My Scars Are Seeds of Glory

Seeing that I still hadn't paid after five years, one of the debt collectors pressed a gun to my temple.

The next second, my phone rang. The notification sounded painfully clear.

50 thousand dollars had been deposited into my account.

I froze.

I transferred the money to the collectors, and only then did they curse under their breath and back off.

I finally let out a breath. Just as I was about to leave, I saw Michele Giuliani walking into the casino with his men.

Five years had passed. The air around him had grown even more dangerous and oppressive.

His shirt collar was slightly open. The familiar tattoo was still there, but a vicious new scar cut across it.

As soon as the interview was over, he brought his "clean" little girlfriend, Barbara Granato, here to see the world he ruled.

Seeing how close he and Barbara were, I lowered the brim of my hat and tried to melt into the crowd.

But Michele suddenly grabbed my wrist. His eyes were cold.

"Why are you running?" he asked coldly, tugging his collar aside to fully expose the tattoo. "Aren't you going to look at the mark you left back then?"

I forced a smile. "My time is expensive. If you want my attention, trade it for your villa in Abraria. You're the Don now. Was that 50 thousand dollars supposed to tip a beggar? I want the villa, and I want the new shipment you just brought into the docks."

He looked at me in silence.

"After five years, is money all you see now?" he asked, tightening his grip.

The cut on my wrist, left by the collectors' knife earlier, started bleeding again.

I sucked in a sharp breath and shook him off.

"What exactly do you want to talk about, Don Giuliani?" I snapped. "How I just got beaten up by debt collectors? Or how I've been crawling through the mud all these years?"

Michele fell silent, an unreadable glint flickering in his eyes. Then, he released my wrist.

Just as he was about to speak, Barbara pressed herself against him. She eyed me with disdain, deliberately brushing her fingers over the tattoo under Michele's collarbone.

"An old tattoo doesn't mean a thing. Yesterday, I was in a bad mood, so Michele gave me the entire year's protection money from the next district just to cheer me up.

"If you hadn't betrayed him, you'd be standing here beside him now. You wouldn't have ended up a gambling addict and liar, but there are no what-ifs. Ms. Rossitto, thanks for your betrayal—on Michele's behalf."

My thoughts drifted back to the past.

Back then, I was still a law school student, working part-time at the Giuliani family's legal advisory office.

Michele, the son of the family, was bold and unstoppable

At the celebration banquet where he officially took over part of the business, he confessed his feelings to me.

We were together for five years.

He went so far as to defy the family elders, and only then did the late Don, Maffeo Giuliani, begrudgingly allow me to stay.

Just as Michele was on the verge of taking power, a carefully orchestrated betrayal from within almost destroyed the Giuliani family.

Maffeo died at the hands of his power-hungry brother, Rolfo Giuliani. Meanwhile, Michele was driven out and left with nothing.

The once-golden heir to the Don's throne fell into the abyss overnight. He hid away in a rented apartment every day, numbing himself with alcohol.

To help him rise again, I worked several jobs at once and stayed up late studying loopholes in every gray area I could find, hoping to gather enough money for him to recruit men again and rebuild his connections.

When I finally dragged my exhausted body home and set the money I had saved before him, he just gave a bitter smile, shoved it aside, and kept drinking his whiskey.

I gave everything I had, but what I earned was nothing more than a drop in the ocean.

When I was about to give up, a loan shark approached me and promised a sum big enough to help Michele start over.

I signed the contract without hesitation, knowing that default would cost me my life and my body.