It was nighttime. The cemetery lay in deep silence, cloaked under a veil of stillness that blanketed every tombstone and withered tree.
All was quiet—except for the faint sound of footsteps.
A hooded woman, whom Tatsumi had bumped into earlier that day, stood solemnly before a freshly dug grave. The damp earth still bore the marks of a hurried burial. It was the final resting place of the man who had been executed for the murder of Lord Tariq.
A few paces behind her stood Leone, cloaked in darkness, her figure slightly hunched in her transformed Lionelle form. This was her first time returning to the capital since her suspension—a punishment handed down after a mission had spiraled disastrously out of control a month prior.
Had Mine and Sheele not backed out of their surveillance operation on Vito, Leone might still be stuck at headquarters, cleaning out storerooms and filing reports. But rather than feeling thankful, she now understood the fear Mine and Sheele had endured. A heavy, suffocating dread had loomed over them each time Vito noticed their presence. It wasn't surprise or confusion that filled his gaze. It was something worse—an acknowledgment.
He let them watch him.
That calm, calculating confidence had unnerved Mine so deeply that she had abandoned the mission entirely. Left with no other choice, Najenda had lifted Leone's suspension and returned her to active duty.
Tonight, Leone had taken no chances. Her Teigu was fully activated, its primal power humming through her limbs. Golden fur bristled, her eyes scanned the surrounding gravestones and thickets with hunter-like intensity. Every shadow was suspect, every gust of wind suspect.
So far, nothing.
The woman's posture betrayed her anxiety. Leone approached, her boots crunching softly on gravel.
"Continue," she said.
The woman bowed her head lower, clutching the front of her robe. She was trying to hide the signs—wasting sickness, scarring, subtle tremors. Her body had paid a price.
"Every time Gamal commits a crime, Ogre finds someone to take the fall," she said, voice trembling.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
"My fiancé... he was framed for Lord Tariq's death. We didn't even know the man. But he overheard something through the prison walls—Gamal speaking to Ogre. That was enough. They silenced him. Before they hanged him, he sent me a letter, so I'd know the truth."
Her strength gave out, and she sank to her knees, bowing low as if seeking divine mercy.
"Please... help me clear this regret from my heart. I have nothing left."
Leone studied her. This woman had sacrificed her body and soul for the mere hope of justice. Leone could see it—beyond the rags, beyond the disease. She had walked through hell just to reach this meeting.
Leone made her decision.
"Understood," she said, her voice low but firm. "We'll send them both screaming to hell."
The woman's sob cracked the silence.
"Thank you, miss… I can't thank you enough."
From her robe, she produced a small coin purse. It jingled faintly, heavy with blood money—coins earned by selling her body to strangers, enduring pain and humiliation, even contracting a venereal disease, all to fund this request.
Leone accepted the bag without a word, but her nose twitched sharply. Something was wrong.
Smoke.
The acrid scent of fire was faint, but growing.
"You need to leave," Leone said, her tone shifting. "Now. Before someone finds us here."
The woman nodded hastily and vanished into the shadows, her silhouette swallowed by the night.
Leone lingered behind, her eyes glowing faintly in the darkness as she caught the acrid scent of fire on the wind. Hopping across rooftops with feline agility, she quickly made her way to the Third District—where chaos unfolded below. Flames surged through rows of wooden homes and shops, lighting up the night sky in a menacing orange hue. Citizens fled in panic, clutching their belongings, while others desperately called out for loved ones.
"What... in the hell is going on?" Leone muttered, her voice low with disbelief.
Her heart tightened at the sight—families escaping the blaze, but not a single Imperial soldier in sight. No fire brigade. No guards. No help.
"I need to do something," she growled.
Spotting a nearby tavern just outside the inferno's reach, Leone rushed inside, seized a large barrel of ale, and darted back out. Years of bar-brawling experience told her this dark brew was heavy and moist enough to suppress flames.
She hurled the ale onto the burning debris. It hissed and steamed as the fire momentarily faltered. Not enough—but it was a start.
Without pause, she sprinted to another shop, grabbed another barrel.
Then another.
And another.
Over and over, Leone drenched the advancing fire with every liquid container she could find. Her relentless efforts began to bear fruit as the flames started to weaken. Encouraged, residents slowly emerged from hiding to join in. Buckets of water were passed hand-to-hand, and a coordinated effort finally began to form.
By the time the last embers died out, the people still had no idea who had sparked the resistance. But in their eyes, someone had given them hope.
Perched atop a soot-blackened rooftop, Leone gazed solemnly at the scorched remains of the neighborhood. The silence was heavy, broken only by the crackle of dying embers.
