His Villain

47

His hand slammed against the wall, a surge of pain shooting through him as blood trickled from his wounded palm. With a heavy heart, he turned, his eyes scanning the wreckage that was once his office. The furniture lay shattered, no longer an architectural marvel to behold. It resembled the aftermath of a ferocious storm, leaving nothing untouched by its brutal force.

He refused to accept the truth that his sister was responsible for all of this. The betrayal had struck him with a profound sense of outrage, but there were unanswered questions still lingering in his mind. She could have easily killed him, yet she didn't. Why would she be involved with the government? Why did she help Ziana in kidnapping Delrico? He knew that if the under capo of the mafia lost touch with his assigned tasks, suspicions would arise about his capabilities. But she could have put an end to it all by killing him. This suggested that there was more to the situation, perhaps another trap.

His gaze shifted to the phone in his other hand. It was her second phone, concealed in her room. When he ordered a thorough search of its contents, they found nothing. All traces had been meticulously removed, no contact numbers or messages left behind.

There were three questions that haunted him:

Who was the Godfather?

What arrangements were made to forge this alliance between them?

Which ports were used to smuggle imports and exports?

A prickling sensation in his mind reminded him of Celia's words. Dalia knew about this organization. The first two questions made no sense to him, but the last one captured his full attention.

She had never known which ports he used for smuggling or the timing of his operations. Such information was strictly confidential, known only to him, Alessia, Delrico, and the dealer-no one else.

Alessia couldn't possibly be involved. She would sooner take her own life than deceive him. It was no joke when he announced he trusted her more than his own sister.

Could it be Celia again?

No, it couldn't be Celia this time. She seemed genuinely disturbed by the situation.

After much deliberation, he resolved to hunt down everyone involved, even if it meant eliminating his own sister. He gave himself a strict timeline-two months-to exact his revenge.

They would pay dearly, he vowed.

A faint knock interrupted his thoughts, furrowing his brows in annoyance. He had explicitly instructed everyone not to disturb him. When the door opened without his permission, his fists clenched, and his jaw tightened in pain. Before he could unleash a barrage of profanities, the intruder peeked through the slightly ajar door, her expression filled with horror. His fists relaxed, his jaw eased as he studied her gaze on his bloodied hand. She lifted her eyes to meet his, closing the distance between them. Her hesitant steps brought her closer, her gaze shifting to his other hand holding the phone, then downward, scanning his body for any other injuries. She continued her leisurely approach until a few meters separated them. His eyes once again fixed on her petite figure.

Taking his bloodied hand in hers, she examined the wound. Her thumb grazed over his wrist, her eyes moistening. "Does it hurt?" she murmured.

He was taken aback by her unexpected display of emotion. His shocked expression transformed into inscrutable composure as he withdrew his hand from her grasp, turning away. With a firm tone, he ordered her, "Leave."

"Let me help-" she began, but before she could finish her sentence, he turned around and yelled at her, "Fucking leave! If you don't want to face the consequences, go!" She visibly flinched at his tone and wasted no time in turning around to leave.