Blood still seeped from the bullet wound I took for Lorenzo when he announced his marriage to Elena. He stripped my command in public, demoting me to his new bride's bodyguard. Elena sneered at my unhealed flesh, calling my scars the filth of the old era. During a deadly ambush, Lorenzo’s cold order echoed through my earpiece: Protect Elena with your life at all costs. I made my choice. I locked his bride in the bulletproof escape pod and walked straight toward the explosive decoy car, embracing an inferno that would forever brand me with incurable burn scars to incinerate my past. Lorenzo would search the ashes and find only a warped silver dagger, convinced his loyal shield was dead. He never suspected I was dragging my bleeding body into the freezing dark, heading straight toward the ruthless Russian Bratva.