"Sir… please… let me go…!"
Celia tried to push Dominic's chest away, but her hands trembled weakly, almost without strength. Tears streamed down her face, and her breathing came in ragged gasps from fear and her futile attempt to resist.
"T-this… this is a misunderstanding… I came here… I only came here to clean, Sir… please… don't…"
Dominic pinned Celia's body beneath him, his knee pressing firmly against her thigh so she couldn't move. His eyes were dark and cold, showing no trace of pity.
"Silence," he said in a low voice, a command that could not be questioned.
His hand grabbed the collar of Celia's uniform, and with one rough pull, the fabric tore open, exposing her shoulder.
"You're here for me tonight. Only for me."
=============
Europe never truly sleeps.It only changes its mask.
Under the gray sky of Milan, an old nameless building stood quietly among rows of modern towers. There was no sign, no logo.
But everyone who knew the dark world understood one thing.
That place was the heart of Dominic Ignacio El Halcón's power.
Thirty-three years old.
Still young for a ruler of Europe, yet far too experienced to be called coincidence.
Dominic sat in the main chair behind a black marble desk. His black suit was neat, expensive, and perfect—just like the life he had built with his own hands since his teenage years.
His face was handsome, with a sharp jawline and dark eyes that revealed nothing except absolute control.
His finger tapped slowly on the desk.
One…
Two…
Three…
The rhythm was a language.
And everyone in the room understood it.
Thirteen men stood lined up before him. Not one of them dared to speak without permission.
On Dominic's right stood Alexandro Vitale—his closest assistant, childhood friend, and the man who had grown up with him since they were both street boys learning to survive with their fists.
Alexandro handled all of Dominic's underground operations—guns, distribution routes, money laundering, and executions. His face was always calm, his eyes sharp, loyal without needing an oath.
On Dominic's left, standing slightly farther away, was Matteo Rinaldi.
Not many people knew Matteo's past.
Ten years ago, Alexandro found him in a public library in Milan. A thin boy sitting in the corner, hacking into corporate servers just to get money to eat.
Alexandro didn't pity him.
He saw potential and brought him directly to Dominic.
Matteo was trained personally by Dominic—discipline, strategy, and patience.
Now Matteo handled all of Dominic's legal businesses: export-import companies, property investments, and shadow banking.
The bright world that served as the perfect mask for the darkness behind it.
"Start," Dominic said briefly.
Reports began to flow.
The Marseille route was secure.
Distribution in Prague was under control.
Property investments in Berlin were increasing.
Dominic listened without expression.
These weren't achievements.
They were obligations.
His tapping finger stopped when Alexandro spoke one short sentence.
"There's been an information leak, Cio."
Cio. Dominic Ignacio El Halcón's childhood nickname.
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly.
Dominic raised his gaze. His eyes were sharp, cold, deadly.
"Who."
A man was dragged to the center of the room.
His hands were tied. His face was pale, and sweat soaked his temples. He didn't dare look at Dominic.
Dominic stood up.
His tall figure cast a dark shadow over the man.
He walked slowly, every step measured. Each step on the floor felt like a countdown for the man.
Dominic stopped right in front of him and looked down with a blank expression.
"Alex, I want this man's data."
Dominic's gaze remained fixed on the man kneeling before him.
"Excel. Two wives. Two children from the first wife, and one baby from the second," Alexandro said while taking a deep drag from his cigarette.
"You know," Dominic said quietly, "I didn't build all of this with violence."
He bent down slightly, forcing the man to meet his eyes.
"I built it with one thing that cannot be bought."
He paused.
"Loyalty."
The man immediately fell to his knees.
"M-Mr. Dominic! I only sold a little information! I was desperate—"
Dominic raised his hand.
Alexandro and Matteo both stiffened.
They knew that when Dominic did that, there was no room for explanations.
"Your biggest mistake," Dominic continued calmly, "was thinking that I care about your reasons."
He glanced at Alexandro.
"How long has he worked for me?"
"Four years," Alexandro replied.
