Chapter 119: Beauties on the Yacht

The smile froze on Andre's face. He stared at the dark barrel of his father's gun pointed straight at him, his eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. "Dad... you... what are you doing?"

A sharp crack split the air.

A tongue of golden flame burst from the muzzle.

The bullet punched clean through Andre's chest, tearing straight through his lung.

Andre slowly looked down at the blood pouring from his chest, then lifted his head in disbelief to stare at his father. "Dad... why..."

Silvio's gun hand was shaking violently, but his eyes were cold and merciless — like an old wolf that kills its own pup to survive.

"You stupid, reckless bastard. You never should have crossed Mr. Ashford. Your idiocy almost dragged the entire Berlusconi family down with you."

Without giving Andre a moment to breathe, Silvio pulled the trigger again.

This shot went straight through Andre's forehead.

Andre's eyes stayed wide open, frozen in endless confusion and terror, as he crashed heavily into the pool of blood and went still forever.

After killing Andre with his own hands, Silvio flung the pistol aside and dropped to his knees before Leo again, pressing his forehead hard against the cold concrete floor. "Mr. Ashford, the source of the offense against you has been eliminated. From this day forward, the Berlusconi family is your most loyal hound in Europe."

Watching this dramatic, bloody, and brutal scene unfold, Ivy let out a casual whistle. A flash of surprise crossed her eyes, then she broke into a light, lilting laugh. "They say even tigers won't eat their own cubs, but this old man didn't hesitate for a second. Killing his only son with his own hands just to protect the family — cold-blooded. I like it."

Serafina let out a contemptuous snort, crossing her arms, her eyes full of mockery. "All that talk about Mafia family honor — it's a joke the moment real power shows up. But the old fox is smart enough. He knew that if he didn't offer his son's life as proof of loyalty, tonight this port in Genoa would've been the grave of his entire family."

Leo's expression didn't shift at all in response to Silvio's ruthlessness.

In the Reaper's world, the strong devour the weak and you leave no loose ends — that was just how things worked.

He turned around slowly and looked at the ship captain who had been standing in the back the whole time, completely stunned by the bloodshed.

Leo reached out and grabbed Marco by the shoulder, pulling the dazed Italian tough guy to his side.

"Silvio, look up." Leo spoke with the cigar still between his fingers, his voice low and commanding.

Silvio raised his blood-streaked face with a trembling effort.

Leo patted Marco on the shoulder and looked down at the Mafia patriarch on the ground with the gaze of a king. "Take a good look. This is Marco Monroe. My friend."

Just that one sentence.

No long-winded threats. No further explanation.

But Silvio had spent most of his life clawing his way through the criminal underworld. There was no way he missed the weight of those words.

The Reaper's friend.

What did that mean? It meant this cruise ship captain — a man who had once lived entirely at the Berlusconi family's mercy — was now wearing armor gifted by Death himself.

"I understand! I completely understand!!"

Silvio nodded frantically, looking up at Marco with a face full of flattery and reverence. "Mr. Monroe! From this day forward, you are the most powerful man in the port of Genoa! Every smuggling profit, every shipping route the Berlusconi family controls at this port — all of it is yours to command! Anyone who shows you disrespect, I'll skin them myself!"

Marco stared at the Mafia patriarch kneeling at his feet — the same man who had once looked down on everyone around him — and his mind went completely blank.

He turned to look at Leo, and all he saw was the calm, arrogant smile playing at the corner of Leo's mouth.

Leo exhaled one last breath of smoke and dropped the cigar onto Andre's body. "Before sunrise, I want the complete files on every Nightfall organization safe house."

---

The night lay still as water. The deep Mediterranean reflected the clear, bright moonlight on its surface.

A top-of-the-line luxury yacht worth tens of millions of dollars drifted quietly in international waters far from the port of Genoa, rocking gently with the waves.

Silvio had offered it as a "small gift" to get on Leo's good side.

On the open deck at the top of the yacht, a soft sea breeze carried the faint, heady scent that was unique to the Mediterranean.

Leo sat shirtless in a wide leather recliner, wearing nothing but a loose pair of casual pants, completely at ease. His body — sculpted like a figure from ancient Greek statuary, marked here and there with faint battle scars — radiated raw, masculine energy in the moonlight.

On either side of him, two stunning women who could drive any man in the world out of his mind pressed against him without the slightest hesitation.

Ivy had shed her deadly red trench coat and changed into a wine-red silk bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination.

Her slender waist and the full, barely-contained curves above it created a striking visual contrast that was impossible to look away from.

Like a supple, beautiful serpent, she had straddled Leo's lap, her long, smooth arms wrapped around his neck, pressing her generous figure firmly against his solid chest and shifting with the gentle rocking of the yacht — deliberately, yet as if by accident.

"Reaper, you really scared me back there in that abandoned factory..."

Ivy's deep blue eyes shimmered with temptation as her red lips grazed lightly across his earlobe.

On his other side, Serafina wore a black semi-sheer lace slip.

Her long legs, wrapped in black stockings, were crossed as she lay lazily against Leo's side.

The lace cutouts did nothing to hide her full, firm curves or the deep line of her neckline.

Serafina lifted a glass of chilled champagne and took a slow sip.

Then she leaned in with a playful smile and kissed Leo without warning, letting the wine pass slowly from her lips to his.

The wine slid down his throat. Serafina pulled back and ran her tongue across her lips with a look of pure, unguarded desire in her long, captivating eyes. "Leo, the Mediterranean night is this beautiful — are we really just going to sit here and feel the breeze?"

Looking at these two women — roses with thorns who made the entire underground world tremble — now draped over him like two restless cats in heat, a deep, burning fire lit behind Leo's eyes.

"Since you two are so full of energy..."

Leo crushed his cigar into the ashtray, and his strong arms pulled in sharply, drawing both Ivy and Serafina against him at once. A cold, wicked smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

"Then don't plan on sleeping tonight."

"Ah—"

Two breathless, intoxicating gasps rang out as Leo carried both women straight into the yacht's master cabin with its enormous, plush water bed.

Soon, the sea breeze carried with it sounds that would make anyone blush.

The luxury yacht swayed in a steady rhythm with the waves, weaving together the women's high, trembling cries and the man's low, heavy breathing into a wild and decadent Mediterranean nocturne.