Chapter 200
The battlefield of Arcturus has quieted down for now, but the real source of grudges lies in Eldoria.
Vitale didn't hesitate for a moment and immediately started planning to head to Eldoria.
This time, he wasn't content with controlling things from a distance or sending his men to pursue.
He wanted to go himself, to that place where it all began and has yet to end, to personally settle the long-standing feud with Marco.
And this time, he made a decision that surprised all his subordinates, though it somehow made sense.
"Prepare the plane to Lumaria," Vitale ordered Victor and Amboni, his gaze cold and resolute, sharp as a drawn blade, "inform all our people and 'friends' in Eldoria. I want to know every move Marco makes the moment he steps foot on Eldoria's soil."
He paused, his eyes shifting to two other figures in the room—Isabella, who was looking at him with worry, and Eva, whose lips were tightly pressed together, her expression complex, filled with both fear and hatred toward Marco, as well as concern over Vitale's decision.
"This time," Vitale's voice left no room for doubt, "Isabella and Eva are coming with me."
Victor and Amboni were stunned for a moment.
Bringing Isabella made sense—maybe for her absolute safety, or perhaps because he didn't want to be separated from her again.
But bringing Eva, whose identity was unique, whose state wasn't fully stable, and who had deep ties to Marco, was unexpected.
Vitale saw their confusion and said, "These two women are now the most important people in my life."
"Eva carries a part of Liliana and bears the weight of Marco's sins. She's a key, and maybe a trap, but no matter what, I won't let either of them out of my sight or into any place where Marco could threaten them."
He wanted to keep them under his wing, in the tightest protection possible.
Eldoria, Lumaria.
The ancient homeland of the mafia, the starting point of the Luca family's glory and downfall, and the origin of Marco's betrayal and crimes.
Vitale's first stop wasn't Marco's hideout, but a secluded vacation villa on the Calabrian coast belonging to Blake.
This fence-sitter, who thought he could escape by returning to his old turf and relying on connections and money built over the years, was terrified out of his wits by Vitale's dark presence.
Vitale didn't even interrogate him personally.
Blake spilled everything—Marco's escape route and several possible safe houses in Eldoria.
Blake's end was as unremarkable as his indecisive life. His body sank into the deep sea, along with the secrets of the wealth he gained by selling his soul, disappearing forever into the darkness. This was Vitale's clear and ruthless warning to anyone who dared stab him in the back.
With the loose ends cleaned up, Vitale moved like a precise scalpel, cutting straight to Marco's core.
He didn't launch a direct attack but chose a more thorough and brutal approach.
When Marco stood on a carefully arranged stage, wearing that compassionate smile, using his captivating voice to speak about how the mafia's corruption destroys ordinary lives and calling for everyone to unite in the light, something unexpected happened.
The huge projection screen behind him, which had been playing serene landscapes, suddenly switched.
What appeared wasn't scenery, but edited yet clearly sourced surveillance footage, transcribed phone recordings, and some faded archival photos.
The footage showed scenes from years ago—brutal massacres of civilians blamed on mafia family feuds. But as the camera zoomed in, a uniform mark could be faintly seen on the attackers' arms, one that didn't belong to any known mafia family. Their trained, cold, and efficient style was completely different from street thugs or family gunmen.
In the recordings, Marco's voice—disguised but still identifiable through special voice analysis—gave orders to different squads, with clear goals to create chaos, escalate conflicts, and cleverly point the evidence toward the Luca family and their rival gangs.
The photos showed faces of young men and women, with notes beside them listing the names of their loved ones killed by the mafia.
But right after, evidence appeared showing these "victims" alive and well under new identities in foreign lands, some even working on Marco's other secret projects.
The images and sounds on the screen were like the sharpest daggers, slicing through the holy facade Marco had woven for years, revealing the twisted truth beneath—a man willing to use any means for his warped ideals.
Below the stage, the fervent believers' eyes, once full of devotion and passion, were gradually replaced by shock, confusion, and disbelief. Some started to stir, whispers turning into loud questions and doubts.
Marco's smile froze on his face, the mask of compassion shattering piece by piece, leaving only a grim, panicked scowl.
He tried to shut off the projection, to raise his voice over the chaos, to call on his loyal followers hidden among the crowd to control the situation.
But it was too late.
Vitale's figure appeared at the entrance of the auditorium.
He didn't bring many people—just Victor, Amboni, and a few of his most elite guards.
But his presence alone carried an overwhelming sense of finality.
Dressed in a black suit, no tie, with his shirt collar slightly open, his gaze swept over the chaotic crowd before locking firmly on the man with a pale face on the stage.
"Good evening, Father." Vitale's voice wasn't loud, but through the echo of the microphone, it rang clearly across the entire hall, overpowering all the noise, "or should I call you the devil?"
His words, paired with the undeniable evidence still playing on the screen behind him, became the final straw that broke the believers' mental defenses.
The anger of shattered faith and the shame of being deceived instantly drowned out any reverence for Marco.
Cries and curses erupted from the crowd. Some tried to rush the stage, but Vitale's men calmly blocked them, maintaining order while preventing Marco from making a desperate counterattack.
Marco knew the game was over.
The facade he had painstakingly built, the minds he had manipulated, and the stronghold he had created crumbled under Vitale's precise and ruthless exposure.
A flash of extreme resentment and unwillingness crossed his eyes as he suddenly pulled a gun from under the podium. He didn't aim at Vitale but at the nearest group of emotionally charged believers.
He wanted to create greater chaos and casualties as a final act of revenge, and to buy a chance to escape.
However, just as he pulled the trigger...
