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The assassination of the Don sent ripples through the Mafia world. There was a reason even Giovanni hadn’t attempted to kill him, despite their differences.

It would destroy the family’s balance and invite rival families to encroach on their territory.

The incident split them apart. Marcello wasn’t convinced this was a hit ordered by Giovanni. There was no logical reason to take out both father and son.

However, Giovanni had sensed something twisted in Marcello that day — when he’d played Russian Roulette without flinching. It was enough to make him suspect that all of this had been orchestrated by Marcello himself, as a way to blame Giovanni and seize control of both factions.

Two birds, one stone.

This was exactly what Satoshi had planned — and the great divide had finally occurred.

Nakamura heard about the chaos, but he didn’t feel any particular way about it. This was the life he had chosen, after all.

Unlike him, Marcello had been born into it. Nakamura had chosen to leave that life behind, but he also understood that Marcello might never have been given the same choice his father once offered him.

Kurayami was a strange man. He had no hobbies, no social interests, and never left the house except for assignments.

Nakamura had been assigned to care for him — acting almost like his butler — since Kurayami had zero interest in Western culture.

All he cared about was spilling blood.

Nakamura couldn’t understand how someone could live like that. He himself needed air, a walk, some semblance of a normal life. He’d leave for hours and return to find Kurayami sitting in the exact same spot, staring at the same thing.

“That man is strange…” Nakamura muttered to himself.

A week had passed since the so-called “failed” assassination of Marcello.

There was no way a man of Kurayami’s caliber could have missed. Which meant… it had all been intentional.

The Oyabun needed Marcello and Giovanni apart.

Nakamura kept watch on Marcello, observing quietly. He began to notice that Marcello spent most of his days with his daughter.

No matter how busy he was, he always made time for her.

If anything, it showed how loving of a father he was. Nakamura admired that about him — the way he focused on family.

He knew that was what his own father must have wanted for him, too.

But was this truly what it seemed?

No. The truth was, Giovanni was plotting to end the family line once and for all.

“We need to kill him,” one man hissed, clearly irritated by Marcello’s continued existence.

Giovanni didn’t answer immediately. He was starting to connect the dots.

The idea that Marcello had tried to kill him… that seed had been planted in his mind by one of his most trusted right hands — a mole for Satoshi Nakamura.

Satoshi had eyes everywhere despite never stepping foot in the country. That alone was a testament to his growing influence.

He needed the two factions divided — so he could remove Giovanni, take the mantle, and build his own power from the ruins. But first, Marcello had to go.

If Satoshi could control a family, it would open the door to conquering all the others.

He had tried to get Marcello to cooperate. But with the Don dead, Marcello no longer mattered.

If Marcello refused to serve Giovanni, then the next best thing was to pit them against each other until both were gone. With Kurayami’s help, this was achievable.

Marcello, however, had no drive for revenge.

He knew what his father was — a criminal. A man who lived by the sword, and died by it.

Nakamura reported all of this to his father — Marcello’s daily activities, his quiet days spent with his daughter, and nothing more.

But this report… would become the turning point. The final assignment was upon them.

“I wonder what that sociopath is always staring at…” Nakamura thought aloud one night.

In a rare moment, Kurayami had left the house. Nakamura took the opportunity to dig deeper. He accessed Kurayami’s laptop, guessing his password from patterns he’d observed.

The screen flickered to life. Orders from the Oyabun stared back at him.

The next target’s name made his heart freeze.

Angelica.

“W–What!?” he gasped.

—

“Papa, you’re cheating!” Angelica pouted, puffing her cheeks as she clutched her storybook.

It was evening. The sun had barely dipped below the horizon, casting warm hues across the room. Marcello sat beside her, reading aloud, but this time… he wasn’t doing the funny voices she loved so much.

“Hahaha! I’m sorry, my love,” he chuckled softly. “Daddy’s a little tired today.”

He had just lost his father. His family was splintered. Angelica was the only thing he had left to lose.

“What’s wrong, Papa?” she asked, concern flickering in her innocent eyes.

Marcello forced a smile. “The darkness scares me,” he said — but this time, in the silly, frightened tone she adored.

Angelica’s face lit up instantly.

Marcello smiled faintly. Even in this peace, he knew — his sins would catch up to him.

Later, after reading, he went to the kitchen to make dinner. Angelica was upstairs, playing with her toys, when a sudden sound broke the quiet.

Then — a scream.

Marcello’s heart stopped. He dropped everything and sprinted upstairs, bursting into her room. But she was gone.

The window was open.

She’d been taken.

