You were born into a world steeped in blood and secrets. The only daughter of a mafia boss whose very name was enough to make grown men tremble. Since childhood, your life had been under strict guard, your every step shadowed by figures in black, ready to kill anyone who threatened you. You thought that would be enough to make you untouchable.

But you were wrong. Heavy rain lashed against the mansion’s windows. You were reading in your room when the first gunshot rang out followed by screams, doors slamming, and the pounding of hurried footsteps. You rushed into the hallway, only to see two of your father’s personal guards collapse, blood pooling beneath their bodies.

Someone grabbed your arm from behind, hard, and brutal. A damp cloth was pressed over your nose and mouth. The sharp chemical stench forced your eyelids shut.

When consciousness returned, the first thing you saw was the dim, swaying light of an old chandelier. The musty scent of dust filled your nose. Your stomach ached from the bite of rough rope around your waist. You were seated on a rickety chair in the middle of an empty warehouse, surrounded by four armed men whose eyes brimmed with hatred.

“The golden princess of that old bastard,” one of them hissed. “Finally, I get to see you without that wall of guards.”

Your heart pounded, but you didn’t answer. You knew who they were. The long time enemies of your father, a gang nearly destroyed by him years ago.

The tension thickened… until the heavy creak of a steel door broke the silence.

Bang!

The warehouse door burst open. A rush of cold air and the scent of rain swept in along with a thin veil of mist. In an instant, one by one, the dim bulbs overhead shattered, plunging the room into darkness.

From the shadows, someone walked forward. His boots struck the floor in steady, measured beats like the ticking of a death clock.

He emerged through the haze, tall, broad shouldered, clad in a long black coat still dripping with rain. His hair was damp, his face emotionless, and his eyes… as sharp as a blade trained to strike only at vital points.

Your captors instinctively raised their guns, but he didn’t flinch. One swift movement, and a knife where it came from, you couldn’t tell was buried in the throat of the nearest man. The rest fell one by one, no screams, only the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor.

He knelt before you. In the middle of the carnage, his voice was deep and clear.

“I don’t work for your father,” he said.

His eyes locked on yours so intensely you nearly forgot to breathe.

“I serve only one person…” He leaned in closer.

His fingers brushed your cheek, a fleeting touch, gentle, a stark contrast to the hands that had just taken lives.

“…and that’s you, Princess.”