A slender ladies' cigarette clamped between my fingertips.

Through the curling smoke, I watched as Lola was dragged and thrown onto the marble floor like a dead dog by two black-clad bodyguards.

She struggled to lift her head, her caramel-colored curly hair matted messily against her face.

Her once meticulously applied cat-eye makeup had smudged into a black, indistinct mess-looking exactly like a trampled tabby cat.

Yet the anger in her eyes blazed brighter than ever before.

"Anna! You venomous woman!"

She screamed. "Do you think you can scare me with Don Daniel's men? I'll tell you-he loves ME! He'll dump you sooner or later, you... you..."

"Shut up."

I didn't look up, merely tapping the armrest of the sofa lightly with my knuckles.

In the next second, the bodyguard standing behind her lifted his foot without hesitation, and the heel of his shoe crushed down hard on the back of her hand that was supporting her on the floor. A crisp sound of bone cracking exploded along with her scream, and the living room fell silent instantly, only her whimpering gasps for breath remained.

Only then did I slowly raise my eyes, my gaze sweeping over her face, contorted in pain, and the shoddy tattoo on her wrist-a cheap imitation of the rose totem on my collarbone, done with the money I gave her.

That was her first step in trying to mimic me.

"Daniel?" I scoffed, flicking the ash from my cigarette onto the expensive carpet.

"Do you really think it was his order that had you dragged here tonight?"

Lola's pupils contracted sharply.

Of course she wouldn't know. She'd only been out of the mountains for five years, having only seen Daniel's gentle and refined side-the man who would smile and praise her tattoo skills, who would buy her limited-edition bags when she pouted.

She'd never known that the man who always wore high-end custom suits, with clean, slender fingers, wore a black jade ring on his left ring finger year-round-a pass to the underground world of Ivan House.

Ivan House was a mafia empire spanning half of Europe, built single-handedly by Daniel White.

And I, Anna Brown-was not only the eldest daughter of the Brown family, but also the only woman Daniel publicly acknowledged as worthy of standing by his side.

I was his "madam," a figure even the entire Ivan House dared not disrespect.

Five years ago, when I brought Lola back, Daniel had glanced at her casually and said in a voice only we could hear: "This girl has ambition in her eyes-she can't be tamed."

Back then, I'd brushed it off as a casual comment.

After all, Lola had been so thin, so pitiful back then.

When she clung to the hem of my dress and said, "Sister, I want to study," the light in her eyes had looked exactly like mine, all those years ago, when I'd longed to escape the constraints of my family.

I stood up and walked over to her, looking down at her from above.

The tip of my shoe tapped her chin lightly.

"You say I'm relying on the Brown family's power?"

I bent down, leaning close to her ear.

"Then do you know that the Brown family has been able to stand firm in New York for a hundred years-not because of Wall Street stocks, but because of Ivan House's guns?"

I straightened up, patting her cheek gently, my thumb brushing the blood from the corner of her mouth.

"You used the money I gave you to learn tattooing. You carved 'Slut' on my chest. You called me a 'gold digger relying on men' online... Oh, and when I was in Paris for business, you snuck into Daniel's study and touched the fountain pen he never leaves without on his desk?"

Lola's face turned as pale as a sheet.

As I looked at Lola trembling on the floor, I suddenly remembered the first time I'd met her five years ago.

It was me who renamed her Lola.

It was me who sent her to the best art academy.

It was me who cut the ribbon at her graduation...

I'd thought I'd saved a lost lamb, never realizing I'd raised a poisonous snake that would bite its master.

I pressed the remote control, and the heavy curtains slid open slowly, revealing the night view of Ivan Pack's headquarters.

On the top floor of that seemingly ordinary office building, a light burned endlessly-that was Daniel's office.

"Do you know where that 'friend' of yours who sent you the video is now?"

I turned sideways, looking into Lola's terrified eyes.

"She took your money, helped you edit the video, bought you trending topics... and now she's lying in an abandoned warehouse of Ivan House, waiting to be 'disposed of'."

I paused, my gaze falling on her broken hand-the hand she'd used to carve those insulting words into my skin.

"As for you..." I walked over to the side table, picking up a sterilized towel handed to me by the housekeeper, and wiped my fingers carefully.

"You used the skills I gave you to hurt me. So I'm going to take those skills back."

I lifted my chin slightly.

Two men in white coats stepped forward immediately, holding a sterilized scalpel and a syringe of anesthetic in their hands.

Lola finally collapsed. She scrambled backward on the floor, letting out shrill screams.

"No! Sister Anna, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have been jealous of you! I shouldn't have touched your man! Please, spare me!"

The acrid tang of disinfectant, laced with a faint whiff of gunpowder, pricked my nostrils as I stared dazedly at the halo of the surgical lamp.

This was the private operating room on the third basement floor of the old mansion-built by my father years ago to weather clan vendettas.

Its walls were bulletproof, micro submachine guns were concealed in the air ducts.

In a daze, the eighteen-year-old Daniel flashed before my eyes.

He always sat in the first row of the classroom.

The collar of his faded white shirt was frayed at the edges, yet he always fastened it to the very top button.

