Nancy gently closed the library file, her fingertips trembling slightly. The report in the Milan Daily from ten years ago was already yellowed, but the words were still clear: "Chinatown fire leaves 5 dead and 12 injured. Witnesses claim to have seen a 'blue-eyed devil'."
She calmly snapped a photo of the key page with her phone, glancing around from the corner of her eye. This corner, dedicated to back issues, was rarely visited, but she remained vigilant. For the past three days, she'd been unraveling Lyon Corsica's past like a detective, her heart sinking with each piece of the puzzle.
After organizing the materials, Nancy walked towards the Design College building.
The sunny campus contrasts sharply with the dark world she sees in the archives.
My phone vibrated. It was a text message from Leon: "Tonight at 7pm, Il Gattopardo restaurant, there's a surprise for you."
Nancy stared at the screen, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard, unmoving. Ever since the night the studio was destroyed, Leon's attitude towards her had noticeably changed—more gentle, more protective, almost... doting. This change only made Nancy more wary.
"Okay," she finally replied, short and controlled.
"Nan!" Marta's voice came from behind, "Your fabric samples have arrived!" Her roommate ran over excitedly, "Guess who sent it? Dolce & Gabbana's chief buyer! My God, who is your sponsor?"
Nancy smiled perfunctorily, but she knew clearly in her heart that this was Leon's handiwork. He always provided help at the right time when she needed it, like a carefully designed trap, every temptation was wrapped in danger.
Returning to the studio, Nancy locked the door and took out a leather notebook from her bag. She flipped open a page, which contained densely written notes on all the clues regarding Lyon Corsica:
—The Corsican family actually controls 60% of the underground trade in northern Italy (Milan Financial Insider)
— Suspected of multiple cases of commercial intimidation, but insufficient evidence (judicial records)
— Roberto Corse (Lyon's cousin), a key witness in the Chinatown fire ten years ago, disappeared before testifying (police records)
The latest one was added this morning: "Mrs. Lin from the Chinese community warns: Stay away from Corsica, he is involved in many Chinese disappearances."
Nancy bit the pen cap, her mind racing. Reason told her to immediately cut off all contact with Leon, but another, more complex emotion was holding her back—curiosity? Gratitude? Or...
She shook her head and forced herself back to the design. With only three days left until the Milan Young Designers Competition, she had to focus.
At 6:30 in the evening, Nancy stood in front of her wardrobe, hesitating. She finally chose a conservative navy blue dress and paired it with her grandmother's jade pendant—both a talisman and a reminder.
Il Gattopardo Restaurant was unusually quiet tonight. The head waiter led her directly to the innermost private room. When the door opened, Nancy was stunned—the entire room had been transformed into a temporary exhibition hall. Six podiums displayed the "Silk Blade" series she had designed for the competition, which was even more refined and perfect than the original.
"Do you like it?" Leon walked out from the shadows. Tonight he was wearing a dark gray suit and a dark green tie that matched her pendant. "I found the best craftsman to perfect the details."
Nancy slowly circled around to admire it, a conflict brewing within her. These changes were truly exquisite—the subtle pattern at the neckline was more three-dimensional, the waistline was perfectly cinched, every detail was exactly as she had imagined. Lyon had captured her design vision so precisely; the feeling of being seen through was both astonishing and terrifying.
"Thank you," she said finally, her tone cautious, "but why?"
Leon pulled out a chair for her: "I told you I would compensate you for your losses." He poured two glasses of red wine. "Try it. 1982 Lafite. It's similar to the Longjing tea from your hometown—it takes time for the true flavor to develop."
Nancy took a sip, letting the rich wine flow over her tongue, but she was not in a hurry to swallow it. She was thinking about the meaning behind every word of Leon, just like trying to figure out the opponent's intentions in chess.
"Have you researched tea in my hometown?" She put down her glass.
