The dull clang of iron echoed through the high-security prison as Christian Giordano sat on the edge of his cot, staring blankly at the cement walls of his cell. His once raven-black hair had turned a shocking white, a telltale sign of the demon lurking within him, and his piercing crystal-blue eyes reflected nothing but an eerie emptiness. It had been months since the mafia strategist allowed himself to be captured, though the guards didn't know it was by choice. They thought they had finally broken the ghost of Naples—the heartless, cold-blooded monster who led countless heists and spilled blood without hesitation.

Christian barely blinked when the iron door of his cell screeched open, revealing a guard with trembling hands, bringing him his meal.

"Your food," the guard muttered, placing the tray on the floor with shaky fingers. His fear was evident—Christian could hear it in the man's quickened heartbeat, smell it in the sweat beading on his skin.

Without a word or a glance, Christian continued staring ahead, his mind swirling with memories he wished he could bury forever. The cult that ruined his life. His family—once normal, once loving—destroyed by the leader who had decided to use them as tools for a darker purpose. Christian was only a child then, innocent and unsuspecting, but the moment the demon was forced inside him, everything changed.

He could still hear the chants, still feel the scorching pain as the demon merged with his soul, twisting him into something unrecognizable. From that day on, his heart hardened, his humanity slipping away like sand through his fingers. He had become a vessel of destruction, a machine without a conscience. He embraced the demon’s power, using it to terrorize the underworld, commanding respect through fear.

But that power came with a price.

Not yet... Christian thought, his fingers twitching as a familiar dark energy pulsed beneath his skin. He knew he could escape whenever he wanted. The demon inside him craved it, whispered to him in the dead of night, urging