1. Chapter

He drove full of rage, hatred and lack of control. A dangerous combination that raged inside him. The thirst for revenge against that cursed man intensified; His breathing became increasingly labored as he approached the agreed upon location, and the adrenaline was released, triggering a deranged desire, a terrible desire to finish off Luca with a single shot.

The wolf would blow his brains out with one shot. No one ordered her to interfere in his affairs. He had Luna under her control, and he wanted her for himself, as her father had asked him to.

Not in the hands of the enemy, in this case, the head of the Italian mafia.

The girl was his, and tonight he would rescue her.

"I have arrived, if I have everything under control I don't want them to intervene, understand? Over," he spoke through the communicator.

"Understood, boss. Over."

"I'll get out of the car, K71, change and get out," he warned.

He dug the tires into the asphalt. Darkness reigned violently as he turned off the convertible's lights. Alek grabbed the gun at his waist, but he also grabbed a Colt 45 from the dashboard of the car and climbed out, pointing it in all directions. Euphoria from the desire to get rid of heads that dark July night slithered through his veins like a snake eager to inject his venom.

He advanced with firm steps, without hesitating even a bit, reaffirming the security with which he moved. He was ready to pull the trigger, even if he managed to get Frattini to give up and hand over the supposedly defective "merchandise."

I'd kill him for being nosy anyway.

She wasn't the target, but rather Grace, her mother's daughter with another man. But when Luna appeared in the plans, the young woman became a target.

Dimitri thought it was a great idea to have the wrong girl, since she was also Gregg's daughter, and his traitorous wife loved her like her own daughter.

He had plans, perverse and dark. He visualized in her mind a brown girl crying out for mercy, begging for her to end the violence. The taste of her tears mixed with the sweat of despair and her blood was like sweet candy in her mouth.

But the plan changed, he decided to give it to his son with one condition: that he torture her and finally get rid of her. And most importantly, he sent her family photos of the girl in the worst possible state, images that caused absolute consternation.

Aleksander did not hesitate to accept those conditions and the gift that had already been stolen from him.

Konstantinov took a look around the place. At night, Sardinia was not the same as during the day. The blue sky had turned black and the summer heat had turned cold. A smile appeared on his face surrounded by the terror of that environment, fascinating for his somber soul.

It was quite a spectacle, but without lights, without spotlights, but under the cloak of darkness, as he liked.

"Why don't you come out of your hiding place, you damned bastard?" he shouted at the top of his lungs, after the deep roar that emanated from his throat. He heard footsteps and then a cold laugh, followed by the arrival of the man he was referring to.

"Oh Aleksander, stop the insults. We're not going to get anywhere like this," he spoke calmly, taking one last drag on the cigarette before throwing it on the ground and crushing it with the toe of his shoe.

At all times, the Russian did not take his furious gaze away from him. Anger was reflected in the throbbing veins in his neck and in the way his jaw clenched. She distrusted men like him, she had to study his movements, his intentions, what he planned to do, even if he seemed unfazed.

Any mistake could be a trap, an ambush.

He scanned the place with fierce eyes, thinking that his men might be hidden in the stunted grass.

"Who have you come with? Talk!" he exclaimed, focusing on the man who was acting brazenly.

"Only, I haven't broken my word. I hope you haven't either, Konstantinov," he replied, doubting that the Russian was unprotected. "Put down the gun."

He smiled evilly, slowly lowered the pistol and held it firmly. He wasn't stupid enough to throw her on the ground.

"I'm a lone wolf tonight," he announced in a growl.

"Or a kitten," he scoffed, letting out a laugh. Alek pursed his lips in annoyance and exasperation. "Listen to me, Konstantinov, I won't give you the girl unless you give us the goods that will arrive at the port on Wednesday night. It's that or nothing."

The Russian caught the words, the damn guy was asking for a fortune in exchange for something that already belonged to him. Curse.

"What? I won't give you anything. Who do you think you're talking to, you despicable rat? I won't give you the pleasure, Luca," he assured without letting his guard down.

"Go to hell! Then the girl will still be mine," he replied, making a movement that, within seconds, Alek caught, raising his gun in time to fire the first shot.

In response, Luca managed to lightly graze Konstantinov's arm, which seemed like an insignificant scratch from a feline that lay complaining on the ground. The Russian advanced, unloading all the bullets into the body of the Italian, who, in an instant, was taken away by death.

The limp, bloody man was another prey of the wolf.

He stared at him, as if searching for some trace of life that he could still mitigate.

"Only an idiot would think of coming alone. Now you're dead," he said, putting the gun away.

He communicated again through the device, telling his men to come out of the shadows.

In the trunk of the Italian's car, he found the dying and helpless girl. Viktor Volkov arrived along with the other four armed men, who were in charge of finishing her off.

Once she was loaded into the back of the armored truck Volkov was driving, Aleksander blew the enemy car to pieces.

Then he walked away and got into the BMW, starting it up.

"The mission has been successful."