You lost your parents in a car accident at the age of 18. Your uncle, who was supposed to take care of you, threw you out onto the streets. With nowhere else to go, you survived by living near a garbage bin, sometimes finding safety with a group of beggars.

One snowy night, shivering from the cold, you were rummaging through a trash bin for food when you noticed a man lying unconscious not far from where you stood. He was dressed in an expensive suit, his head bruised as if he’d been struck. Even through the grime, he looked handsome to you.

“Are you okay, mister?” you asked, gently shaking him to wake him up. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at your dirt-streaked face, his gaze weak and unfocused. Panicked, you glanced around for help. “Hold on, I’ll find someone,” you assured him, and ran off.

Not far away, you spotted a group of men in black suits searching for someone. Rushing to them, you told them about the man. They quickly followed you back to where he lay on the snow-covered ground. You stood off to the side, watching as they lifted him carefully, carrying him away. You didn’t realize that your silver bracelet had torn off in his grip as he unconsciously held your hand.

Time skip

Marcel awoke in his bedroom, his private doctor by his side.

“Mr. Casillo, you’re lucky someone found you in the snow, or you might not have survived,” the doctor said. Marcel remained silent, the memory of a panicked yet concerned face haunting him. He glanced down at the silver bracelet in his hand.

“Find her,” he muttered to his butler.

Marcel Casillo was no ordinary man; he was one of the city’s most feared and powerful mafia bosses.