The unmistakable roar of an engine echoed through the quiet, desolate street as a sleek black car pulled up in front of the unfinished building. The deep, guttural purr of the engine reverberated off the skeletal concrete structure, sending a wave of unease through the dimly lit surroundings."You have got to be kidding me," Wang Jian muttered under his breath, his cigarette slipping from his lips as his fingers trembled slightly. His sharp gaze remained fixed on the vehicle that had just arrived. He didn’t need to take a second look—he already knew who it belonged to.The car door flung open with an air of dominance, and Scott stepped out, his movements measured and precise. He stood tall, his presence exuding a quiet authority that demanded attention. His cold, calculating eyes swept across the surroundings, taking in every detail with the sharpness of a predator surveying its domain. After a brief pause, he shut the car door behind him and shifted his gaze towards the uncompleted b

“B…Boss. It’s good to see you,” Sandro muttered, his voice weak and raspy, yet laced with a flicker of hope.“Sandro,” Scott said softly, a rare glimmer of emotion piercing through his otherwise hardened gaze as he took in the sight of his old friend—bloodied, bruised, but alive.“You look like shit, boss,” Sandro commented with a faint chuckle, his lips cracked and trembling.“I could say the same about you,” Scott replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the tension in the air.“That’s enough!” Wang Jian snapped, drawing Scott’s attention toward him. His grip tightened menacingly around the knife, the cold steel pressing harder against Sandro’s throat. “One move—just one—and I’ll cut his throat wide open.”“You don’t want to do this,” Scott said coldly, his tone like ice.“Oh, but I do. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t. You’re going to kill me anyway, so I might as well take your precious friend with me. If I’m going to hell, I’m dragging him with me!”

Sandro stood in stunned silence for several moments, Scott’s words echoing in his ears. His expression was one of disbelief, as though he were struggling to comprehend the weight of everything he’d just heard.“Wow... that’s a lot,” Sandro finally murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion. “I had no idea you went through all this.”He paused, looking at Scott with concern. “Why didn’t you call for help sooner?”“Because I didn’t want my empire back home to get dragged into my personal war over here,” Scott replied, his tone heavy with regret. “But in the end… look what happened.”Sandro frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What about your mission? How’s it going?”Scott’s jaw clenched. “The bastard’s still in Spain. Still breathing,” he replied through gritted teeth, anger flaring in his eyes. “I’ve been working night and day for months—mapping out strategies, moving carefully to avoid suspicion, gaining allies—but now it all feels like it’s been blown to hell.”“It’s been months, boss,

Evelyn took a single step forward, then halted almost immediately. Her gaze locked onto Cao Ning, disbelief etched deeply into every feature of her face. She hadn’t expected to see any of Wang Jian’s men again—especially not someone like Cao Ning. He was the kind of man who was always at the warfront, the tip of the spear, the one who charged first and bled hardest. If anyone was destined to die in a hopeless last stand, it was him. And now that nearly everyone was confirmed dead, she had fully assumed he was among the fallen. Even if rumors surfaced that a few stragglers might have escaped the bloodbath, Cao Ning would never have been her guess. But here he was—standing in the mansion, battered but alive, staring back at her like a ghost who refused to stay buried. “How are you here? How... are you even alive?” Evelyn asked shakily, her voice breaking as she tried to steady herself. “Well, I ran,” Cao Ning replied with a shrug, his voice disturbingly casual. “When I saw the tide

Back in Mr. Fernando's Mansion....The mansion stood tall and imposing in the quiet estate, its towering walls casting long shadows across the polished stone driveway. The compound was filled with expensive, gleaming cars—black sedans and armored SUVs. Armed men roamed the grounds with vigilance, rifles slung across their shoulders, eyes sharp with suspicion and readiness.Inside the grand living room, the air was thick with cigar smoke and tension. Chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls from the ceiling, casting intricate light patterns on the marble floor. Mr. Malcolm Fernando sat on an opulent leather sofa, his posture relaxed but his expression anything but. He held a thick, round cigar between his middle fingers, the ember at the tip glowing faintly with every drag. His sharp, calculating eyes bore into the men standing rigidly before him."Still nothing?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, laced with tightly controlled anger.“No, boss,” Bolasco responded quickly, his voice