Marco's POV
I could see the rage burning in Lucca Knight's eyes—rage fierce enough to rip apart everyone in this room. Everyone feared him. He was dangerous, deadly, mysterious… someone no one wished to cross paths with. I watched him grip the last neck of his prey. That prey was one of us. He had killed every servant our master sent. With trembling hands, I closed the door quietly and hurried out of the place. I went straight to our master's mansion to report what Lucca had done.
When I entered the room, I saw our master sitting calmly, a cigarette resting between his lips. He blew out a thick smoke while I stood frozen, trying to stop my body from trembling.
"I guess it's bad news," he said, releasing another cloud of smoke. He already knew. Because who could defeat the most powerful man in the world? Lucca possessed a strength no one could match.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, bowing my head. I couldn't bear to meet my master's deadly gaze. I expected him to kill me on the spot. But to my surprise, he spoke so calmly—so calm that it chilled me even more.
"Let's try our luck next time."
I looked up, confused.
Huh?
"Aren't you angry, master?"
He chuckled like a rabid dog. His laugh was unnerving. I would rather see him furious than hear that kind of laugh. It was terrifying.
My trembling worsened. My master noticed it. He crushed his cigarette in one motion, stood up, and walked toward me.
I had served him for three years, yet I never got used to moments like this. Every time he was angry, especially when it involved Lucca—his mortal enemy—I would shake like a helpless puppy.
He tapped my arm, then placed his heavy hand on my shoulder. I wanted to scream from the pain, but forced myself to endure it. His eyes—dark and filled with rage—bored into mine.
He tightened his grip. I couldn't hide my flinch. When he saw the pain on my face, he smiled. A smile I never wanted to see again. His expression grew darker and darker. His rage was rising.
"Tell me, how many servants has Lucca killed in just one month?" he growled through gritted teeth. He finally removed his hand, easing the pain. He circled me slowly, like I was prey waiting to be devoured.
"I… I don't know," I answered truthfully. I had lost count.
"Yes. Of course, you don't know."
He laughed again, that horrible, rabid laugh. My legs nearly gave out. I felt like I would pee out of fear.
"Lucca. Lucca. Lucca…" he muttered, scanning his large, luxurious living room. He walked toward his favorite portrait hanging above the massive sofa—the portrait of himself.
In the painting, my master sat regally on a masterpiece of Italian leather furniture. His Brioni Bespoke Vicuña Wool Suit enhanced his powerful, wealthy presence. His John Lobb 'The William' Alligator Oxford Shoes completed the look. His dark skin, his curly hair, women loved, his deep black eyes that could swallow a man whole, and his muscular frame—he looked like a Greek god.
He was perfect.
At least… until Lucca existed.
"What is your weakness, Lucca Knight?" my master whispered, still staring at his own portrait as though speaking to an invisible rival.
His aura made the entire house feel suffocating. I wanted to run away and calm myself, but I knew I couldn't leave. Not yet.
"How can I defeat Lucca? If only I had his strength…" he muttered. His back was turned to me, which helped me calm down a little. His gaze frightened me more than his words ever could.
****
Lucca's POV
After snapping the final neck, I left the room, stepping outside the house while wiping the blood off my hands. Even my black long sleeves were soaked in the blood of the people who tried to hunt me.
Someone called out to me.
"Lucca!" a man's voice shouted.
I turned and saw Dominic Vale, a long-time friend, approaching quickly.
He immediately noticed my bloodstained hands. The wipes I used were already crimson, so I tossed them aside without a care for the mess. I didn't even know who owned this place. I had only come here because someone texted me, claiming my master had been kidnapped. I didn't expect it to be another trap made by my enemy. And I was certain this was Damon Devereux's doing. He'd been pestering me for weeks—pretending to be someone else, luring me into ambushes.
"Damon again?" Dominic sighed, exhausted by the sight.
I ignored him and kept walking toward where I had parked the car.