"I've investigated everything about you." Leon looked directly into her eyes, "For example, your grandfather was a famous calligrapher, you could recite the Analects at the age of six, and you were among the top ten in Zhejiang Province in the college entrance examination..."
Nancy's back tensed. Although this information wasn't confidential, it still made her uncomfortable to be collected so systematically.
And I also know you were involved in the Chinatown fire ten years ago. She looked him straight in the eye and suddenly attacked.
The room fell silent. Leon's fingers tightened slightly around the wine glass, his knuckles turning white.
"Who told you that?" His voice remained calm, but the temperature dropped sharply.
"This is not important." Nancy imitated his usual tone, "What's important is, is this true?"
Leon put down his glass and suddenly laughed: "You are interrogating me, little girl." A trace of admiration flashed in his eyes, "Few people dare to do this."
I just want to know the truth.
"The truth is," Leon leaned forward, "the fire was set by the enemy, and my men tried to save people, but their methods were... inappropriate." He brushed it off, "I later dealt with the person responsible."
Nancy observed his subtle expressions—when he mentioned "handling" his eyes didn't waver at all. This was the real Leon Corsica, a man who could decide the life and death of others with a casual conversation.
You haven't answered my question yet. She pressed on, Why are you doing this for me?
Leon was silent for a moment, then suddenly reached out and touched her cheek: "Because I like the way you look when you're thinking, the way you're focused when you're designing, and even the courage you have when you're interrogating me." His thumb stroked her lower lip, "But what I like most is that you never look at me like a bad guy."
This touch made Nancy's heart beat faster, but not because of excitement, but because of alertness.
He was trying to break through her psychological defenses.
"I'm your sponsored project, that's all." She leaned back slightly, avoiding his touch.
Lyon withdrew his hand, and an elusive emotion flashed in his eyes: "Of course, whatever you define it."
The dinner continued in a delicate atmosphere. Leon discussed art and design, displaying a surprising amount of knowledge. Nancy responded skillfully, neither being cold nor approachable, as if walking a tightrope.
When the dessert was served, Leon's phone rang. He took a look and his expression suddenly darkened: "I have to go. Marco will take you back."
"What happened?"
"Business troubles." He stood up and suddenly leaned over to whisper in her ear, "After the game tomorrow, go directly to the airport. Everything in Paris is arranged."
Nancy frowned: "Why?"
"Because Carlo Visconti thinks you're my weakness." Leon's breath puffed against her ear, "and I'm not sure he's wrong."
After he left, Nancy sat there, her fingers unconsciously stroking the jade pendant. Lyon's warning and unusual arrangements suggested the situation was more dangerous than she had imagined. But fleeing to Paris would mean giving up two years of study and the opportunity that was about to come...
"Miss Nan?" Marco appeared at the door, "The car is ready."
On the way back, Nancy pretended to ask casually: "Marco, who is Carlo Visconti?"
The man in the driver's seat visibly tensed his muscles: "I shouldn't ask questions that I'm not supposed to ask. That's the rule."
I'm just curious what kind of 'business' needs to be handled in the middle of the night.
Marco glanced at her through the rearview mirror and said, "Miss Nan, you are a smart person. The less you know about some things, the better."
Back at her apartment, Nancy couldn't sleep all night. At three in the morning, she woke up, turned on her computer, and searched for "Carlo Visconti." The results were shocking—he was the Corsican family's archrival, suspected of multiple murders and kidnappings.
"Damn it." Nancy rubbed her temple. She was standing in the crossfire between two mafia families, and Leon seemed determined to protect her. Why? Just because he "liked" her?
At daybreak, Nancy did two things: first, she hid a micro memory card in the secret compartment of her desk and backed up all her design drafts and research materials; second, she left a letter for Marta, instructing her to hand it over to the Chinese Embassy if she did not contact her within three days.
On the day of the competition, the sun was glaring. Nancy's six collections were delivered to the Milan Fashion Week venue, and the backstage was bustling with activity.