Once, he'd missed three days of school with a high fever.

When I tracked him down to a construction site on the outskirts of town, following the address of his part-time job, he was staggering along the scaffolding with a sack of cement slung over his shoulder.

Sweat mixed with dust streamed down his forehead, and his knees trembled with every step. I stuffed 50 dollars into his canvas backpack-the one with a patch he'd sewn on the side himself, using scraps from an old pair of jeans.

He chased me for three blocks, and when he slammed the money back into my palm at the alleyway entrance, his knuckles were white with exertion.

"Anna, don't make me feel like a groveling dog."

Later, I learned to "coincidentally" bring an extra sandwich, wrap it in tin foil, and hide it in his desk drawer.

I'd "casually" leave review materials on the corner of his table, marked up with pencil notes highlighting the key points-he was always working night shifts and never had time to study properly.

On the night of Chrismas, snow was falling as I stepped out of the dormitory wrapped in a mink coat.

There he stood under the streetlamp, the cuffs of his cotton jacket leaking white fluff, yet he clutched two roasted sweet potatoes tightly to his chest.

The wind ruffled his hair, and frost clung to his eyelashes.

When he saw me, his eyes lit up like the muzzle of a gun in the freezing night.

"Anna," his voice trembled violently as he pressed the hot sweet potatoes into my hands, "can you wait for me? Wait until I... have what it takes to stand beside you."

Years later, he became known as the "Silver Fox" of New York's underworld.

That night, he pinned me down on an Italian handwoven rug.

His fingertips traced the family crest tattooed on my collarbone, and his voice cracked with emotion.

"For years, I slept only three hours a night. I hauled cargo at the docks by day and learned to shoot from the old Don by night. I was terrified your father's men would blow my brains out with a single bullet. I was terrified you'd find out that even the money to buy you a lipstick was earned with my life on the line."

On the day he met my parents, he wore a custom-tailored suit with solid gold cufflinks, yet his fingers tightened instantly when he laid eyes on my father-the "Tiger of the East Coast," the ruler of New York's largest mafia clan, a man Daniel hadn't even dared to look up to back then. He told me later that in that moment, his only thought was:

"The finish line I fought tooth and nail to reach was nothing but the starting line you were born on."

After learning about my family background, he became the most reckless madman in the mafia. He was always the first to charge into enemy territory during turf wars, dared to press a gun to the head of a rival family's elder at negotiation tables, and even stormed a hostile gang's stronghold single-handedly to seize control of the port.

He returned with two gunshot wounds to his abdomen, yet he grinned as he slapped the port ownership documents down in front of me.

"Anna, from now on, all cargo passing will go through me."

He proposed to me by lining a path on a Christmas with nine hundred and ninety dewy white roses-roses he'd personally picked from a flower field in Queens, their petals still bearing the calluses of his fingertips.

As he knelt on one knee, the ring box in his hand was jet-black, and the diamond ring inside was encrusted with tiny diamonds, glinting like the scope on his gun.

"The meaning of my life," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand, his voice deep and resolute, "is to become the man who can stand beside you through every storm of blood."

The anesthetic began to wear off, and a dull throb spread across my chest.

Daniel's love for me was like the pistol he kept tucked in his suit jacket-scorching hot, deadly, yet utterly intoxicating.

But even the sharpest gun can misfire someday.

"Miss?"

The butler's voice pulled me back to reality.

He held a silenced pistol in his hand, its barrel polished to a gleaming shine.

"Daniel's back."

I glanced down at my chest.

The skin there had been perfectly replaced-the original flesh had been branded with "slut," a cruel mark left by Lola.

Now the new skin was slightly pink and smooth, not a trace of the old scar left behind.

Daniel pushed the door open.

He wore a black trench coat, a faint bloodstain smudged on the collar, and carried several shopping bags emblazoned with luxury brand logos.

His face wore that familiar smile.

He set the bags on the nightstand and reached out to touch my face.

"Anna, Lola went too far today," he said casually, as if talking about something trivial.

"I bought you a new necklace. Don't bother yourself with her."

The mansion's medical team had already left, leaving only a few bodyguards in black suits standing guard.

Daniel noticed nothing amiss,he had no idea I'd ordered the butler to dig up Lola's past, and he had no idea I'd slipped a slow-acting poison into her coffee.

He opened the jewelry box, and the diamond inside blazed with brilliant light.

"I promise she won't bother you again."

When he mentioned Lola, his tone held a hint of unintended tenderness.

I stared at the multi-million-dollar Patek Philippe on his wrist, and my mind drifted back to that Christmas night when he was eighteen.

Back then, he'd worn a cheap plastic watch with a frayed strap.

The frayed collar of his white shirt had been replaced with a silk one embroidered with the family crest.

Even the cologne he wore was the exact same scent that lingered in Lola's hair.

"Anna?"

He frowned when I didn't reply, stepping closer.

The hem of his trench coat brushed against the vase on the bedside table, making a soft clinking sound.

Suddenly, Lola burst into the room.

She wore a red dress, a bandage wrapped tightly around her chest, and stumbled into Daniel's arms.

