In the heart of New York City, well past midnight.

The streets are veiled in the vaporous exhalations of the subway below.

Towering skyscrapers, endless boulevards, and colossal edifices soar skyward, cutting through the shroud of misty night. Gentle breezes carry a light drizzle, creating shimmering reflections on the glass buildings, as the city's inhabitants gather in a bustling, yet uncertain, late-night rendezvous.

At the dimly lit mouth of an alley, a resplendent red Bugatti comes to a standstill, exuding an unapologetic allure, akin to an elusive phantom fire in the depths of the night.

Jade leaned against the car's hood, lighting a cigarette.

"I ain't doin' that no more, I swear," the guy sobbed, blood running from his nose, his shirt soaked from her beatdown.

In the cold misty air, a white vapor emanated from her pale lips as Jade looked down at the guy lying on the ground. She crouched down.

"I-I messed up...” The man stammered in fear, stumbling backward, "I really won't do it again, I swear."

Jade remained silent, taking another drag of her cigarette. The tip of the cigarette glowed brightly in the night. She nonchalantly responded with a vague "Hmm" and leaned closer.

"Ah!!"

A piercing scream ripped through the nighttime silence. The man winced as she pressed the lit end of her cigarette against his arm, the pain nearly making him faint.

"You gonna remember this?" Jade asked.

"Yeah, yeah," the man nodded frantically, "I got it."

"Then scram," she said, straightening up and flicking away her cigarette butt.

The man scrambled away in a hurry. Only when she was sure he had gone far enough did Jade pick up the paper bag from the ground and straighten her disheveled clothes.

"Arf~"

A soft sound came from beneath her feet. She paused as she reached for the door handle of the car, looking down at the stray dog she had just rescued.

That rogue from earlier, whether he was drunk or just plain crazy, had been squatting in the alley in the middle of the night, using the glowing tip of his cigarette to burn the poor dog.

Jade pulled out a few Band-Aids from her pocket and patched up the dog's wounds.

"Arf~~"

Seemingly finding a sense of safety from Jade, the stray dog clung to her and refused to leave.

Jade had no choice but to crouch down again, patting its head, and said, "I can't take you with me, okay? I can barely take care of myself."

The dog's ears perked up, as if he understood.

"Go on," she said. "Don't trust just anyone like a fool from now on, got it?"

The puppy wagged his tail and slowly walked away.

On this March night in New York, the temperature remained low.

The car quickly fogged up, and the radio was playing the evening news, with a somber tone from the female anchor.

"...Two years since the Metropolitan Theater terrorist attack, New York citizens have gathered spontaneously at Lincoln Center, in the square..."

The radio signal disappeared into the rain curtain, and after a few blocks, Jade parked the car outside the Pinnacle Tower.

The gothic-style luxury penthouse is still brightly lit.

A sense of unease washed over her, and she turned off the radio. In the rearview mirror, blurred by the streetlights, a fair face appeared.

Under the thick feathered lashes that shade the mist-like black eyes, she has a delicate face. Yet, her high, arched brows added a touch of cool elegance to her soft beauty.

She covered the remaining bruise on her forehead with a band-aid, pulling her black hair into a ponytail.

This injury was from Andrea Caruso's engagement banquet earlier tonight.

Thinking back to the gang shootout, Jade felt a shiver in her stomach.

As bodyguard of Andrea Caruso's fiancée, she had some knowledge of his background. On the surface, he was the CEO of the Navoi Group in New York, controlling most of the shipping market in the Americas. But in the shadows, he's involved in international arms smuggling, wielding significant influence in the Americas, Africa, and the Middle East.

Those wanting to kill him are naturally countless, including tonight's hitmen from the Branconi Family.

Jade rubbed her head in frustration, picked up the paper bag from the passenger seat, and got out of the car.

The elevator stopped on the fiftieth floor, and the doors slid open, allowing cold light to flood in.

The apartment seemed different.

It had been a gift from Andrea to his fiancée, Willow Wen, after their engagement. Jade had lived here with her for a few months, and it was rarely visited by anyone, not even Andrea.

But today...

Jade hesitated and walked into the living room, her gaze falling upon the deep gray men's coat draped over the back of the sofa, facing away from the elevator.

