Hearing the mysterious man's talk of silencing him, Giuseppe's fear surged. He thrashed, muffled cries of "Mmph, mmph, mmph" escaping his sock-stuffed mouth, desperate to beg for mercy. He hadn't caught Vanessa calling out Martin's name earlier, and with his face toward the fireplace, he couldn't see Martin's features.
Martin ignored him, focusing on Vanessa. "Think carefully, Vanessa. End this once and for all, or leave a lingering threat?"
Vanessa's expression shifted, hardening.
Martin pressed: "Imagine if my people hadn't arrived in time. What would've happened to you? What's the outcome?"
Vanessa's eyes flashed with ruthlessness, recalling Giuseppe's taunt: "Sue me? You think you'll ever leave? Even if you do, I'm a respected figure. Your protector's dead. Who'll the law favor—you or me?"
Clutching the blanket, Vanessa glared at the writhing Giuseppe. "I've decided. I want him dead."
Martin clapped, grinning. "Good call."
Even if Vanessa had chosen mercy, Martin wouldn't have spared them—she'd let his name slip. He was testing her resolve. A weak woman wasn't worth further effort, but a decisive one deserved deeper help.
Motioning to one of his men on the sofa, Martin received a pistol and handed it to Vanessa.
She froze, then understood.
"Take your revenge, Vanessa."
Vanessa took the gun, hesitating briefly before her resolve hardened.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots to Giuseppe's chest.
Martin smiled, retrieving the gun and tossing it back to his man. "Clean this up," he said to the team. "I'm taking Vanessa upstairs to freshen up."
"Got it, boss."
…
In the bathroom, water pounded Vanessa's skin as her emotions churned. Fear from killing was minimal; relief and dread from surviving dominated.
"Martin, you still there?" she called.
"I'm here," his voice came from outside.
"Can you come in? I'm scared."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
What followed felt natural.
Later, stroking her hair, Martin said, "Don't worry. My team will stage this as a robbery gone wrong. Those four thugs will be the suspects, but the police will never find them—they'll be buried under Alpine soil. All traces of us will vanish. My guys are pros."
"I trust you," Vanessa murmured, nestling into his chest, the safest place she knew.
A week later, cleaners found Giuseppe's rotting body. As Martin predicted, Italy's notoriously lax police labeled it a robbery, never suspecting Vanessa or him.
By then, Martin and Vanessa were vacationing on a private island in Spain's Balearic chain—Tagomago, one of Spain's most stunning isles, bought by Martin for €250 million as his new "pleasure haven." It boasted a thousand-meter silver beach, lush greenery, twin peaks, and a clear freshwater lagoon—a rare gem.
In the island's lavish villa, Vanessa, draped in a silk sheet, stood on the balcony, basking in the sunset. "God, this sunset is gorgeous," she sighed, stretching.
The long silver beach glowed fiery red under the sun, like it was ablaze. The azure sea shimmered with gentle waves, resembling a giant crimson carp. A salty breeze lifted Vanessa's blonde hair, sunlight filtering through, scattering golden flecks across her body.
"God, you're a goddess," Martin said, drawn to the stunning sight. He wrapped her in his arms from behind.
Vanessa tilted her head back, eyes brimming with joy, and kissed him.
Martin kissed back.
Mutassim's "friend" was worth the promise.
Lips locked, their passion ignited. The balcony became their battlefield.
…
After days of indulgence, they left the island for Madrid, strolling its streets and catching a Real Madrid vs. Villarreal match. Martin skipped the VIP box, preferring the electric atmosphere among Real Madrid fans.
The stadium cameras kept panning to them, sparking cheers from the crowd. Real Madrid won 2-1, with Cristiano Ronaldo scoring and assisting.
Post-match, Martin, in sunglasses, held Vanessa's hand as they left with the crowd. Fans greeted them warmly, though a few hardcore ones warned, "Don't poach Real Madrid's stars!" After all, Martin owned Chelsea, a Premier League rival.
At the parking lot, a woman in sunglasses and a mask rushed toward them, shouting, "Hey, Martin, you come to Spain and don't even call me?!"