from the evening air, but I didn't move. I remained perched, motionless, my gaze never straying from him. Below, his men gathered, whispering among themselves.

They were afraid.

Good.

Antonio, however, was something else entirely.

He wasn't just angry. He wasn't just looking for vengeance.

He was uncertain.

I saw it in the way he stood, in the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He didn't know who had done this.

He suspected, of course. He had enemies. Rival families, men who envied his power. But none of them had ever dared come at him like this.

None of them had known him well enough to strike where it hurt the most.

I smiled beneath the mask.

Doubt was a beautiful thing.

Doubt could crumble even the strongest of kings.

I reached into the small pouch at my side, fingers brushing against cold metal. The pendant sat heavy in my palm, its engraved edges worn smooth from years of being held. I turned it over between my fingers, feeling its familiar grooves.

An old habit.

A reminder.

A promise.

This pendant had once been a symbol of something else.

Something softer.

Something I had buried long ago.

Something close to love .

Antonio Bianchi had taken everything from me.

And I would return the favor.

His voice cut through the night air, low and hoarse from exhaustion.

"Whoever did this knew exactly where to hit us," Antonio said, his tone sharp, dangerous. "They weren't just trying to kill me. They were trying to dismantle everything."

Sofia smirked beside him, arms crossed. "So? Sounds like someone who really doesn't like you. Must be a long list."

Antonio's gaze flickered to her, dark and unreadable. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

He was starting to doubt her.

I had planted the seed.

Now, I just had to wait for it to grow.

This wasn't over.

The soldiers I had sent had played their part, but they were gone now—dead, scattered, forgotten. It didn't matter. They were replaceable.

I had others.

Ones waiting in the shadows, ones who had yet to be seen.

The next time, there would be no Sofia to pull Antonio back from the brink.

The next time, he wouldn't just be injured.

The next time, I would finish what I started.

The night grew colder, the weight of my mask pressing against my skin as I continued to watch him.

Antonio was a man who had built himself from war. He had been forged in fire and blood, raised to rule with an iron grip.

But even kings could fall.

And I was going to be the one to bring him down.

I turned, disappearing into the shadows, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of my presence.

Because he thought he knew his enemies.

But he didn't know me.

Not yet.

Antonio's POV:

The night felt heavier than usual. The air was thick with the lingering scent of gunpowder, smoke curling from the ruins of the gala like dying breath. The ground was still slick with blood, and the bodies of my men had long since been taken away, but their ghosts remained.

I stood at the edge of it all, bruised, battered, and more uncertain than I had ever been in my life.

The attack had shaken my empire to its core.

It wasn't just an assassination attempt. It was a statement, a deliberate strike against everything I had built. The timing had been too precise, the execution too meticulous. Whoever had orchestrated this knew me—knew my habits, my weaknesses.

And that was what unsettled me the most.

I clenched my jaw, staring at the darkened city skyline beyond the estate.

Who had done this?

The list of my enemies was long, but none of them had the nerve to hit me like this. None of them had the intelligence or patience to plant this much doubt in my mind.

And then there was Isabella.

The name curled like a thorn in my chest, sharp and aching.

I had spent months mourning her, drowning myself in the knowledge that she was gone. That I had lost her. That I had killed her father, and in doing so, had destroyed any chance of ever getting her back.

But now, after tonight, nothing made sense.

The attack. The message. The perfect orchestration of it all.

A cold thought crept into my mind, one I didn't dare acknowledge.

Could Isabella still be alive?

It was a foolish thought. A desperate one.

And yet, it wouldn't leave me.

I had never seen her body. There had been no funeral, no physical evidence beyond that damned video. The one where Sofia had supposedly killed her.

I had believed it. I had felt it.

But what if I had been wrong?

What if someone had wanted me to believe she was dead?

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. This was madness. If Isabella was alive, where was she? 

And why—why in the name of God—would she let me believe she was dead?

I turned, my muscles stiff with exhaustion, my mind fraying at the edges. Enzo stood a few feet away, his usual sharpness dulled by the events of the night. He had taken a bullet to the shoulder, but nothing fatal. The man had seen too many wars to let something like this shake him.

I almost envied him.

"What are you thinking, boss?" he asked, his voice quiet.

I hesitated before answering.

"Whoever did this wasn't just trying to kill me," I murmured. "They wanted me to doubt everything. They wanted to dismantle my mind, not just my empire."

Enzo studied me for a moment. "You think it's personal."

I scoffed. "It feels personal."

He nodded, shifting his stance. "And what about Sofia?"

My jaw tightened at the name.

Sofia.

The woman who had saved my life tonight. The woman who had, for months, stood beside me as both an ally and a mystery.

I had suspected her. I had believed her capable of Isabella's death.

But if she had wanted me dead, she could have let the attackers finish the job. She could have stayed out of it.

Instead, she had fought for me.

Risked her own life for me.

And that... that complicated things.

"She's hiding something," I said finally, my voice low. "She always is. But I don't think she's the enemy."

Enzo gave a dry chuckle. "That's a hell of a shift from a few hours ago."

I exhaled sharply, the weight of the realization settling over me like a vice. "Yeah," I admitted. "It is."

But if Sofia wasn't my enemy...

Then who the hell was?

The estate was quieter now, the chaos of the attack fading into an eerie stillness. I walked through the ruined ballroom, my boots crunching against shattered glass, my fingers trailing over the scorched remains of expensive decor.

Blood smeared the marble floors. My men had cleaned most of it, but some stains could never be erased.

I stopped in front of a bullet-riddled column, pressing my palm against the cold stone.

This had been an execution site.

And I had been the target.

Someone had wanted me dead. Someone who knew my every move, my every weakness.

And yet, they had failed.

Not because of luck.

But because of her.

My mind kept circling back to the same thought, the same possibility that felt too insane to believe.

Isabella.

She had vanished too perfectly. Her death had been too clean. And now, when I was finally regaining control, when I had solidified my place at the top—this happened.

Could it really be her?

Could she have orchestrated all of this?

I shook my head. 

No. 

It is possible.

But if it was—if Isabella Russo was alive—then I had to find her.

And if she was behind this attack?

Then God help us both.

Who do you think the attacker is ?