Her hair was disheveled, tears streaked her face.

"Daniel! She had her men hold me down and cut the skin off my chest! You promised you'd protect me!"

Daniel's breath hitched visibly.

He stared at the bandage on Lola's chest, then at my smooth.

His Adam's apple bobbed violently.

"Anna, what have you become? You're so cruel now."

"Where was her sense of cruelty when she branded those filthy words on my skin? Taking a piece of hers in return is only fair."

Daniel opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He knew exactly who Lola was, yet he'd kept her around.

Lola snuggled deeper into his arms, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Daniel! I'm carrying your baby! You can't let her kill our child! Take me away!"

Daniel froze.

He stared down at Lola's belly, then back at me.

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.

He carefully lifted Lola horizontally in his arms.

Joy was unmistakable in every crease of his brows and corner of his eyes.

"Don't be scared. We're heading to the hospital right now."

Daniel hurried outside with her in his arms. He only tossed over his shoulder a sharp remark:

"Anna, you need to calm down and learn to be a mafia's wife properly."

From that day on, Daniel didn't return home for three whole months.

He took Lola to Switzerland to see the snow.

When she casually mentioned loving the alpine scenery of the Alps, he immediately bought a vacation manor at the foot of the mountains-with only her name on the deed.

Then they traveled to Venice.

Lola posted photos on social media of the custom-made antique jewelry set Daniel had commissioned for her as a Chrismas present; an 18th-century sapphire necklace shimmered brilliantly around her neck.

[Someone will quietly fulfill all your wishes without fanfare. So this is what it feels like to be cherished.]

Daniel's favoritism had always been bold .

The night wind, thick with salty moisture, drifted over the carved balcony of Daniel's waterfront villa. Lola ended the video call, still twisting the platinum lighter Daniel had casually tossed her between her fingers.

The "D&A" initials engraved on its surface were scored twice fiercely with her nail polish.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Daniel emerged wearing only a towel slung low around his waist, water droplets glistening as they trickled down the grooves of his abs to his hip bones.

He grabbed his phone from the sofa, glanced at the three missed calls from "Anna" in the call log, and his brows furrowed so tightly .

"She's bothering you again?"

He took the cigarette Lola offered, and with a sharp whoosh, the lighter flared to life with a blue flame.

Lola wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her chest against his warm back, her voice sickeningly sweet: "Mm-hmm. She asked where you were, but I told her you were showering. Daniel, when are you going to break it off with her?"

Daniel stubbed out the cigarette, turned around, and gripped her chin tightly.

His thumb caressed the fresh hickey on her collarbone-the one he'd left that morning on his yacht, when Lola had worn a bikini and moaned so loudly the entire marina could hear her.

He loved her wild, untamed energy, like a feral beast-completely opposite to Anna's perpetually calm demeanor.

"What's the rush?"

He leaned down and nipped her lower lip.

"Once I have full control of the Browns, I'll kick her out for good."

Lola's eyes lit up:

"What about the trust fund her grandfather left her.?"

Daniel scoffed coldly.

"That old man thought he could tie me down with collateral? Wait until I cut off the entire cash flow. Anna's just a hollow socialite with no real power-what's she going to do to stop me?"

What he didn't know was that, at that very moment, in a manor far away in New York, Anna was sitting at a mahogany desk, her fingertips brushing over encrypted documents her butler had just delivered.

These were the latest updates from a mole her grandfather had planted long before his death: Daniel had been embezzling company funds to buy Lola manors and custom jewelry, and had even secretly transferred a sum of dirty money to a Swiss bank account-a sum originally intended to cover the quarterly dividend shortfall for the mafia family "Blood Pact."

Anna set the documents aside and picked up her cup of Earl Grey tea.

Her grandfather had been the "Godfather" of New York's underworld, and her mother had been the family's sole heir.

Daniel had only courted her for her family's influence.

Born into poverty, he'd clawed his way up in the mafia with sheer ruthlessness, but had always been looked down on by the older generation.

Anna had thought he loved her sincerely-until Lola appeared.

On the night of the charity auction, the top-floor ballroom in Manhattan, New York, blazed with lights.

She clung to Daniel's arm, accepting the guests' compliments with poise, acting as if she were already the lady of the house.

Daniel stepped onto the auction stage, picked up the microphone, and was about to announce: "Lola will be the new brand ambassador of the Whites"-a "title" he'd prepared for Lola, and the first step in his declaration of war against Anna.

But before he could finish speaking, the ballroom's carved wooden doors were suddenly smashed open.

A dozen burly men in black suits and earpieces flooded in.

Their waists bulged noticeably armed.

They spread out quickly, blocking all exits.

The guests fell silent instantly; anyone reaching for their phone was roughly restrained by the men.

The leader, dressed in a tailored suit with a silver iris badge pinned to his lapel walked straight up to Daniel.

He held out a document with a gold-embossed cover:

"Daniel, by the late Godfather's order, you are accused of embezzling mafia family funds and betraying your allies. Effective immediately, you are dismissed from all positions at the Whites, and all your assets are frozen."