Someone's here.

However, Willow doesn't have friends in New York, let alone male ones.

The chaotic scene of the Branconis attack at the engagement party flashed in her mind. Her emotions tensed, and she took light steps, preparing to check the situation inside.

But a strange scent approached from behind. Jade lowered her head and saw a tall shadow on the ground moving towards her.

In a split second, the instinct engraved in her blood made Jade react instantly. With a muffled sound, the man fell, groaning as she gripped his throat.

Brown hair, blue eyes, clean and deep facial features. He was tall and robust, wearing a well-tailored suit. The calluses on his right hand which she had pinned down, especially on the index and middle joints, indicated long-term use of firearms.

In New York, only Mafia members would have these features.

Her thoughts paused, and the captive man reacted. He forcefully twisted his wrist. Taking advantage of his height and strength, he quickly turned the tables.

His fists were fast and dense, accompanied by a powerful force, raining down like hail. Jade couldn't confront him head-on, but she agilely dodged, moving like a slippery fish.

Change happened in an instant.

The man's muscular forearm lifted, suddenly changing direction, heading straight for Jade's neck!

"Crack!" A crisp sound of teeth clashing.

In a flash, a shadow moved from the wall. The hand reaching for Jade's neck froze in place.

The action was so fast that the man had no time to react to how she evaded the attack and kicked him under the jaw.

"Damn it..." His already thin patience was exhausted.

With a metallic clash, the gun was loaded. The man, covering his mouth, stepped back two steps.

But the next moment, the gun he hadn't raised yet was kicked away by Jade.

The man fell to the ground with a groan, and Jade grabbed a decorative vase from the nearby cabinet, ready to smash it onto his forehead.

"Ugh..."

Mid-action, she felt her neck tighten, and a soft, cold thing, large and powerful, like a predator biting onto its prey's neck.

"Viktor."

A clear and indifferent voice instantly cooled the tense atmosphere.

The man's voice was low and powerful, erupting from deep within his chest, neither rushed nor slow.

Just two words, but full of authority.

The man on the ground hesitated. He didn't immediately retreat, but the hostility in his eyes diminished.

Silence enveloped the surroundings, suffocatingly quiet.

Jade realized, in a daze, that it was a leather glove gripping her.

Lost in thought, the tall shadow descended. The air around became heavier, suffocating.

In the next moment, she was flipped over, pressed against the wall by the man.

Their eyes met, dark eyes with misty gray, overwhelming and penetrating, like a graceful leopard.

By female standards, Jade was considered tall. Yet, facing this man, it seemed like even tiptoeing wouldn't reach his chin.

The clean scent of cedarwood, sandalwood, and ocean surrounded her, reminiscent of the earth after a storm.

"Miss Ouyang," he spoke again, "that was a misunderstanding. I'm letting you go. Just relax."

His commanding tone turned an explanation into an order. Jade nodded.

Only then did the man release her, taking a few steps back.

Finally, Jade got a clear look at him.

A solitary lamp by the vast floor-to-ceiling window cast moving shadows in the living room.

The light flowed, running along his sleek black hair until it reached his sharp jawline, where it stopped. His eyes were hidden beneath a few stray strands of hair, indifferent and deep.

Perhaps it was the soft lighting that softened his sharp features, but Jade could strangely sense a touch of tenderness on his face.

Black hair, black eyes, and a blend of Eastern delicacy and Western ruggedness in his facial features.

Mixed race.

But Jade remembered that most members and associates of the New York Mafia were Italians, with no obvious Eastern features.

Seeing that Jade had regained her composure, the man walked over and sat on the sofa near the window.

"We've met."

"What?" Jade was a bit confused, unable to recall where she had seen him.

Expressionless, the man intertwined his fingers, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. The blood vessels on his forearms were slightly raised—a pose that suggested a desire to talk, yet it carried a surge of preparation for an attack.

Her previously calm heartbeat suddenly accelerated. Jade adjusted her jacket.

"We've met before," he spoke again, without waiting for her response "Tonight, at the engagement banquet."

Jade was stunned.

So, he's...

Andrea Caruso?