Suddenly, something shattered inside the heart of that iron-willed Mafia Lord. Hearing Alia's final, fading cry from behind the door, Viktor's hand holding the cigarette trembled. He had been leaning against the door, but suddenly, a hint of tears appeared in the corners of his stern eyes.
Unconsciously, a word escaped his lips, cold as the winds of Russia. He whispered in his native Russian language:
"Прости меня, Алия..." (Prosti menya, Aliya...)
(Forgive me, Alia...)
In that single phrase, the depth of his guilt was revealed. When the results of the conspiracy he had carefully blueprinted crashed against his ears, his long-standing mafia persona faltered for a split second. He realized that in seeking revenge, he had perhaps lost the most precious person in his life forever.
The bodyguards watched in shock as their ruthless Lord's eyelashes grew damp. But Viktor quickly composed himself. He wiped the tears away instantly so that no one could witness his weakness.
He placed his hand on the door handle. A part of him wanted to burst in and stop Anashia, but the arrogant Mafia Lord within him held him back again. He let out a heavy sigh and stared into the darkness outside, while Alia's final sob continued to ring in his ears. In the midst of that deafening silence in the kitchen, Alia's body suddenly went still. Her long red nails, which had clawed at the marble counter one last time, went limp and hung down. Her chest, which had been heaving in agony, rose for a fleeting second, and then, with a final long exhale, Alia took her last breath.
When Anashia realized that Alia's body was no longer moving, the demonic strength in his hands faltered. Panicked, he tried to check her pulse, only to find nothing—the heart of the Mafia Queen had stopped forever.
Outside the door, Viktor felt a sudden, sharp emptiness. It felt as if a part of his own soul had been ripped away. He could no longer restrain himself; he slammed the kitchen door open and burst inside.
The sight before him made the ground slip from beneath his feet. His powerful wife, the elite CIA agent Alia, lay lifeless. Her torn red nightdress seemed to blend into a sea of blood.
Viktor collapsed onto his knees beside Alia's body. This time, tears broke through his hardened exterior uncontrollably. He took her cold hand in his and sobbed in a mournful Russian tone—
Viktor: (In Russian) "Нет... Алия! Очнись! Я не хотел, чтобы это зашло так далеко!" (No... Alia! Wake up! I didn't want it to go this far!)
Maria remained on the floor. Witnessing Alia's final breath had drained the last of her strength. She could only stare blankly at her best friend's remains.
The kitchen of that royal Seoul palace had turned into a graveyard. The two Lords wanted to win their power struggle, but in the end, they lost the most precious treasure they sought to rule. Alia's crimson nails remained as silent witnesses to a tragic tale.A miraculous, heart-stopping moment occurred in the kitchen. Just as Viktor was sobbing, Alia's ice-cold body suddenly jolted. Her lungs, fighting one last battle, pulled in a gulp of air—Alia took a long, gasping breath. Her closed eyelids flickered slightly, as if she were trying to claw her way back from the other side of death.
Viktor froze in shock and joy. He checked her pulse and found a very faint, yet steady beat.
Viktor: (In a faint whisper) "Alia? You're alive!"
But in the other corner of the kitchen, the scene had shifted. Anashia stood by the wall. Alia's returning breath didn't bring him joy; instead, a demonic malice flared in his eyes. He hadn't imagined that Alia would survive such extreme brutality.
Anashia smashed the wine bottle onto the floor with fury. Glass shards scattered across the kitchen. He began to walk slowly toward Alia, his eyes as fierce as a dragon's.
Anashia: (In an extremely angry and harsh voice) "Still not dead? This very life force is your enemy, Alia. There is no release for you until I say so!"
As Viktor tried to shield Alia in his arms, Anashia threw him a ruthless look. He realized Viktor had grown weak. Anashia stared at Alia's long red nails, still bruised blue from the agony.
Maria watched this strange turn of events from the floor. She noticed that although Alia was breathing, when her eyes opened slightly, they didn't hold a human gaze. It was a sign of a terrifying counter-attack. Alia, returning from the brink of death, was no longer just a woman she was a living volcano.
Just as Anashia reached out to attack her again, the bright kitchen lights flickered and died for a second. In the darkness, only Alia's red nightdress seemed to emit a fire-like glow. Alia's faint voice momentarily froze the heavy air in the kitchen. When she called out, "Anashia..." in that weak yet sharp voice from the brink of death, the Dragon Lord's inner malice began to melt like wax.
Anashia, who was moving in to finish her off, suddenly stopped in his tracks. That pitiful call struck his drunken brain and stony heart. The demonic lust in his eyes instantly turned into remorse. Anashia collapsed onto the floor at Alia's feet.
He took Alia's bloody and bruised hand in his own and began to sob uncontrollably, speaking in his native Korean:
"미안해, 알리아... 내가 미안해. 정말 그러고 싶지 않았어... 미안해, 제발 나를 믿어줘!" (Mianhae, Alia... naega mianhae. Jeongmal geureogo sipji anhasseo... mianhae, jebal nareul mideojwo!)
(I'm sorry, Alia... I'm sorry. I really didn't want to do this... I'm sorry, please believe me!)
Anashia pressed his face against Alia's long red nails, repeatedly begging for forgiveness. There was no longer the pride of a Dragon Lord in him—only the cry of a guilty man. The realization of what he had done in his drunken state and ego-clash with Viktor began to sting like venom.
Viktor stood by, stunned. The two lords who had been intent on destroying this woman just moments ago were now kneeling at her feet, begging for mercy.
Maria watched from the corner in disbelief. With just one call, Alia had brought two formidable lords to their knees. Alia hadn't fully opened her eyes yet, but a fleeting, mysterious smile appeared at the corner of her lips. In that smile, there was perhaps no forgiveness only the blueprint for a devastating counterstrike.
On the kitchen floor, amid broken glass and spilled wine, the two guilty lords sobbed for their deeds, while Alia, lying in her red nightdress, began to rise like a wounded but terrifying goddess. As the morning light streamed through the kitchen window, it revealed a strange and unbelievable sight. In that cold kitchen where horror had descended last night, there was now a deathly silence.
When Alia slowly opened her eyes, her entire body throbbed with pain. But what she saw made her breath hitch. On either side of her, the two formidable lords were fast asleep. Viktor was holding her tightly, embracing her as if he feared she would vanish the moment he let go. His face was buried near her shoulder, and the tear stains on his shirt from last night hadn't even dried.
On the other side, Anashia lay curled up at Alia's feet, his hand still resting over hers. After a night spent in a drunken stupor and bouts of sobbing, both had fallen into an exhausted sleep right there on the floor.
Alia stared at the ceiling. Her long red nails were caught in the fabric of Viktor's shirt. The brutality of last night, the screams it all felt like a nightmare, but the blue bruises on her skin confirmed every bit of it was real.
She saw these two lords men who were personifications of death to the outside world now clinging to her body out of guilt and a primal obsession. Viktor's possessiveness in his sleep and Anashia's total surrender created a bizarre contrast.
Alia didn't move. She calmly felt the heartbeats of her two enemies. They had shattered her instead of protecting her, yet now they were the ones clinging to her for survival. There were no tears in Alia's eyes anymore, only a ice-cold resolve. She knew that when two lions are deep in sleep, that is exactly when the hunter must make her move.