A Waitress Turned Pale the Moment She Saw My Daughter—Then Sophia Stood Up for the First Time in Three Years.

The grand marble foyer of the Moretti mansion was a warzone of shattered glass, fallen chandeliers, and drifting gunsmoke.

Captain Victor Sabato—a sixty-year-old silver-haired traitor in a blood-stained suit—stepped through the ruined front entrance, flanked by his last four surviving mercenaries. He held an automatic rifle, his face twisted in a desperate, psychotic rage as he realized his coup was failing.

"MORETTI!" Sabato screamed into the echoing hall, his voice hoarse over the thunder outside. "Come out, Luca! You think you can hide behind your dead empire?! I should have finished your daughter three years ago!"

Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadowed archway of the grand staircase.

Luca Moretti walked slowly into the center of the foyer. His black dress shirt was torn, soaked with rain and gunpowder, his dark brown hair swept back haphazardly, his piercing eyes burning with an absolute, terrifying rage. He held his custom black sidearm at his side, his broad frame dominating the ruined hall.

"Sabato," Luca growled, his deep baritone echoing off the high marble walls like a death sentence.

Sabato raised his rifle, but before he could pull the trigger, Luca moved with blinding, lethal speed.

Luca raised his sidearm and fired three rapid, precise shots. The thunderous blasts shattered the quiet of the foyer as three of Sabato’s mercenaries collapsed instantly to the marble floor.

The fourth mercenary fired a burst toward Luca, but Luca dove behind a heavy marble pillar, returning fire with fluid, deadly accuracy. The final mercenary fell, leaving only Sabato standing in the center of the room.

Sabato’s rifle clicked empty. He dropped the weapon in terror, scrambling backward toward the shattered glass doors, pulling a silver hunting knife from his belt.

Luca stepped out from behind the pillar. He threw his empty sidearm onto the marble floor, choosing to face the traitor with his bare hands.

"You took three years of my daughter's life," Luca said, his voice dropping into a raspy, terrifying register as he stepped toward Sabato, his tattooed hands clenching into massive fists. "You made her suffer in a chair."

Sabato lunged forward with the knife, slashing wildly, but Luca dodged the blade with terrifying ease. Luca grabbed Sabato’s wrist, twisting it until the bone snapped with a loud CRACK. The knife clattered onto the marble.

Luca drove his massive fist directly into Sabato’s jaw, throwing the old traitor onto his back against the shattered entrance steps.

Luca stood over the bleeding traitor, his chest heaving beneath his torn shirt, his dark eyes staring down with cold, absolute dominance.