Leon's POV
I shouldn't be doing this.
That thought had been repeating in my head since the moment I stepped foot inside the Moretti estate.
The mission was simple.
Clear.
Brutally straightforward.
Sneak. Warn. Die.
That was it.
No room for curiosity.
No room for hesitation.
No room for… this.
Yet here I was.
Moving through shadows that didn't belong to me, ducking behind walls, slipping past guards like a ghost that didn't want to be seen—but somehow still wanted to look.
For her.
Mr. Moretti's sister.
I didn't even know why.
Maybe it was curiosity.
Maybe…
It was because I knew I wouldn't live long enough to see anything else.
It was nearing evening now.
I had been inside the estate since last night.
And getting in?
That alone almost got me killed.
Guards.
Everywhere.
Not just posted.
Not just standing around like decoration.
No.
They moved.
They watched.
They thought.
This wasn't just security.
This was control.
The Moretti estate was… insane.
Huge didn't even begin to cover it.
Sixteen mansions.
Sixteen.
I had counted twice just to be sure I wasn't hallucinating.
Each one different.
Each one guarded.
Each one probably hiding secrets that would get me killed faster than a bullet.
Even Vincenzo didn't have this kind of scale.
Ten mansions.
That's what his estate had.
And I used to think that was excessive.
Now?
It felt small.
I was currently inside the largest mansion.
Which, ironically…
Had no guards.
That alone made my instincts scream.
Too quiet.
Too clean.
Too easy.
I moved carefully, opening doors one after another, my fingers steady despite the tension coiling in my chest.
Room after room.
Nothing.
Then—
A door.
Pink.
I stopped.
…Seriously?
I almost laughed.
"Bingo," I muttered under my breath.
It had to be hers.
No one else here would have something like that.
My hand hovered over the handle.
And for the first time since entering this place—
I hesitated.
What if she's inside?
What if she sees me?
What if she screams?
I froze.
Yeah.
That would be… a terrible way to die.
No.
Just a peek.
Just one look.
That's all.
I slowly pushed the door open—just a fraction.
My eye aligned with the gap.
Pink walls.
Soft lighting.
LED strips glowing faintly along the ceiling.
A painting setup.
Brushes.
Canvas.
Color.
But no one.
I opened the door a little wider.
Still empty.
I exhaled.
Didn't even realize I was holding my breath.
"She's not here…"
Something about that felt… disappointing.
I stepped back and closed the door quietly.
This was stupid.
I needed to finish the mission.
Not wander around like some curious idiot.
Outside.
Fresh air hit my face as I slipped into the garden area.
I crouched behind a bush, pulling out my revolver.
Cold metal.
Familiar weight.
Comforting in a way it shouldn't be.
"Last kill," I whispered.
My fingers tightened slightly.
I aimed.
A guard stood a few meters away, unaware.
Still.
Focused.
Alive.
For now.
Bang.
The shot echoed.
Clean.
Precise.
The bullet pierced through his chest.
He dropped instantly.
No struggle.
No sound.
Just… gone.
The second guard turned immediately.
Fast.
Alert.
Good instincts.
Too bad they weren't enough.
"Hey you!" he shouted, pulling out his gun.
I stepped out from behind the bush.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Hands raised.
Revolver dropped into the grass.
"I just want to see Mr. Moretti," I said.
He didn't hesitate.
He fired.
I moved—
But not fast enough.
The bullet grazed the tip of my ear.
Pain exploded instantly.
Sharp.
Burning.
Warm blood trickled down the side of my face.
I didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
"I request to see Mr. Moretti," I repeated.
My voice steadier than I felt.
The guard approached carefully, grabbing my arm roughly.
"You're coming with me."
____________________☆_____________
Nine days.
That's how long I stayed in that cell.
Nine days of damp walls.
Nine days of silence.
Nine days of waiting.
Waiting for death.
Waiting for him.
At some point…
I stopped feeling time.
Stopped feeling hunger.
Stopped feeling fear.
Everything just… blurred.
Death didn't seem so bad anymore.
It felt like an exit.
A quiet one.
Then—
Footsteps.
The door opened.
Light spilled in.
Two figures walked in.
I recognized him immediately.
Alessandro Moretti.
Even without introduction.
Even without confirmation.
You just… knew.
Power like that didn't need a name.
And beside him—
Another man.
Sharp eyes.
Dangerous presence.
Mr. Russo
They were talking.
But their voices felt distant.
Muted.
Like I was already halfway gone.
Dante grabbed my collar suddenly, pulling me up.
"Speak," he demanded.
I looked at him.
Then at Alessandro.
And smiled faintly.
"S'il te plaît…" I whispered.
Please.
In French.
Just like Vincenzo said.
Mr. Russo's expression twisted in disgust.
"French?" he muttered.
Good.
That meant it was working.
Silence followed.
Then—
I spoke.
"Il arrive… il la connaît… il va la tuer… il veut se venger…"
My voice felt heavy.
Distant.
"Il va la tuer… son nom est—"
I stopped.
Let my body go limp.
Collapsed.
Still breathing.
Barely.
But enough.
Dante didn't notice.
Too focused.
Too tense.
Alessandro…
He looked different.
Not confused.
Not angry.
Concerned.
Mission accomplished.