Dominic looked back at the man.
"Four years. And you thought that was enough to trade my name for pocket change."
Dominic stared at him longer than before.
The silence hung heavily in the room.
"Where did you send the data?" he asked quietly.
The man sobbed and shook his head quickly.
"I-I… I don't know, Sir."
Dominic didn't react. Only his eyes narrowed slightly.
"You sell information," he said flatly, "but you don't know who you sold it to?"
"I-I was only a middleman," the man stammered. "They gave me one contact, a fake name. I never met them. I only sent the data through a route they gave me."
Dominic glanced at Alexandro.
"Route?"
"External servers. Multiple layers. Redirected several times," Alexandro replied quickly. "It doesn't lead to any specific organization."
Dominic looked back at the man.
"What did you send?"
"Shipping schedules," the man cried.
"Port names. Two backup routes. That's all, I swear. That's all I know. I really don't know anything else, Sir."
Dominic crouched slightly, bringing his face level with the man's.
"Listen carefully," he said quietly.
"In my world, people like you always say the same thing."
'I don't know.'
He paused.
"Your ignorance doesn't solve the problem you created."
The man shook his head desperately.
"I really don't know who they are, Mr. Dominic. I was only paid to send the data."
Dominic stood up again.
"That's enough," he said shortly.
He made a small gesture with his fingers.
"Stand."
The man trembled as he was forced to his feet.
Dominic gestured again.
"Untie him."
His hands were released.
Not to give him freedom—
but so he could feel everything.
Dominic stepped closer. His voice remained low, almost gentle, but as deadly as a drawn blade.
"Look around you," he said quietly.
"Everyone in this room will remember you."
The man sobbed. His eyes moved wildly across the faces surrounding him.
No sympathy.
No one looked away.
Dominic turned and walked calmly back to his desk. He opened the top drawer.
Click.
A small knife appeared in his hand—sharp, clean, shining under the light.
Dominic examined it briefly, as if choosing a writing tool rather than a weapon.
"Do you know why I prefer this?" he asked without turning.
"Because it fits perfectly in the hand."
He walked closer again.
The man dropped to his knees again, crying uncontrollably. Prayers spilled from his mouth.
Dominic knelt slowly in front of him, almost at eye level. His gaze was cold, almost curious.
"Relax," he said softly.
"I want you to remember this moment."
The knife moved downward slowly.
Sreeet…!
"Aaaaah…!"
The first scream echoed sharply, making everyone in the room tense.
The man screamed as blood poured out and a finger fell to the floor. Dominic had started with the pinky finger.
Everyone in the room felt a chill run down their spine.
It was both a spectacle and a warning.
Betrayal always had consequences.
"That one," Dominic said calmly,"is for the baby from your second wife. Alex, make sure it's wrapped nicely and sent to the child."
A moment later, Dominic calmly grabbed another finger.
Sreeet…!
Then the index finger.
Sreeet…!
"Aaaaah…!"
Two fingers dropped to the floor.
"And those are for the two children from your first wife."
He stood again afterward, cleaning the knife with a white handkerchief as if he had just finished a small task.
Then he looked back at the man.
"Oh… I almost forgot you have two wives."
Dominic sat down again and grabbed the man's thumbs.
Sreeet…!
Sreeet…!
"Aaaaah…!"
Both of the man's thumbs fell from their place.
"Enough," Dominic said at last.
He stood upright.
There was no anger on his face—only a decision that had already been made.
He looked at the man in front of him, who now hung limply, his breathing broken and uneven, his eyes empty from pain and terror.
Dominic turned his head slightly to the right.
"Alex."
Without saying a word, Alexandro stepped forward.
A black pistol appeared from beneath his suit jacket, raised with calm precision. There was no hesitation in his eyes. There never was whenever Dominic gave an order.
The man looked up. His eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat as he understood the meaning behind Dominic's gaze.
"M-Mr. Dominic—"
"Now," Dominic said flatly.
The gunshot echoed briefly inside the soundproof room.
