After that night, Alexander threw me into solitary confinement. I didn't see the sun for a week.  

The scabs on my body had barely formed when the order came down.  

Sophia was going to Milan for a high-profile jewelry auction—a classic front for money laundering. She specifically requested me as her detail.  

I wanted to refuse. But the Consigliere delivered the message with icy precision: "Ivy, the Don says this is a direct order. A Soldato does not have the right to say no. If you refuse, he cannot guarantee Lily's safety."  

I let out a hollow laugh, grabbed my gun, and climbed into the passenger seat of the armored Lincoln limousine.  

In the back, Sophia was snuggled deep into Alexander’s embrace, playfully twisting his silk tie around her finger.  

When she saw me in the rearview mirror, a flash of triumph lit up her eyes. She pitched her voice high and sweet. "Darling, aren't you being too careful making Ivy come along? With you here, who would dare touch me? Didn't Naples and Sicily sign a truce?"  

Alexander glanced at the back of my head, his tone indifferent. "The blade might be dull, but it can still block a bullet if necessary."  

Block a bullet.  

Those three words were nails driven straight into my heart.  

We were winding along the cliffs of the Amalfi Coast when hell broke loose.  

"Ambush! It's a Vendetta hit from the rival family!"  

Before I could react, a heavy-duty truck loaded with explosives roared out from a side road, T-boning the limousine.  

BOOM.  

The impact crumpled the chassis like aluminum foil, sending the car spinning out of control and slamming into the mountain face.  

In that split second between life and death, Alexander didn't hesitate and threw himself over Sophia, shielding her body with his own.

Meanwhile, in the front seat, the dashboard had collapsed, pinning my legs, and shrapnel pierced my abdomen.  

Blood gushed out, soaking the driver's seat.  

My vision blurred, but I could hear the sirens and the screech of tires as our Quick Response Force arrived.  

Someone was prying open the rear door.  

"Don! Are you alright?"  

Alexander climbed out, carrying Sophia bridal style. 

Sofia had only a small scratch on her forehead, yet she let out a piercing scream.

"Check Sophia! Now!" Alexander roared, his voice thick with panic.  

The team leader looked at the front of the car, where flames were licking at the engine block. "Don, Ivy is trapped in the front. She's critical, we should..."  

"I said save Sophia first! Her face can't be damaged!" Alexander cut him off with a violent shout. He didn't even glance at the wreckage where I was bleeding out. "Ivy is an experienced Soldato. She won't die that easily. Let her wait for the second wave!"  

Let her wait...  

But the fire was already eating through the firewall.  

I slumped over the steering wheel, watching through the smoke as the man I loved sprinted toward the ambulance with an unscathed Sophia in his arms. He didn't look back. Not once.  

So, that was the answer.  

Instinct never lies.  

Ten years of bleeding for this family, ten years of loyalty, couldn't outweigh a shallow wound on the forehead of a Mafia Princess.  

The heat began to sear my skin. I didn't feel pain anymore. I felt relief.  

Maybe it's better to die like this.  

Alexander, I am returning this life to you.  

If there is a next life, I pray we never meet again.

But I didn’t die. They pulled me out before the car exploded. My abdominal wound was crudely stitched up. 

Before the thread was even tied off, Alexander ordered his men to take me onto the aft deck of his private yacht. 

I shivered uncontrollably, blood already seeping through the fresh gauze. 

Alexander sat under a parasol on a plush leather sofa.

“She's the one who leaked our whereabouts!” Sophia kicked me in the injured stomach, causing blood to gush out.

A flicker of worry crossed Alexander's eyes, but he quickly concealed it, his face turning icy as he asked, “What evidence do you have?”

Sophia smiled smugly, tossing out a bunch of photos of me meeting with rival families.

My vision was already blurry. “I didn’t… these are photoshopped…”

"The metadata matches!" Sophia interrupted, pulling her hand free and pouting. "Alex, the Commission has seen them. If you don't punish a traitor, the other families will think you are weak. They will think you are protecting a rat just because you slept with her!"

Alexander rubbed his temples.

"She needs to be punished," Sophia insisted, her voice softening into a reasonable, manipulative coo. "But I know you care about old times. So, let's just do a 'Drag Run'. It's traditional, it satisfies the family laws, but it doesn't have to be lethal."

Alexander hesitated. "A Drag Run with fresh stitches? It could kill her."

"Not if we go slow," Sophia lied smoothly, stroking his shoulder. "Just a few minutes at low speed. Just to show the other boats we are enforcing the law. I'll drive. I promise, I’ll just create a little foam. I won't hurt her."

Suddenly, his satellite phone rang. It was the frantic ringtone reserved for the Elders.

He answered it, his face darkening immediately. "What? The shipment in the harbor is under fire? I'm on my way to the comms room."

He stood up, looking at Sophia sternly. "Fine. Do the Drag Run to satisfy the code. But listen to me, Sophia—keep the yacht under 10 knots. If she dies, there will be hell to pay."

"I promise, darling. Go handle business," Sophia smiled like an angel.

