The sun had just begun its ascent, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and red, when the tranquility of the Capone Family mansion was shattered. The first to find him was a junior member of the crew, sent to the docks to check on a shipment. He saw the body floating near the pier, and his scream was the first note in a symphony of chaos. Vito's body, his chest a gruesome, gaping wound, was an impossible sight. A master assassin, a man who had survived countless battles, had been killed in his own home.
The news reached Capone almost instantly. He was in his study, a mug of coffee in his hand, when a terrified crew member burst in. Antonio was gone. The vault had been breached. And Vito… Vito was dead. Capone's face, a mask of cold fury, was a sight that made men tremble. He stormed down to the docks, the entire crew following in a wave of terrified silence.
He saw Vito's body floating in the water, the sun glinting off the cross still clutched in the dead man's hand. But it was the expression on Vito's face that sent a jolt of ice through Capone's heart. Confusion. Not pain, not terror, but a profound, final bewilderment. That look, coupled with the precision of the kill—the ripped-out heart—told Capone everything he needed to know. The boy was no longer just a weapon; he was a monster. He had been hiding his strength, his abilities. The attack wasn't a mere assassination; it was a personal message.
He knew Antonio had taken the maps. He knew the boy had taken his money. But the knowledge that Antonio had discovered the truth about his parents' deaths was a bitter pill to swallow. It meant Antonio had not only planned his betrayal with meticulous care but had also been playing a long, dangerous game of deception.
The crew was a mess of panicked suggestions. "We should hunt him down, Captain!" "He can't have gotten far!"
Capone held up a hand, and the room fell silent. His voice, when he spoke, was a low, dangerous growl. "Hunt him down? You fools." He swept his gaze across the faces of his men, his eyes holding a cold, simmering rage. "That boy is a ghost. He was created by me. His marksmanship is far greater than anyone in this crew. He surpassed Vito years ago. And the way he killed him… that was the work of a master of Armament Haki. Who knows what else he has been hiding from us?"
He began to pace, his mind working with a ruthless efficiency that had made him a Warlord. He was a man of long-term plans and brutal, final solutions. "Our first order of business is to eradicate every trace of Antonio." He gestured toward the crime scene. "Make this look like a rival crew's hit. Burn the boat, destroy any evidence he was ever here. We don't want the World Government or any other family to think we raised an assassin with no loyalty."
He stopped, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "And then, we give the Marines a gift." He snapped his fingers, and a trusted lieutenant stepped forward. "Leak the information on the assassinations. Tell them the truth, but frame it in such a way that it has nothing to do with us. We'll give them enough details about Antonio's methods, his unique skills, his Haki, but no trace back to the Capone Family. Let them chase our ghost. The Marines and the World Government will do our dirty work for us."
The crew nodded, understanding the cold logic of the plan.
Capone looked out at the vast expanse of the ocean. "Antonio," he thought, his rage a quiet, burning ember within him. "You betrayed me. You killed one of my own. That is a sin you will pay for dearly. Mark my words. I will find you, and when I do, I will kill you with my own two hands, just like I killed your parents." The last words were a silent promise, a vow of vengeance to the sea. "Until then, I pray you don't die. Because I will be the one to end you."
The gentle lapping of the waves against his small boat was the only sound for miles. Antonio, a figure of calm and solitude against the vast expanse of the ocean, was free. He had traded the gilded cage of a mobster's mansion for the endless, unpredictable freedom of the sea. The feeling was intoxicating. He was a pirate now, the captain of his own destiny.
His boat, a small and unassuming vessel, was a far cry from the opulent ships of the Capone Family, but it was his. The sun was warm on his face, the sea spray cool on his skin. He had the maps, the money, and the skills he needed. And for the first time in his life, he was truly on his own.
A line attached to a pole dipped into the water, and a moment later, it bent with a violent tug. A wide, satisfied grin spread across Antonio's face. He pulled the line in with a practiced hand, and a large, silver-scaled fish flopped onto the deck. It was a good catch, enough for a meal, a sign of a good omen.
Antonio's destination was the neighboring island of Las Campanas, a small, coastal town known for its vibrant markets and bustling port. His stolen money, though a sizable amount, would not last forever, especially with the supplies he needed for the perilous journey to the Grand Line. He needed to stock up on food, water, and, most importantly, information.
He gutted the fish with a small, sharp knife, his movements precise and efficient. As he prepared his dinner, his mind, always a machine of thought, drifted to the events of the previous night. The murder of Vito, the betrayal of Capone. The cold, empty feeling he had expected never came. Instead, there was a quiet satisfaction, a sense of justice fulfilled. He wasn't a hero. He was just a man settling a debt, paving the way for his future.
As he cooked the fish over a small, portable stove, the aroma of garlic and spices filled the air. The vast, empty ocean stretched out around him, and for the first time since his reincarnation, Antonio felt a sense of boundless possibility. The fear, the dread, the cold calculation of survival—it was all replaced by a quiet, determined hope.
He was going to find the One Piece. He was going to live the life he had only dreamed of in a cramped, sterile lab. He was going to become the Pirate King. It was a grand, foolish, and utterly perfect dream. And he had nothing but time to make it a reality.