The traitor's body staggered before collapsing onto the floor, lifeless.
Silence followed.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Dominic adjusted the cuffs of his suit as if he had just finished an ordinary meeting.
He turned to Matteo.
"Make sure his name is erased from all records," he said calmly."As if he never existed."
Matteo nodded briefly.
"It will be done before morning."
"Clean this up," Dominic ordered.
The body was immediately dragged out. The floor was cleaned. The air was replaced.
No traces.
No stories.
Dominic sat down again. He poured a drink into a crystal glass, slowly swirling the dark liquid before taking a small sip.
His face remained calm and controlled, yet his chest felt empty.
Always empty after moments like this.
He ruled Europe.
He was feared.
He was desired.
Beneath the neat network of legal businesses—hotels, exclusive bars, jewelry companies, health industries, export-import corporations, and IT firms—there was always another current moving quietly underneath.
Dominic knew it.
He didn't cleanse the darkness.
He only made sure the system ran without chaos.
And yet, none of it ever filled the silent space inside him.
"Cio," his right-hand man's voice came from the side of the room.
"There's a new transaction."
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
He stared at the reflection of the dark liquid in his glass for a moment before placing it back on the marble table.
"For the club?" he finally asked.
"Yes," Alexandro replied.
"A request from the southern network. They need one more. Not the usual type."
Dominic exhaled slowly.
"I don't choose them one by one anymore."
"You usually don't," Alexandro said carefully.
"But this one… didn't come from our recruitment route. She came from an outside source. Someone we used to know."
Dominic lifted his gaze.
"Someone is selling outside the system," Alexandro continued.
"And that's always a risk."
Dominic stood up and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. His posture towered—tall, powerful, undeniable.
"I'll take a look," he said flatly.
"Nothing more."
A few minutes later, Dominic didn't move.
Behind the one-way glass, he stood tall—one meter ninety centimeters in height, his muscular body wrapped in a perfectly tailored dark suit.
He had seen hundreds of women in rooms like this.
Hundreds of faces.
Hundreds of stories that all ended the same way.
But the girl standing in front of him was different.
Her dark brown hair fell naturally to her waist, untidy yet beautiful. Her skin was pale and clean, contrasting with the gloomy room that confined her.
Her face was soft—too soft for the night world.
Her long eyelashes lowered gently, shadowing clear brown eyes that had not yet been tainted by anything.
Her small pink lips were tightly closed, as if the world had never taught her how to lie.
She stood straight, sometimes lowering her head while playing with the ends of her hair. She hadn't moved from the spot where she first stepped into the room.
But it clearly wasn't because of courage.
It was more like… the habit of a girl who had been taught to be polite.
She was about one hundred and sixty centimeters tall.
Her body was not thin, nor overly curvy.
Just ideal.
Natural.
Real.
Not a product of a nightclub.
Dominic observed her without expression.
There was no pity.
No attraction he was willing to admit.
Only one conclusion formed slowly in his mind—cold and rational.
This girl was in the wrong place.
"Her name?" Dominic asked without turning.
"Elena Celia," Alexandro answered from behind him.
"She's called Celia. Or Elen."
Dominic nodded briefly.
"Who brought her here?" he asked again.
Alexandro paused for a fraction of a second before answering, his voice slightly lower.
"Someone who introduced himself as a person from her past," he said carefully.
"He used a fake name. We haven't found his real identity yet."
Dominic smiled faintly.
A smile that never meant anything good.
"People who hide their names," he murmured,
"always have dirty intentions."
He turned and walked away from the glass without giving another order.
Behind him, the girl named Elena Celia was still standing quietly, unaware that her life had just fallen into the hands of a man who ruled Europe—and a world that had never known the meaning of gentleness.
She didn't know who Dominic Ignacio El Halcón was.
She didn't know what that dark room meant.
She didn't know that trust was the most expensive currency in the adult world.
The only simple thing Elena Celia knew was this:
She trusted the person who brought her there.
And that was where her story began.