"I swear on their name... whoever did this won't get away with it," she vowed, her tone steely with resolve.
So focused was she on the wreckage that she failed to notice the carriage quietly making its way down a side street. Inside sat Tatsumi, Vito, Gauri, and the trade overseer—faces unreadable, watching from the shadows.
The men who, through layered games and unseen hands, were indirectly responsible for the fire.
The four men arrived at the docks, their bodies heavy with exhaustion and ash clinging to their clothes after the harrowing events of the night. The carriage came to a slow halt, the horses snorting wearily as the doors creaked open. One by one, the men stepped down, their boots crunching softly against the gravel-strewn path. The faint scent of smoke still lingered in the air as they made their way into the warehouse, where several of Vito's trusted workers were already waiting with lanterns in hand.
Inside, the warehouse was quiet, lit only by dim, flickering oil lamps. Shadows danced across crates and barrels stacked high along the walls. Gauri took the lead, guiding the trade overseer to his new quarters. The space was humble but sufficient—clean, modest, detached from the Empire's ever-watchful eye, and most importantly, safe. A place where a man could try to rebuild his life without fear.
"A place good enough to start anew," Gauri said with a reassuring nod, gesturing to the small cot and writing desk within the private room.
The overseer bowed low before Gauri and Vito, his voice trembling with sincerity.
"Thank you so much… I swear on my life I'll do the best I can to serve you well. I will not forget this kindness."
"Grazie," Vito replied with a calm, almost fatherly smile. "If you wish to repay us, I ask only one thing: live long, and prosper. That is all I desire."
Moved nearly to tears, the overseer gave another bow before retreating into his room.
With that settled, Vito, Tatsumi, and Gauri turned and left the warehouse. The cold night air hit them as they stepped outside, stars twinkling faintly in the black sky. The three men walked in silence for a time, the rhythm of their steps echoing against the cobblestones. When they reached their home in Little Italy, Genco was already standing at the doorstep, arms crossed and worry etched deep into his face.
"Where have you guys been? There was a fire in the Third District," Genco said sharply, his voice thick with anxiety.
Tatsumi and Gauri exchanged a grim look, the memory of screaming townsfolk and collapsing structures still vivid in their minds. The weight of their involvement pressed heavily on their consciences.
"We—" Tatsumi began, his voice catching slightly.
"We rescued our contact in the Third District. That bastard Gamal had his men set a fire just to trap us inside," Vito interrupted smoothly, his tone calm and controlled.
Tatsumi's eyes widened slightly in surprise at the lie—or rather, the truth with a tailored veneer. Gauri glanced at Vito, equally stunned by how effortlessly he spun the story.
"Then thank goodness you came home in one piece," Genco said, the tension in his shoulders easing. "I was starting to fear the worst."
Vito turned to Tatsumi and Gauri and gave them a knowing nod. The message behind his calm gaze was clear:
Don't worry about it. I've got this.
With an unspoken understanding, Tatsumi and Gauri nodded back. They stepped forward into the house and joined Genco in preparing dinner, the smell of herbs and simmering sauce soon replacing the lingering scent of smoke.
As they chopped vegetables and stirred pots, the warmth of the hearth and the comfort of routine brought a sense of temporary peace. Yet, deep down, each of them knew the fire they had left behind would not be the last.
But for tonight, at least, they had each other—and the quiet clatter of plates and laughter in the kitchen was enough to make the darkness feel a little less oppressive.
Two Days Later…
In his lavish office nestled deep in the Entertainment District, Gamal stood on the balcony, surveying the quiet streets below. It was still daytime—slow hours for the brothels, which meant little foot traffic and fewer eyes watching. But none of that mattered to him. A twisted grin spread across his face as he took in the air with a self-satisfied breath.
"Ah… I love the smell of profits in the morning," he murmured, sniffing dramatically at the still air.
With a half-empty glass of ale in hand, he turned back inside, settling into the high-backed leather chair behind his ornate mahogany desk. The office was decadently furnished, the walls lined with velvet drapes and gilded fixtures, the embodiment of excess.
Unbeknownst to Gamal, Leone was crouched silently in the attic above. Hidden within the shadows, she listened intently, her senses sharp and focused. This mission—eliminating both Gamal and Captain Ogre—was a personal one. Every vile word Gamal uttered gave her more reason to see it through. Her Teigu-enhanced hearing allowed her to catch every muttered confession.