Alexander glanced at me one last time before turning and rushing into the cabin.

After he left, bodyguards stepped forward. They tied a thick hemp rope around my wrists, securing the other end to the tow hook of the speedboat. 

It was a punishment Cosa Nostra reserved for traitors.

It was usually a slow torture, dragging a traitor through the water to simulate drowning.

But Sophia shot me a look of pure, venomous malice, jumped into the driver's seat, and slammed the throttle all the way down. 

VROOOM! 

The speedboat shot forward like an arrow. 

I was yanked violently off the deck and into the churning wake. 

At this speed, water hits you like concrete. 

My body smashed against the surface, skipping like a stone. Every impact was a sledgehammer to the chest. 

The fresh stitches in my stomach tore open instantly. Saltwater flooded the cavity—a pain so blinding it felt like a thousand knives twisting at once. 

"Gah—!" I tried to gasp for air, but a wave slammed into my face, filling my lungs with brine. The suffocation was instant and terrifying. 

Sophia wasn't done. She started cutting S-turns, weaving the boat aggressively. 

Centrifugal force whipped me back and forth. I tumbled through the wake, consciousness fading in and out. Behind me, the white foam of the sea was stained with a long, trailing ribbon of red.

I don't know how much time passed before they fished me out. By the time I hit the deck, I had gone into hypovolemic shock.  

Alexander jammed a needle of adrenaline straight into my heart, dragging me back from the gates of hell.  

"Since you're not dead, stop acting weak," Alexander spat the words at my heaving chest. Then, he wrapped his arm around a still-trembling Sophia and led her back to the luxury cabin.  

I retched, coughing up seawater onto the teak deck. My hands, shaking uncontrollably, fumbled for the encrypted satellite phone in my pocket.  

The screen lit up. A message from a familiar ID popped up.  

It was a photo.  

The background was a dim, filthy chemical lab. Lily was strapped to a surgical table, tubes inserted into her veins, her eyes unfocused and rolling back.  

The caption beneath it read: [Neapolitan suburbs, abandoned chemical plant. Camorra's new synthetic drug trials. The girl has a high tolerance. The Red Light District was just a cover; this is her real home.]  

The last string of sanity in my mind severed.  

Luca had lied. He hadn't sent Lily to a brothel; he had sent her to a Camorra drug factory.  

That rabid dog was using my baby sister as a live lab rat for high-purity heroin.  

I forced myself up and dropped a spare zodiac boat into the water.  

I tore toward the shore like a woman possessed.  

Naples outskirts. Abandoned chemical plant. Sub-basement level 3.  

I was dripping wet, looking like a nemesis crawling out of the abyss. 

The two Camorra guards at the entrance didn't even see a shadow before I slit their throats. They dropped without a sound.  

I was a top-tier Soldato trained by Cosa Nostra. Even half-dead, slaughtering these watchdogs was child's play.  

When I kicked open the lab doors, my heart stopped.  

Lily... she was barely recognizable. Her pale skin was covered in festering red rashes—rejection reactions from the chemicals. 

Her limbs convulsed, white foam bubbled at her lips, and her eyes were empty. 

Her hospital gown was torn open. Her inner thighs were covered in dark, violent purple bruises shaped like fingers. 

There were bite marks on her neck and chest, and dried blood matted between her legs.

Luca stood there in a white coat. "Increase the dosage! The purity of this Colombian batch is incredible!"  

"LUCA!"  

My scream tore through the lab.  

Luca’s hand jerked, dropping the syringe.  

He spun around in terror, only to see me—covered in blood, holding a submachine gun I’d ripped from a dead guard’s hands.  

Bang! Bang!  

Luca’s knees exploded in a mist of red. He collapsed into a pile of shattered glass, screaming.  

"Aaaargh! My legs! Ivy, you bitch, are you crazy? This is Camorra territory!"  

I didn't listen. I stormed forward and stomped my heavy combat boot directly onto his groin. I ground my heel down until I felt the crush.  

Another sickening crunch echoed. Luca passed out from the pain.  

I frantically cut the restraints binding Lily. I looked at the needle tracks covering her arms, and tears finally broke through. "Lily, I'm here. Ivy is here. I'm taking you home..."  

Suddenly, alarms blared.  

Killers were swarming the facility.  

I raided Luca’s safe, grabbed several bricks of C4, and coldly set the timers. "If this is hell, let's burn it clean."  

BOOM—!  

Amidst the chain reaction of blasts, I carried my semi-conscious sister on my back, crawling through the ventilation shafts.  

After escaping the blast zone, I slumped behind a tree and dialed the number that had sent me the photo. 

It was Viktor, the largest Russian arms dealer in Europe. He had been trying to poach me from Alexander for years.

"It's me," I rasped, my voice laced with finality. "I need a chopper. Now. And I need the best trauma surgeon money can buy."  

The voice on the other end paused. "Did the Sicilian let you go?"  

I looked down at my dying sister. The light in my eyes died, replaced by a bottomless abyss of hate.  

"He didn't. So I'm starting a war."