I desperately scanned the room, searching for any opportunity to fight back.

Inside a decorative cabinet against the wall was a handgun I had seen many times before. Marco had once bragged to me that it was a trophy he took after killing a rival.

"Get up. Go to the third floor." Marco jabbed the muzzle of his gun against my head, his tone mocking. "This place reeks of your piss. I don't like it."

I stood and walked toward the cabinet.

Crash!

The sound of shattering glass rang sharply through the room. I grabbed the cold handgun tightly in my hand.

Without hesitation, I moved swiftly behind Mia and pressed the barrel hard against her body.

"Nobody move!" My voice was tight and hoarse.

Marco looked at me and smiled, slowly raising his gun to aim at me.

Sweat seeped into my palms. "Drop the gun! Or I'll shoot immediately! This woman is carrying your child!"

Marco's gun did not waver. The muzzle remained locked on me, cold mockery seeping from his eyes. "Baby, remember this. I'm Marco Rossi. No one threatens me."

My heart sank. It seemed he did not care about Mia's life at all.

I gave him one final warning. "Marco, you'd better think carefully! If you dare harm the child in my womb, you cannot withstand the Godfather's wrath!"

Marco lifted his wrist and checked the time. "In about twenty minutes, the doctor will be here. Don't rush, baby. We have the whole night."

A vulture-like chill spread through his eyes. "Or we can start with a little foreplay."

The words had barely left his mouth.

Bang!

A gunshot exploded.

The bullet, trailing scorching air, grazed my ear. Blinding pain struck. Warm blood slid down my cheek and dripped onto the expensive carpet beneath my feet. It quickly bloomed into a glaring red stain.

Marco flared his nostrils slightly, an intoxicated expression appearing on his face. "I love the smell of gunpowder."

I stared at the blood spreading across the carpet. My mind went blank.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

My heart skipped a beat as I turned toward the entrance.

The men who walked in were not the Godfather's. They were Marco's two trusted soldati. The last shred of hope was shattered before my eyes.

They shoved a thin, frail figure into the room.

Pale and weak, it was Matteo, the brother I depended on, who was gravely ill. The moment I saw him, the last trace of composure in my eyes collapsed.

"Matteo!" I cried out his name. The hand holding the gun trembled uncontrollably.

Marco revealed the cruel smile of a victor and walked straight toward me. He pressed the muzzle of his gun against my chest and deliberately brushed it across my breast. The metal was burning hot against my skin, and yet I shivered uncontrollably.

Marco let out a soft whistle and said casually, "I know your body well. I know your family just as well."

Then he moved the gun directly to Matteo's temple. His tone turned icy.

"I suggest you drop the gun."

Matteo looked at me. There was fear in his eyes, but even more resolve. Using every ounce of strength he had, he shouted, "Lucia, shoot! Don't worry about me! Shoot!"

The moment the words fell, Marco flipped the gun and smashed the butt of it hard against Matteo's neck.

Matteo let out a muffled groan and collapsed limply to the floor, unconscious.

As my world was completely shattered, a scream of despair tore from my throat.

The gun in my hand clattered to the ground.

Marco picked it up and waved it lightly in front of me. He leaned close to my ear, his words cold as wind from hell.

"Let me tell you a secret. This gun wasn't loaded. Only third-rate hunters get bitten by their own hounds."

Before I could react, he grabbed my long hair and dragged me violently up the stairs from the basement to the third floor. He threw me onto a cold bed.

With a signal from him, his men immediately brought out prepared leather restraints and secured my wrists and ankles tightly to the four corners of the bed.

I was bound in a humiliating spread-eagle position, a filthy cloth stuffed into my mouth.

Marco pulled over a chair and sat beside the bed. He lit a cigar and looked at me with feigned pity. "Tramp, you should never have betrayed me. The humiliation you gave me can only be washed away with blood."

Time passed second by second. Every second was torture.

When the cigar was nearly burned out, he slowly stood and gestured.

"Let the doctor in."

The door opened, and the doctor who had been waiting outside entered with a medical case in hand. His face was expressionless. He treated my bound body on the bed as if it were nothing.

Marco tilted his head back and exhaled the last ring of smoke slowly. He looked down at me. The final trace of pity vanished from his face.

"Begin. Get that devil out of her. I want her to watch. That's the price of betrayal."

The doctor removed instruments from the case and walked toward me.

In overwhelming terror, my body convulsed uncontrollably.

At that moment, a violent crashing sound came from downstairs. Then chaotic footsteps and the angry shouts of men.

Before Marco could react, the bedroom door was kicked open from the outside.