"Nan!" Marta rushed over and hugged her, "You have created a miracle! These are even more beautiful than the original ones!"
Nancy smiled as she examined the details. This "Silk Blade" series was truly her finest work—a fusion of Eastern silk and Western tailoring, each fold holding a hidden edge, much like her.
"I heard that LVMH's design director came in person." Marta whispered excitedly, "If he likes your work..."
Nancy nodded, but her mind was distracted. She kept checking her phone, but there was no news from Leon.
After the competition began, Nancy stood by the backstage curtain, waiting. Her collection was scheduled to be the fifth to be presented. As the first four designers presented their works, a strange Asian man approached her.
"Miss Nan?" he whispered. "Mrs. Lin asked me to pass on a message. There are new discoveries about the Chinatown fire, and I must tell you now."
Nancy narrowed her eyes. This was a lame excuse; Mrs. Lin had no idea about the competition. But she decided to play along.
"Lead the way." She quietly stuffed the pepper spray into her sleeve.
The man led her through a complex corridor to a secluded exit. As soon as Nancy stepped out, a handkerchief soaked in liquid medicine was pressed against her mouth and nose. She pretended to inhale the drug and collapse, but in reality, she was holding her breath.
"Be gentle! The boss needs to be intact." The man said to his accomplice.
Nancy was carried into a van, her hands and feet tied to a metal chair. She squinted her eyes to observe the surroundings—it was an abandoned factory, guarded by at least four guards, all armed with guns.
"Stop pretending now that you're awake." A hoarse male voice sounded.
Nancy opened her eyes and saw a fat man in his fifties sitting opposite her. His suit was tight on his bloated body, and he had a cigar between his stubby fingers.
"Carlo Visconti." The man grinned, revealing his gold teeth. "Finally, I've met Lyon's little fox."
Nancy remained silent, her mind racing. The fact that she had been kidnapped indicated two things: first, that Leon's concerns were correct; and second, that she had become an important figure in Leon's eyes. This was dangerous.
"Do you know why you were asked to come?" Carlo leaned forward, and the stench of cigars sprayed on her face.
"Because you can't beat Leon in a head-on confrontation, you have to capture women?" Nancy sneered, "You are really spineless."
Carlo's face darkened, then he smiled again: "You're very sharp-tongued. I like it." He took out his cell phone and said, "Look at this."
There was a candid photo on the screen - Leon was standing on the balcony, his fingers gently stroking her design draft, his eyes incredibly soft.
"Leon Corsica never looks at anything with that kind of eyes, except you." Carlo sneered, "You are his weak spot, and the weak spot is the best weapon."
He dialed the video call and pointed the camera at Nancy: "Say hello, Leon."
On the other side of the screen, Leon's face was as gloomy as hell. Behind him were Marco and several fully armed men.
"Let her go." Leon's voice was terrifyingly calm. "You set the conditions."
"Three plots of land in the North District," Carlo said proudly, "Sign the transfer agreement before ten o'clock tonight, otherwise..." He winked, and a bodyguard pulled out a pistol and pressed it against Nancy's temple.
Nancy's heart was pounding, but she didn't show it on her face. She noticed the change in Leon's eyes—when the gun was pointed at her, a hint of panic flashed across those blue eyes. This was interesting.
"If she loses even one hair," Leon said word by word, "I will let you live to see your internal organs being eaten by wild dogs."
The call ended. Carlo laughed: "He's angry! How rare!" Turning to Nancy, "It seems that you are really special to him."
The guards locked her in a small room. Nancy pretended to be afraid and huddled in a corner, but in fact she was secretly observing—there was only one guard, armed and lax; there was a ventilation duct in the room, but she couldn't get in; there were at least two more people outside the door.
Drink water. The young guard handed her a bottle of water.
Nancy noticed the tattoo on his wrist - a Madonna, a typical Sicilian style. She suddenly said in fluent Italian: "Does your mother know you are doing this?"
