"Look at that," murmured the middle-aged man softly, a sly grin curling on his lips. His hand adjusted the focus of the telescope, his gaze fixed on the backyard of the mansion. "Barack Arthur… with his wife… and that sweet girl. What a touching sight."
Beside him, a tall, broad-shouldered young man stood silently. His jet-black hair matched the black shirt that clung perfectly to his athletic frame. His cold, hateful eyes stared at the mansion with quiet intensity.
"So… tonight we're going to kill him, huh?" the younger man asked bluntly, his voice flat but thick with menace.
The older man lowered the telescope and turned to him with a wicked grin. The lines on his face were faintly visible under the glow of the moonlight.
"Yes. Make sure he doesn't get away tonight, Nathan."
Nathan — the feared mafia don whose name sent shivers throughout the city — said nothing. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. Though he was no stranger to killing, taking orders from this man — his own foster father — never sat well with him.
"Fine." Nathan finally spoke, his eyes never leaving the mansion. "Gerald and I will move at midnight. At exactly two, Barack Arthur will be dead. I'll make sure you hear the news before dawn."
The older man chuckled darkly, a deep, satisfied laugh.
"Good… good, my boy." He lifted the telescope again, his gaze settling once more on the figure of Barack Arthur, embracing his wife. "Barack Arthur… enjoy your birthday celebration. Because tonight… you die."
---
Late into the night, the grand birthday party had long ended. Distinguished guests had left the Arthur mansion, leaving behind an eerie silence. The soft glow of crystal chandeliers in the luxurious hallways was dimmed. Yet, on the second floor, inside the private study, the master of the house remained wide awake.
Barack Arthur, the most influential tycoon in the city, sat in front of his laptop, his face tense. On the screen, rows of photos and digital documents filled the page — a secret report about a mafia syndicate operating under the guise of legitimate businesses.
Barack rubbed his face, his breath heavy. His eyes stopped at one particular photo… his own. An old picture from a charity gala the year before.
"Damn it…" Barack muttered under his breath. "So it's true… I'm their next target."
His hand clenched the mouse. Just then, a faint scraping sound reached his ears — like the wind brushing against the windowpane.
Cklek… cklek…
Barack turned his head cautiously. He rose to his feet and slowly made his way toward the glass window leading to the balcony. The garden lights outside still glimmered, but the place was empty. No one was there.
He let out a long breath, though the uneasiness inside him didn't fade. Barack grabbed the thick curtains and pulled them shut tightly.
"Paranoid…" he told himself. "But still… tomorrow, I'll double the security. Every entrance will be guarded. I'm not taking any chances."
As he turned around—
"Good evening… Mr. Arthur."
Barack jolted in shock. His eyes widened at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man seated casually in his office chair, one leg crossed over the other, a pistol in his right hand.
"You… Nathan…?" Barack's voice caught in his throat.
Nathan Xander grinned, his cold, merciless stare as familiar as it was chilling. Known in the underworld as the ruthless leader of a notorious mafia family — and now, here he was, in Barack's study.
"Looks like you've learned quite a bit about my organization's little secrets, haven't you?" Nathan sneered.
Barack clenched his jaw. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"Barack… you were too busy throwing yourself a party to notice your back door was left unlocked," Nathan replied, standing up as he spun the pistol around his finger. "But relax… I'm still giving you a chance."
"A chance for what?"
"Your final words." Nathan raised the pistol, aiming it directly at Barack's chest.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway.
"Barack?!"
A woman in a satin nightgown rushed inside. Her long hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Nathan and the weapon in his hand.
"Who are you?!" she screamed in panic. "What are you doing here?!"
"Hana, get out of here!" Barack shouted.
Hana — his heavily pregnant wife — stood frozen in place. "You…" she whispered, trembling. "Nathan Xander… what do you want?"
Nathan gave a faint smile. "It's been a long time, Hana."
"Get out of here!" she shouted, tears welling in her eyes. "Don't you dare touch my husband!"
Nathan sighed deeply. "Unfortunately… I came here to finish him off."
In a swift motion, Nathan raised the pistol, aiming it straight at Barack.
"No!!" Hana screamed, running toward Barack.
BANG!
The gunshot shattered the silence. For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
Hana's body staggered. Fresh blood bloomed from her chest, staining her satin nightdress. Her eyes widened as she looked up at the ceiling.
"Hanaaa!" Barack's anguished scream pierced the air.
Nathan froze, his eyes wide as the sight sank in. His hand holding the pistol trembled slightly.
"Damn it… Hana…" Nathan muttered, stunned that the woman had chosen to shield her husband.
Barack cradled Hana's bleeding body in his arms, his eyes brimming with tears, his face twisted in grief.
"You… bastard…" Barack's voice shook. "You came to kill me, didn't you? Fine… do it! But you've already taken my wife… my child… After you're done with me…" Barack's bloodshot eyes glared at Nathan. "Don't you dare lay a hand on Ariel. She's just an innocent girl… now all alone… she's lost Hana too…"
Nathan remained silent, his expression hardened. The name Ariel struck something in him.
He let out a slow breath, though the ruthless coldness returned to his face.
"I'm sorry. Orders are orders… and I can't let you live."
Barack raised his head defiantly.
"Then do it."
Nathan leveled the gun at Barack's heart.
BANG!
Barack's body collapsed to the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. His gaze faded into emptiness — but a faint, peaceful smile lingered at the corner of his lips.
Nathan closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"I'm sorry… Hana," he whispered.