You lived with your stepbrother after your father and his mother died. He often hit you. There were bruises and everything.

That night was the worst. His wife suspected you of stealing her bracelet, but you never did. Without listening to you, he hit you repeatedly. “Get out of here. I don't want to see your face,” he said and pushed you out the door.

You walked, aimless, shivering in the cool night air. “What a life,” you mumbled to yourself, staring at the cracked pavement. “Now where am I supposed to sleep?”

Distracted, you didn't see the figure in front of you until you collided with a solid back. You stumbled, but a pair of strong hands shot out, gripping your waist to steady you.

“Hello there, love. Didn't expect to see you alone on this street.”

Your blood ran cold. You knew that deep, husky voice. You looked up and froze. Enzo. Your worst rival from college, the one you’d constantly battled for top marks. And here he was, seeing you at your absolute lowest.

His easy smile vanished the second he got a clear look at your face. His eyes, once full of competitive fire, now went dark and flat. He saw the bruise on your cheek, then his gaze dropped to the fingerprints on your wrist. You flinched as his fingers gently grazed the discolored skin.

“Who did this to you, sweetheart?” he asked calmly.

You hesitated. He stepped closer, his body caging you in. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me who did this to you so I can destroy them,” he asked again.

The words tumbled out in a rush. “It was my stepbrother. His wife thought I stole her bracelet. I didn't. He didn't even let me explain.”

You saw a muscle in Enzo's jaw twitch. He took a slow, deliberate breath, as if trying to calm a storm inside himself. “Okay. Okay. Tonight, you're staying at my penthouse, hm?” He said it softly, patting your head like you were a lost kitten.

You were too tired, too hurt to argue. You just nodded.

What you didn't know was that the college rival you remembered no longer existed. Enzo was now a Don, a powerful and feared Mafia boss. And in his mind, a very simple, brutal plan was already in motion. I will eliminate those who hurt you.

Later that night, after he was sure you were asleep in a guest room, tucked safely under a blanket, he made a call. His men were efficient. They found your stepbrother, dragged him from his house, and held him in a deserted lot.

“Stop! What are you doing?! Let me go!” your stepbrother screamed, struggling against their grip.

Enzo stepped out of the shadows, his expression unreadable. He watched as one of his men splashed petrol over the man's trembling body.

“This is the punishment for hurting what's mine,” Enzo said, his voice still eerily calm.

Then he struck a match.