"That foolish Tariq is long gone. One of their potential allies taken out in a fire. And I get to walk away with someone else's murder once again. As long as I exist in this Empire, there will be no inconveniences like Genco Pura bothering me."
So you were behind the fire in the Third District… Leone's expression darkened in the shadows above. You slime. All this just to eliminate competition? You really are the lowest of the low.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open.
A large, gruff man entered—one of Gamal's hired bandits. His face was bruised, an ugly welt swelling on one cheek, and his lips curled into a scowl.
"Ah… you've done your job well," Gamal said, reaching under his desk to retrieve a pouch of gold coins, which he placed on the table.
The bandit didn't move. Instead, he scoffed. "Hmph. Why would I take money for a job that wasn't even finished?"
Silence fell. The tension in the room was palpable. Even Leone held her breath.
"What?"
"You heard me. That permit guy you wanted dead? He had help. Someone took out two of my men like they were nothing."
Gamal's grip on his glass tightened until it cracked in his hand, spilling ale over his desk.
"Then how did you escape?"
"He let me go. The moment I got far enough, the whole district was on fire."
Leone's eyes widened. What? He didn't start the fire himself? Then who did?
Gamal rubbed his temple in frustration, trying to process the news.
"So you're telling me… the Third District Inferno wasn't your doing?"
"No. Why would I go burning down a whole apartment building? We were supposed to do this cleanly."
"Cleanly? With two of your men dead and the target still breathing? That's your idea of subtlety?"
The air grew heavier with every passing second. The bandit stood his ground.
"I know I messed up. But let me find them again. I won't ask for a single coin. Just let me take them down—it's personal now. They humiliated me."
"YOU BETTER!!!!"
With a furious snarl, Gamal hurled his cracked glass at the bandit's head. The man dodged with practiced ease, stepping out of the office with a scowl etched deep on his face.
Still seething, Gamal turned and pounded his fist on the desk. The tension was broken only when a trembling servant entered, clutching a letter.
"Sir Gamal… a letter for you."
Gamal snatched it from the servant's hands with a growl, tearing it open. His eyes darted across the contents, his expression shifting from annoyance to confusion—and then to something far more dangerous.
The message was brief.
But its implications were anything but.
Signore Gamal,
We are pleased to inform you that our company has undergone a successful rebranding, all in the name of progress and mutual interest. I trust this letter reaches you directly, for I carry with it not just a message—but an invitation.
You see, if you've been under the impression that you alone possess the audacity to play dirty in business, then I must regretfully inform you that you've made a grave miscalculation. Blocking our reopening, framing an innocent man for a crime you orchestrated—these are bold moves, Signore. And yet, in the spirit of good business, I'll let it slide. After all, we both know there's no such thing as a clean trade.
Now, onto the matter at hand. I'd like to extend a proposition: let us meet tonight in your office to discuss a potential partnership. Consider it a chance to revive what's left of your crumbling operations. Perhaps, deep down, you've grown weary of watching your carefully laid plans unravel.
What you decide is, ultimately, irrelevant to me. I will be there tonight either way. And perhaps—just perhaps—I'll make you an offer you simply can't refuse.
With professional regard,
Vito Corleone
Five Angels Trading Company
Once he finished reading the entirety of the letter, Gamal crumpled it with a violent snap, his face twisted in a fit of pure rage.
The revelation that not only had they reopened their operations, but also rebranded themselves entirely, was a personal affront—a blatant challenge to his power and pride.
"He's going to make me an offer I can't refuse?" Gamal growled through gritted teeth. "Well, I'll make him one: I'll offer him my knife sticking into his throat."
High above in the attic, Leone watched and listened, her golden eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Vito… Corleone… That's the guy Tatsumi mentioned the last time I saw him... What does he have to do with all this?
It had been some time since she last heard that name, yet now it echoed through the threads of her current mission like a whisper growing louder.
Her discovery didn't clarify the situation—it only deepened the shadows around it.
A new business suddenly threatening Gamal's empire...
Tariq's mysterious and untimely murder...
The desperate plea of a grieving fiancée...
A failed assassination attempt that no one claimed responsibility for...
A district set ablaze in chaos and fear...
Each thread, each incident, led back to one central figure: Vito Corleone.
Damn it… I'm supposed to be an assassin, not a woman tangled in a web of conspiracies, Leone thought bitterly.
Yet despite her reservations, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was no ordinary assignment. There was something deeper here, something more dangerous.
As much as I want to investigate this Vito Corleone, the mission comes first.
Leone exhaled slowly, her resolve hardening. She adjusted her stance, then silently slipped out of the attic like a shadow, vanishing into the dark with renewed purpose.