A gunshot rang out from a hidden sniper position above the side of the auditorium.
Marco's wrist, still holding the gun, burst into a spray of blood, and the pistol flew out of his hand.
He let out a pained roar, clutching his bloodied wrist, staggering backward.
Vitale gave him no chance to recover.
Like a hunting panther, he crossed the chaotic crowd and overturned chairs in a few strides. Under the terrified gazes of the believers and despite the attempts of Marco's loyalists to intercept—only to be firmly blocked by Victor and the others—he charged onto the stage.
No unnecessary words, no dramatic judgment.
Just the most direct, raw form of revenge.
A cold glint flashed in Vitale's hand—it was the hunting knife he always carried, once belonging to his father, Rhett.
In Marco's eyes reflected the blade's light and Vitale's approaching figure. That face, always wearing a mask of compassion or calculation, finally showed the fear of facing death.
He tried to say something—maybe a curse, maybe a plea for mercy.
But the blade was faster.
The icy edge sliced across his neck, drawing a vivid arc of blood.
All sounds stopped abruptly under that single strike.
Marco, the betrayer and murderer hiding behind the halo of a priest, fell heavily onto the stage he had built himself, his head separated from his body.
Blood soaked the ornate carpet, staining the last shred of false sanctity he held in the believers' hearts.
The auditorium fell into a deathly silence.
Only the heavy smell of blood lingered in the air.
Vitale stood at the edge of the stage, gripping the blood-dripping knife, looking down at the severed body of his enemy.
There was no wild joy of revenge on his face, only a deep exhaustion, as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted, and a lingering sorrow in his eyes for the loved ones he had lost.
He slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping over the pale-faced believers below.
"Look closely," Vitale's voice echoed in the silence, "the one who killed your families, who manipulated your lives, wasn't some mafia plague. It was this devil hiding behind a banner of light, and the killing machines he trained to obey without question."
"Hate can be created, and it can be used. But the real tragedy is becoming fuel for someone else's ambition without even knowing it."
Vitale said no more. He handed the bloodied knife to Amboni behind him, then walked down from the stage, moving through the crowd that parted for him with complicated expressions in their eyes, heading toward the auditorium's entrance.
There, Isabella and Eva were waiting under the protection of Jerry and a few guards.
Isabella's face was pale, her hand tightly gripping Eva's. Clearly, the scene they had just witnessed shook them deeply.
Eva stared straight at the body on the stage, emotions swirling in her deep green eyes.
Vitale reached them without a word, simply opening his arms and pulling both of them into a tight embrace.
A few days later, on a clear morning, Vitale brought Isabella and Eva to the family cemetery on a quiet hillside in the countryside of Lumaria.
Here rested the ancestors of the Luca family, including his parents, murdered by Marco's schemes, and his beloved sister, Liliana.
There was no grand ceremony, no extra entourage.
Just the three of them, with Victor and Amboni quietly following at a distance.
Vitale wore a solemn black suit, Isabella a simple, elegant dress, and Eva plain black clothing.
They placed white lilies at the shared grave of his parents. Vitale stood silently for a long time, his fingers gently brushing over the cold names on the tombstone.
Then, they moved to Liliana's grave.
On the small tombstone was a photo of Liliana, her smile bright as a flower.
Vitale knelt down, placing a bouquet of vibrant sunflowers in front of it.
They were Liliana's favorite flowers when she was alive.
He whispered something, his voice so soft it was almost carried away by the wind. Only Isabella, standing close, could see his slightly trembling shoulders and the redness at the corners of his eyes.
Eva stood a step behind, looking at Liliana's photo, then down at her own chest.
She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and gently placed a bouquet of white daisies beside the sunflowers.
She knelt beside Vitale, gazing at Liliana's smiling face on the tombstone, her voice soft but unusually clear, "Liliana, I'm sorry. Though it wasn't my choice, my life was built on your pain."
Eva paused, as if gathering courage, then turned to Vitale before looking back at the tombstone, "I don't know what I can do to make up for it, but if you don't mind, if you allow me, I want to use this heart you've given me to watch over Vitale in your place."
"I'll try my best to make him happy, to keep him from always being shadowed by the past. That might be the only thing I can do for him."
Vitale looked up at Eva.
The sunlight fell on her pale face, and in her deep green eyes, there were tears, guilt, and a newfound, resolute tenderness.
She didn't say she would replace Liliana—no one could ever do that.
Three months later, in Arcturus.
The deep autumn sunlight draped the city in a golden glow. Guests gathered at Tyson Group, the atmosphere warm and festive.
Today was the day of Vitale and Isabella's wedding.
Having survived life-and-death trials and overcome hatred and fear, the two finally stepped into marriage under the watch of everyone who cared for them.
Vitale wore a perfectly tailored black suit, standing tall. The usual cold sharpness in his eyes was softened, replaced by the steady happiness of a groom.
Isabella wore a stunning wedding dress custom-made by a top designer. Her golden hair was styled into an elegant updo, and beneath the veil, her beautiful face shone, her blue eyes filled with hope and love for the future.
The wedding was simple yet solemn.
When Vitale slipped the blue diamond ring—symbolizing eternity and possession—onto Isabella's finger and leaned down to kiss her lips, the room erupted in warm applause and cheers of blessing.
Victor, Amboni, Jerry, and other core members stood at the front, genuine smiles on their faces.
Eva, as a special bridesmaid, wore a pale purple dress. Standing behind Isabella, she watched the couple embrace, a heartfelt smile on her lips.
The wedding ended perfectly under everyone's blessings, marking the start of a happy future for Vitale and Isabella.