He jogged beside me. "Does our master know about this?"
"Don't tell him," I said lazily. The blood smelled rotten. I wanted nothing more than a cold shower and a full bottle of soap.
"How can I not tell him? I'm always worried about you! Haven't you remembered what the master said a few days ago?" His voice was full of concern. I understood him. I, too, had been stressed about that conversation with my master. I hadn't slept properly since.
I finally reached my metallic brown Lincoln Navigator—recently bought, one of my favorite cars. I opened the door and sat inside, but Dominic stopped me from closing it.
"I'm not done talking."
"Then talk at home. Do you think I want a full conversation while covered in blood?"
He sighed, nodded, and stepped back. I shut the door and started the engine. I drove away from the house where twenty men died at my hands.
I am Lucca Knight.
A 38-year-old man with superhuman strength—strength no one has ever matched. My master told me I was born different. As a child, I lifted heavy metals, cars, and even trucks. People feared me. One punch was enough to kill.
I hid my strength for years. I never wanted to kill. Not until I met Damon Devereux. A heartless man I met five years ago. When he discovered what I was, he made it his mission to kill me. He had power too—just like mine—but I was stronger. He trapped me countless times. And every time, I killed his men. Just like today.
After ten minutes of driving, I arrived at my black mansion. I went straight to my room, stripped off my bloodied clothes, and entered the cold shower. I turned it to full blast. The icy water eased my annoyance. It annoyed me that I killed again. How many lives had I taken? I didn't know anymore.
I scrubbed my skin with my favorite soap, planning to wash myself five times. I shampooed my hair with a brand I always bought in Italy.
My bath took an hour. When I was satisfied, I wrapped a white towel around my waist, leaving my upper body bare—my broad shoulders, biceps, and eight-pack abs dripping with water.
As I stepped out, I saw Dominic sitting on the sofa across my bed, already drinking the expensive wine from my in-room wine station. I kept it there out of convenience.
"This wine is as good as ever," he said, downing it in one shot.
I ignored him and went into my walk-in closet. I put on a white shirt and black boxers, then joined him. He filled my glass, and I finished it in one gulp.
"Yo, that was fast."
"When are you going to Italy again? This time, I want to come," he said, pouring my next glass.
"For what?"
"I want to buy more wine for my stock."
"I don't know when I'll come back," I said, then continued sipping my wine.
"Are you worried?" His expression softened.
"Stop looking at me like that. I don't need your pity."
"You're good at hiding your emotions."
"I know," I said sarcastically, but he just laughed. Dominic and I had been friends since we were little. We became close because we shared the same master—the man who took care of us while our parents were busy getting wealthier. I didn't mind it now. Well… maybe at first, I did. I used to be furious at my parents for never attending any of my special events. My master did the things a parent should have done. But at this age, I no longer put emotions into it. I'm too busy dealing with my own life and the problems I have now.
"Have you talked to master?" he asked.
"A few days ago? Yes."
"I'm not talking about that day."
I knew what he meant. But explaining it exhausted me.
"You should talk to him. You need to know the possible solution."
Solution.
If my master had one, he would have told me already.
"I don't want you to leave," Dominic said softly, sitting beside me. Dramatic as always. Anyone who didn't know him would think he had the soul of a woman trapped inside a man.
"You're dramatic," I muttered. Calm on the outside, a storm inside. Dominic was right about one thing—I was good at hiding emotions.
No one knew what I truly felt. Even my master had no idea what was going on in my mind. I never shared my secrets with anyone, nor did I show the pain I carried. To me, showing emotion was a sign of weakness—and I was not weak. I was born with incredible strength, and I had to prove to everyone that I was strong both inside and out.
Our wine session was interrupted by my phone ringing. It was on my bedside table. I stood to get it.
My master was calling.
Dominic didn't even look up.
I answered.
"Hello."
A low, commanding voice replied:
"Come to me. Now."