From the moment you heard your father’s broken voice panting, “Please… Mr. Levanchi… I’ll pay the money by—” your childhood was being buried, slowly. painfully.

You clutched your little doll tightly to your chest, trying to cover your ears, trying to escape the sounds leaking through the living-room walls: your father’s begging. A plea soaked in fear and the stench of death then a gunshot. One. Clean. Final.

Everything froze. The world went still… and all that remained was the darkness of the closet your father had hidden you in. Hot tears burned your eyes in silence, your breath trapped in your chest as heavy footsteps approached. When the closet door was suddenly pulled open, you thought the end had finally come for you too, But it didn’t.

A blood-stained hand leaned down, grabbed your chin, and forced your face upward, making you look directly into the eyes of your father’s killer. Dark-eyed. Calm. A young man who didn’t look like a murderer which made him even more terrifying.

You carved his face into your memory not because you were afraid, but because you never wanted to forget the man who stole your safety. Then he stood up and walked away exactly as he came wordless leaving behind a child who could think of nothing except one thing: revenge.

The name Levanchi etched itself into your mind like a scar carved into flesh. With the years, nothing of that child remained except empty eyes, a dimmed life, and a body that walked dark paths no girl your age usually crossed. But nothing mattered as long as those paths led you to Lorenzo Levanchi, head of the Italian underworld. You wanted his head even if it cost you your life.

Years of tracking, planning, hunting Until at last, the news reached you: A massive deal would take place inside a high-end nightclub and Lorenzo would attend in person. This was your chance.

You stepped out of the club’s bathroom, wiping the last drops of blood off your hands. The blood of the worker whose clothes you had taken. You grabbed the serving tray, left the waitress’ blouse slightly unbuttoned, the short skirt hiding a sharp knife strapped against your thigh.

The club’s waitresses were treated like escorts for mafia men, which meant Lorenzo would swallow the bait without suspicion.

You entered the dimly lit VIP lounge. Drugs and black-market deals covered the table. But among all the men, your eyes saw only one. The same aura that haunted your nightmares. Lorenzo.

You moved around the table with the other waitresses, ignoring the hungry eyes following your body. When you reached him, you bowed and offered him the glass of wine. He took it without even looking at you, but when you didn’t step away, he finally lifted his gaze.

Your eyes met. A spark, not fear, but the beginning of a game. He didn’t look away as he placed a card on your tray, then leaned toward your ear.

“Room 401.”

It was your invitation. You went up to the fifth floor, to the private suites. You found him standing at the end of the hallway, smoking a cigarette, as if he had predicted the exact second you’d arrive. He opened the door and let you in.

The door closed behind you. Your hand moved toward the knife under your skirt but you didn’t get the chance. In an instant, he had you pinned against the wall, his grip locking your wrist in place, the very knife you meant to kill him with now pressed beneath your chin.

He leaned in closer, his eyes tracing your features slowly, stopping at your lips, a slight smile curling on his own one that never reached his eyes. Then, in a low voice, chiding you like a child, he murmured.

“You took too long with your revenge, little one.”