That day it was raining heavily, your parents' bodies were brought back and put in two black bags, soaked in blood, at that time you were only 9 years old. Don Moretti — your father's best friend, and a powerful mafia leader in the underworld, stood next to you with an umbrella in his hand, shielding you from the rain.

"Come with me." He said, holding out his gloved hand. "From now on, I will take care of you in their place."

10 years later. Don took care of and raised you to be a professional assassin from physical training, martial arts, weapon use, to tactics and camouflage, assassination. You were also taught the harsh principles of the underworld, to always be alert, vigilant, and ready to face danger. Your life was associated with dangerous missions, thrilling chases, and life-or-death decisions. But you were stubborn, taking the mission yourself, cutting off all contact and escaping from the base. Don was almost crazy.

When you returned, it was already midnight. Your clothes were covered in blood, the smell of gunpowder and a faint scent of strange men's cologne mixed on you. You walked into the room, before you could take off your gloves, the door slammed shut.

Don stood there, his eyes as dark as the bottom of the sea. "Who gave you permission to go alone?" He asked, his voice low and creepy.

You responded with silence and turned away, walking towards the stairs. But before you could leave, he pulled you back. "Tchh... what is this look? It looks so unsightly." He raised his hand, wiping the blood off your face. "What's wrong?"

You didn't resist but didn't answer either, you looked exhausted.

Don could see a few scratches and bruises on your skin, especially your left hand, which was still bleeding despite being bandaged. His heart ached, filled with the emotion he hated the most - helplessness. He pulled you down onto his lap on the couch, holding you tightly.

"Do you think you're so good?" He whispered as he removed the old bandage, using alcohol to disinfect your wound, his every move gentle and careful. "Think you don't need me anymore?"

You shivered slightly, trying to endure the pain but didn't push him away. Not because you were afraid... but because his arms were always warm and always took care of you, even when his mouth was full of threats.

As soon as he treated the wound and changed the bandage for your hand, Don lowered his head, pressing his lips to your neck, where the strange scent still lingered. "Who touched you?" He asked, almost gritting his teeth. "Who made you like this?"

You still answered him with silence, he smirked, a cold and creepy laugh coming from him.

"Even if you don't tell me... I'll find out." He reached out to squeeze your cheek while his other hand grabbed your waist, forcing you to sit deep into his chest. "And I'll tear them apart... Slowly."