Earlier, under Luca's instructions, Shamila had followed Dragan to a secluded corner at the edge of the cemetery.
She planned to teach this scumbag a lesson and try to pry out why he had shown up to cause trouble.
This wasn't Shamila's first time doing something like this.
However, in the past, it was mostly under the orders of Luca's mother, Gina.
Now, with the head of the house in a coma and the master deceased, Shamila didn't find it inappropriate for young Master Luca to take charge.
The only thing that worried her was that it seemed too cruel for the young master, who had always been kind-hearted and sheltered from such matters, to be forced to act mature and handle everything now.
But as for dealing with this useless trash who had once nearly become the head of the family, Shamila felt no qualms whatsoever.
In fact, if not for Luca's specific instructions, Shamila would have considered just silently eliminating this bastard once and for all.
Seeing no one around, Shamila quickly crouched down and pulled a gleaming dagger from her boot.
In two or three steps, she caught up with Dragan, kicked him to the ground, and pressed the dagger against his throat.
"Ah—"
Dragan, panicked, was about to scream when Shamila's rough hand clamped firmly over his mouth.
She stuffed the rest of his scream back down his throat.
Looking at Dragan, who had lost all his earlier arrogance, Shamila pressed the dagger down slightly, her tone sharp.
"You should know what I want to ask, right?!"
The sharp blade pressed against his neck, drawing a thin line of bright red blood.
At this moment, Dragan had none of his previous bluster. His dull eyes were filled only with terror.
His pale face—whether from fear or simply because his body was ravaged by drugs—was stark white.
He struggled desperately, muffled whimpers escaping from beneath her hand.
Seeing this, Shamila lifted her hand slightly, signaling him to speak.
Terrified out of his wits, Dragan didn't even dare to shout for help. He just trembled uncontrollably and demanded:
"You... you! What do you want! I'm an heir to the Aurantius family too!!"
Shamila sneered, not relaxing her grip in the slightest.
"Dragan, for the sake of the Madam, tell me..."
Before Shamila could finish her sentence, her sharp senses noticed something. Dragan, who had been terrified a moment ago, suddenly relaxed and stared straight past her.
Without wasting a second or uttering a word, Shamila immediately threw herself into a roll to the side.
The next instant, a small crater exploded in the dirt where Shamila had just been.
Immediately after, several muffled gunshots followed.
Shamila rolled continuously until she found cover behind a large tombstone, pausing to catch her breath.
Pfft pfft pfft—
Continuous suppressive fire chipped away stone fragments from the surface of the luxurious tombstone.
Three enemies. P226 pistols, suppressors, subsonic rounds!
Based on the sound and the bullet holes, Shamila quickly determined the enemies' positions while reaching into her jacket.
As a bodyguard, she naturally carried a firearm, though she hadn't prepared a suppressor like they had.
Her mind raced, making split-second decisions.
As the impacts on the tombstone behind her began to lessen, Shamila tensed her muscles. Like a powerful leopard, she burst out from cover.
Her hawk-like gaze swept the distance.
Three men in black suits were armed. One was still firing, one was reloading, and the last was roughly dragging a stumbling Dragan away to cover his escape.
Shamila pushed off the ground, sidestepping rapidly.
Ignoring the gunman still firing and letting the bullets whiz past her, she focused her strength.
The veins on her forearm bulged.
Whoosh—
The dagger was thrown with incredible speed.
Cutting through the air like a bolt of lightning, it struck the reloading gunman squarely in the face without hesitation.
Thwack~
Blood splattered.
The man didn't even have time to scream before he fell backward, dead.
At that moment, the gunman who had been suppressing her ran out of ammo.
Without sparing a glance at the man futilely pulling the trigger—click click—Shamila pushed off again.
Rotting leaves exploded under her feet.
With agile movements, she sprinted toward Dragan, who was being dragged away.
But she had only taken two steps when her expression changed slightly.
Not because the man dragging Dragan had pulled a gun to return fire.
But because three more armed men in black suits had appeared from the dense woods in the distance, aiming at her.
She was still seven or eight steps away from Dragan—too far to close the distance and use close-quarters combat to prevent them from shooting for fear of hitting their own.
She immediately ducked low and dove behind another piece of cover.
Pfft pfft pfft. Bullets rained down like a dense shower on the other side of her cover.
Shamila reached for her gun again.
But this time, when she peeked out to aim...
She only saw the last gunman dragging the corpse of the man she had killed with her knife, retreating into the woods.
The others had already vanished into the trees.
The muscles in her arm tensed, then relaxed.
Shamila ultimately chose not to pull the trigger.
Although this spot was secluded, the sound of her unsuppressed gun could attract attention and bring unnecessary trouble.
She wasn't confident she could escape unscathed if things escalated.
Moreover, since the enemy was brazenly using firearms, she had to return to Luca quickly to ensure his safety.
Waiting behind cover for a moment to confirm the enemies were gone, Shamila holstered her gun and hurried back toward Luca.
...
Meanwhile.
Dragan, having just been rescued, was dragged and shoved into a stretch Lincoln by one of the suited men.
The other men who had protected him didn't get in the car.
The door closed softly.
Still shaken, Dragan gasped for air, but he didn't dare look at the refined young man sitting opposite him.
"Mr. Aurantius, it seems you screwed up?"
The speaker wore an immaculate black suit and square black-rimmed glasses, exuding the aura of a financial elite.
Yet his soft-spoken words made the already terrified Dragan tremble uncontrollably.
"W... Wesley, th... this can't be blamed on me! It's that bastard kid Luca! It's all his fault! He doesn't respect me as his uncle at all!!"
Dragan grew more agitated as he spoke, seeming to completely forget his own irrational behavior earlier.
"Is that so? Why did my subordinates report that you didn't show any intention of getting close to him at all?"