Even in the Mafia world, there were lines no one dared to cross. But in desperate times… who could say what Giovanni was capable of?

Kurayami had taken Angelica.

News of the kidnapping spread quickly to the other branch of the family.

When Giovanni heard, pity washed over him. Pity for his old friend. But that pity turned to realization — and regret.

“The one who did this… it’s the same person who killed the Don,” he muttered, gripping the wheel of his car.

“Damn it! I was stupid!” Giovanni hissed, ready to offer aid to Marcello. He was deep in his own territory, his security light tonight — a fatal mistake.

A soft thwip cut through the air. A bullet, silenced, entered the back of his skull.

He slumped forward, dead.

“Geez… you really are stupid,” the mole muttered, lowering the gun. “Couldn’t just let things be, huh?”

He executed the guards, then turned the gun on himself — a shot to the chest, non-fatal, to make it all look believable.

As the only survivor, he could spin the story however he wished.

No one else would ever know what really happened.

—

Nakamura tracked Kurayami relentlessly. Killing a child… that wasn’t something he could let happen.

But Kurayami was too easy to find. Suspiciously easy.

It reeked of a setup.

The trail led him to an abandoned warehouse. He scanned the dark corners before stepping inside.

“Come in… I’ve been waiting for you,” a voice echoed.

Kurayami.

“Waiting for me?” Nakamura muttered, stepping cautiously through the door.

Inside, Angelica sat bound to a chair, unconscious. Kurayami lounged before her, legs spread, pistol in hand.

“This is—!” Nakamura froze in horror.

“Relax. I haven’t touched her… yet.”

The words made Nakamura’s blood boil.

“What are you doing!?” he demanded.

Kurayami didn’t answer. He just stared at him, expression unreadable.

“Your father spoiled you,” he said finally. “You had all the privileges — and you threw it all away for this soft, peaceful life? How pathetic.”

“What are you talking about!?” Nakamura barked.

Kurayami’s lips curved. “It’s simple. Take this gun… and shoot her. Right between the eyes.”

“I AM NOT KILLING A CHILD!” Nakamura’s voice thundered through the room.

“Then I’ll torture her,” Kurayami said calmly. “I’ll start by tearing out her nails. Maybe worse. But I’m giving you the chance to spare her that. A mercy kill.”

“Does my father know about this!?”

Kurayami sighed. “Does it matter? She’s a target because of your report.”

“My report…?” Nakamura’s eyes widened. “Are you saying this is my fault!?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Her death — her suffering — it’s all on you.”

Nakamura’s breathing quickened. His mind raced. Then, finally… he steadied himself.

“Give me the gun.”

Kurayami smirked and handed it over without hesitation.

“He wouldn’t give me a loaded weapon,” Nakamura thought grimly. “He knows I might turn it on him.”

Still, he aimed the gun at Angelica — and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

Kurayami clapped like a madman. “I didn’t think you’d actually pull it!” he cackled.

Nakamura’s expression didn’t change. “Is this a joke to you?” he said coldly.

Kurayami slid a bullet toward him. “Here. Try again.”

Nakamura loaded it slowly. The barrel turned toward Angelica again — and at the last second, swung toward Kurayami.

He fired.

The bullet struck Kurayami clean in the chest.

The man smiled as he fell, blood spreading beneath him.

“N–Now you’re a killer,” he whispered before going still.

Nakamura didn’t waste a second. He knew what this meant. His father would send another assassin. He couldn’t let the girl live — not publicly.

He staged the scene, using Kurayami’s blood to stain Angelica’s forehead, making it appear as though she’d been shot. The illusion was flawless.

He took a photo, sent it to his father, and set the warehouse ablaze.

But by morning, there was no report of a body inside.

He had smuggled the girl to the nearest hospital. The blow to her head had caused memory loss — a tragedy that turned out to be a blessing.

It made it easier for her to disappear.

Nakamura took responsibility for her quietly, ensuring she lacked nothing.

—

Marcello never saw his daughter again.

The original plan was to have him take his own life in exchange for hers. But Kurayami had never intended to keep that promise.

Nakamura had changed everything — and in doing so, broke something inside Marcello.

He lost it.

When he heard of Giovanni’s death — a death orchestrated by the mole who thought Satoshi would protect him — he snapped completely.

Marcello reunited his fractured family through blood, crushing every trace of rebellion. Then, wary of Giovanni’s remaining men, he executed them all — including the mole.

From that bloodbath, a new Marcello was born.

And from his madness, an ideal was forged:

To create a family so strong that no one could ever break it again.

Even if it meant losing his humanity forever.