Chapter 115: Arriving in Italy

Late at night.

The waves on the Atlantic were picking up, and the cruise ship rocked gently in the swell.

In the Presidential Suite on the Emperor Deck, Leo sat on the sofa with several maps of Europe spread out in front of him.

Ivy and Serafina sat on either side of him, going over the possible ambush points the Nightfall organization might have set up.

Out in the corridor just outside the top-deck Presidential Suite, a rapid burst of footsteps suddenly broke the silence.

The sealed alloy door was violently kicked open again. This time, Andre hadn't come alone.

Behind him stood more than twenty men in black suits, their presence dark and menacing. Walking at the front was a gaunt middle-aged man with sunken eyes.

He was casually flipping a slender butterfly knife in his hand, the blade flickering like a silver blur between his fingers. He moved with an eerie lightness, like a bat skimming across water.

"That's him! Pietro, take him apart!" Andre jabbed a finger at Leo, who was standing by the private pool. His face was twisted with rage. "I want him begging for death and not getting it!"

Pietro — one of the Italian Mafia's top executioners, known by the nickname "The Silent Blade." Rumor had it that once he made his move, his targets never even got the chance to scream.

"Sir, calling in the family's ultimate weapon over a bodyguard — that's a steep price to pay," Pietro said, his voice rough like sandpaper scraping wood. He stopped and narrowed his eyes, sizing up Leo, who was toweling himself off.

Leo was shirtless, water droplets sliding down his iron-hard muscles. He didn't bother turning around, just blew out a lazy ring of smoke. "Didn't Marco tell you this is private property?"

"Pal, in Italy, the Berlusconi family is the property." Pietro gave a cold smile, then without any warning lunged forward, driving the butterfly knife straight at Leo's back.

The move was lightning fast, the angle deceptive — a technique he'd sharpened through countless assassinations.

But in the next instant, Pietro's pupils shrank to pinpoints.

His blade stopped less than an inch from Leo's back — not because he chose to stop, but because his wrist had been locked in a grip as cold and unyielding as an iron vice.

Leo still had his back to him. He hadn't even shifted his stance.

"Fast enough. But your killing intent is way too obvious. Rookie mistake," Leo said flatly.

Pietro's mind went into freefall. He was a top-level instructor for the Mafia. He wrenched his arm back with full force — and barely moved it an inch.

"Who the hell are you?" Pietro snarled, his left hand shooting out like a claw toward Leo's throat.

Leo spun around and drove his knee up. One clean, simple move.

Pietro folded in half, the butterfly knife clattering to the floor. Leo followed through with a kick that sent the so-called "top executioner" skidding across the ground for ten feet, straight into Andre's feet.

Dead silence.

Not one of the elite bodyguards Andre had brought with him dared to step forward.

Pietro forced himself back up, staring at Leo with undisguised shock. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his voice shaking. "That reaction speed... that absolute dominance... what special forces unit did you train?"

He drew a slow breath, eyes locked on Leo's hard, cold face. Then a name surfaced in his mind — a name that moved through Europe's underworld like a legend, like something beyond human.

"As far as I know, the only person who could break my Silent Blade this easily would have to be the long-missing operative codenamed 'Reaper.' The one they call Leo." Pietro stared at him without blinking.

Nearby, Ivy and Serafina exchanged a knowing look.

Leo let out a quiet laugh, picked up his cigar from the floor and took a drag, his eyes full of dry amusement. "Does it really matter who I am?"

He didn't answer directly, but that casual, unbothered tone was as good as a confirmation in Pietro's eyes.

"Pietro! What the hell are you rambling about!" Andre hadn't caught the fear in Pietro's voice. All he saw was that the fighter he'd paid a fortune for had been knocked back. "Shoot him! Kill him!"

"Mr. Berlusconi, you shouldn't—" Pietro tried to stop him.

Leo was already moving.

He vanished from where he stood and appeared in front of Andre in what felt like the same instant.

A sharp crack rang out — the kind that made your skin crawl.

"AHHH!"

Andre's scream tore through the entire ship. No flashy moves, no theatrics — Leo had simply snapped the arm Andre had been pointing at him.

"Who was it that wanted someone begging for their life?" Leo grabbed Andre by the throat with one hand and lifted the heir of the financial empire clean off the floor.

Andre's bodyguards all drew their weapons, but Olivia and Ivy had guns pressed to their heads before anyone could pull a trigger.

"Let go..." Andre's face was turning purple, the pain nearly sending him under. "How dare you... My father will destroy you... In Italy, I will have you torn to pieces!"

"In Italy?" Leo tossed him onto the floor like he was throwing out trash, looking at him the way you'd look at a clown. "If this is all the Berlusconi family amounts to, then Italy's a pretty disappointing place."

Andre clutched his broken arm and curled up on the floor, his eyes burning with pure hatred. He didn't know who Leo was, but he was certain of one thing — once they hit shore, it was his turf, and this man was dead.

Ivy stepped forward, her eyes on the coastal lights now visible on the horizon, a slight frown on her face. "Leo, if we dock with this idiot on board, the Berlusconi family will lock down the port with everything they've got. Our identities could get exposed directly to the Valois family and the Rothschild family."

Serafina nodded in agreement. "In Italy, these old-money families have tighter networks than anything in New York. If we tip them off now, getting into Vienna could become a real problem."

Leo looked out at the famous Italian port coming into view — Genoa — and the corner of his mouth curved into a cold, arrogant smile.

"Exposed?"

He lit a fresh cigar. The flame flickered in the sea breeze. "I'm going there to kill people. Why would I bother hiding?"

"Tell Marco — full speed ahead. We dock."

Leo glanced back at Andre, trembling on the floor, and looked at him the way you look at a dead man. "Since they want to know who I am, let the whole Mediterranean find out. Reaper... is here."

---

Two days later.

The setting sun turned the sea blood red.

The horn of the Mediterranean Star rang out low and long as the massive cruise ship eased into the port of Genoa, Italy.

Leo stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his suite, watching the coastline draw near.

"Finally."

"Boss."

Olivia came over with a report. "Captain Marco says the Berlusconi family has the port surrounded."

"So they're not here to say hello."

"No."

Leo gave a small nod. "Get ready to disembark."

"Yes, sir."

An hour later.

The ship docked.

The boarding ramp came down slowly.

Leo stepped off the cruise ship with both hands in the pockets of his black trench coat, a cigar between his teeth, walking at an easy pace.

Olivia, Ivy, and Serafina followed close behind.

On the dock, black cars were lined up three rows deep.

Hundreds of Berlusconi family soldiers in black suits and sunglasses had the entire disembarkation ramp locked down tight.

At the front stood a middle-aged man in a white suit with a trimmed beard.

One frantic phone call from Andre had set the entire Genoa underworld on edge.

"Leo, look at this setup." Ivy straightened her red trench coat. The two custom Desert Eagles in her hands were already chambered. "Looks like they're planning to turn the docks into a graveyard."