The guard was stunned: "You...you can speak Italian?"
"I was an exchange student at the University of Rome for a year." Nancy deliberately made her voice tremble, "You don't look like a bad person. Why are you helping Carlo?"
He...he paid. The guard hesitated.
Nancy lowered her head, letting a tear fall gently: "I've heard how the Corsican family treats traitors... Are you sure Carlo can protect you?"
The guard's expression changed. Nancy knew she had hit a sore spot. The mafia world hated betrayal, and Leon's methods of revenge were well known.
In the evening, the factory suddenly lost power. In the darkness, the sounds of gunfire, screams, and running mixed together. Nancy quickly rolled to the corner to avoid being hit by stray bullets.
The door was kicked open, and a dark figure rushed in. In the dim light, Nancy recognized Leon's outline—he held a gun in one hand and a dagger in the other, his white shirt stained with blood.
"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice tense.
Nancy nodded. Leon cut the rope and dragged her out. Carlo's men lay scattered across the corridor, some groaning, others motionless. Nancy studiously avoided looking at the bloodstains.
They rushed out of the factory and ran to a waiting black car. Leon stuffed her into the back seat and got in the driver's seat. The car rushed out like an arrow from a bow.
Marco and the others...
"We'll deal with the aftermath," Lyon replied briefly.
Nancy observed his profile—the tense jawline, the throbbing veins at his temples, the white knuckles from gripping the steering wheel. Was he angry, or worried?
"Thank you for rescuing me," she said tentatively.
Lyon sneered: "No need to thank me. It was my mistake that put you in danger."
The car pulled into a secluded villa in the suburbs. Leon took her inside and immediately examined her injuries. His movements were surprisingly gentle, unlike the killer in the factory.
"Why come here in person?" Nancy asked. "You could send your men..."
Leon stopped and looked into her eyes: "Because it's you."
Those three simple words carried a weight of weight. For the first time, Nancy saw the naked emotions in his eyes—worry, anger, and something else she didn't dare to identify.
"Competition..."
"Cancelled," Lyon said, "a bomb threat was detected at the scene."
Nancy closed her eyes. Two years of hard work, nine days of desperation, all gone to waste. But strangely, she wasn't as devastated as she'd imagined. Perhaps the life-or-death crisis she'd just experienced made a single match seem insignificant.
"I'll give you another show," Lyon said, "than that match..."
"No need." Nancy interrupted him, "I'll find a way myself."
Leon frowned: "You are angry."
"I'm thinking." Nancy looked directly at him, "Thinking about why a mafia godfather would risk his life for an international student."
The room fell silent. Leon walked to the window, his back to her: "I said, I like you."
"Not enough." Nancy shook her head. "There's no such thing as unprovoked liking in your world. What am I? An interesting toy? A trophy to show off your power? Or..."
"You are the light in my dark life." Leon suddenly turned around, with a fragility in her eyes that she had never seen before. "From the first time I saw you standing in the rain, I knew you were different. I wanted to control you, but you controlled me instead."
This confession was too explicit, and Nancy was speechless for a moment.
She should have felt fear or disgust, but something more complex was stirring in her chest. Her mind told her it was a sign of danger, but her heartbeat betrayed her.
Leon approached her and reached out to touch her cheek. This time, Nancy did not dodge. His palm was rough and warm, with a faint smell of blood.
"I know you're investigating me," he whispered. "I don't care. The deeper the better, at least then you can really understand me."
Nancy took a deep breath and took a step back: "I need some time." She held out her hand, "Let's just leave it like this for now, okay?"
Leon looked at her outstretched hand, smiled bitterly, and then shook it: "It's up to you, Miss Fox."
Outside the window, the setting sun dyed the sky blood red. Nancy knew that from this moment on, everything would be different. She stood on the edge of the abyss, terrified of being swallowed, yet curious about the secrets within.
And the most dangerous thing was that she wasn't sure if she had begun to enjoy this dangerous game.