Richard Anderson sat in his office, staring at the file on his desk.
XAVIER - SHEN DEVIL'S.
The report was comprehensive. Twenty-three pages detailing the rise of the youngest mafia lord in the city's history. Confirmed kills: 147. Suspected kills: over 300. Territory controlled: forty percent of the underground. Net worth: classified, but estimated in the billions.
And his weakness: Richard's daughter.
Richard rubbed his temples, feeling every one of his fifty-eight years. He'd hoped the rumors weren't true.
That the boy who'd been Nana's friend since childhood—the quiet, sleepy Xavier who'd played in their garden and caught butterflies with his little girl—wasn't the monster the underground whispered about.
But the evidence was undeniable.
Xavier was the Shen devil's.
And he was obsessed with Nana.
Richard understood obsession.
He'd been obsessed with his own wife, Elena. Beautiful, gentle Elena who'd known nothing about his past as a crime lord. He'd retired from that life, built a legitimate empire, married her without ever telling her the truth about who he'd been.
And it had gotten her killed.
Johnny's predecessor—the original head of that crime family—had kidnapped Elena when Nana was five. Had held her for a week, demanding territory and money. Richard had paid. Had given them everything they wanted.
They'd returned Elena's body anyway.
As a message.
Richard had burned that entire organization to the ground in retaliation, had made sure every single person involved died screaming. But it didn't bring Elena back.
And now history was repeating itself.
Xavier was doing exactly what Richard had done—falling in love with an innocent woman while living a blood-soaked life. Keeping secrets. Building walls between his two worlds.
But Richard knew how that story ended.
With the innocent woman dead.
He couldn't let that happen to Nana. Wouldn't let his daughter suffer the same fate as her mother.
But how could he tell her? How could he explain that her beloved Xaviee—the boy she'd known since childhood, the one she looked at with such trust and affection—was a killer? That his hands were soaked in blood?.
She'd be devastated.
And Xavier... Richard had seen the way the boy looked at Nana. Like she was his entire world. Like he'd burn down the city to keep her safe.he probably would. Had, in fact, already started doing.
Richard had his own sources in the underground. He knew about the twenty assassins Xavier had eliminated in one night. Knew about Johnny's death just yesterday—thirteen bodies, a massacre so brutal it had sent shockwaves through the criminal world.
All to protect Nana.
Xavier was a monster. But he was a monster who loved Richard's daughter.
Just like Richard had been a monster who'd loved Elena.
And that love had killed her.
No. Richard couldn't let history repeat. Couldn't let Nana walk the same path her mother had.
He needed to separate them. Gently. Carefully. Before Xavier's world consumed her.
He picked up his phone and dialed.
"Rafayel? It's Richard Anderson. I have a proposition for you."
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Nana was painting in the garden when her father appeared with a stranger.
She looked up from her canvas, surprised.
Her father rarely visited during the day—he was always busy with business, with meetings, with the thousand things that came with running a tech empire.
But today he was here, smiling, with a young man beside him.
A very handsome young man.
He was tall—not quite as tall as Xavier, but close—with an artistic build, lean and elegant. His hair was a striking purple-to-pink gradient that somehow looked natural on him, styled artistically. But his eyes were what caught her attention: dual-toned, one purple and one pink-red, striking and unusual.
He looked like he'd stepped out of a painting himself.
"Nana sweetie." Her father approached, the young man following. "I want you to meet someone. This is Rafayel. He's an artist—quite famous, actually. I thought you two might get along."
Rafayel smiled, and it was charming in an easy, practiced way. "Your father showed me some of your work. You have real talent."
Nana blinked, setting down her brush.
"Oh. Um, thank you?"
She felt suddenly self-conscious in her paint-stained overalls, hair tied back messily, a smudge of blue on her cheek.
This Rafayel looked like he belonged in a gallery, all elegant and put-together.
"Rafayel doesn't have many friends in the city yet," Richard continued smoothly. "He just moved here for work. I thought perhaps you could show him around? Talk about art? You're always saying you wish you had more friends who understood painting."
That's was... true. Most of her college friends were sweet, but they didn't really get art the way she did. They saw it as a hobby, not a passion.
Xavier listened when she talked about art, but he didn't paint himself. He didn't understand technique and color theory and composition.
"I'd love to see more of your work," Rafayel said, gesturing to her canvas. "May I?"
"Oh! Sure." Nana stepped back, letting him approach.
Rafayel studied her painting—a landscape of the garden, impressionistic style, playing with light and shadow. His expression was genuinely interested, not just polite.
"Your brushwork is excellent," he said.
"The way you've captured the dappled sunlight through the trees—it's reminiscent of Monet, but with your own style. More modern. Bold color choices."
She felt herself relax slightly. "You really think so? My professor says I need to work on my technique—"
"Technique can be learned. But you have something more important—you have vision. You see the world in color and light."
Rafayel smiled. "That can't be taught."
Despite herself, Nana smiled back. It was nice to have someone who understood.
Who spoke her language.
"Would you want to paint together sometime?" Rafayel asked. "I have a studio downtown. We could exchange techniques, maybe collaborate?"
"That sounds amazing, actually."
Richard watched the interaction with satisfaction. Good. This was good. Rafayel was perfect—safe, artistic, exactly the kind of man who should be in Nana's life.
Not a killer hiding behind a gentle mask.
"Why don't you two talk?" Richard suggested. "I have some calls to make. Rafayel, stay as long as you'd like."
He left them in the garden, and Nana found herself actually enjoying the conversation. Rafayel was easy to talk to, passionate about art, full of stories about galleries and exhibitions and famous artists he'd met.
They painted together, Rafayel setting up at a spare easel, and fell into comfortable discussion about impressionism versus post-impressionism, about whether digital art was "real art," about their favorite painters.
"Monet," Nana said without hesitation.
"Caravaggio," Rafayel countered. "Give me dramatic chiaroscuro any day."
"So dark and brooding!"
"So light and pretty!" he teased back.
Nana laughed, and it felt good. Normal Like she wasn't secretly spiraling about discovering her best friend might be a violent criminal.
Because she'd been spiraling. For two days since that night, she'd barely slept. Had lay awake remembering the scars, the stitches, the evidence literally written on Xavier's skin.
But right now, painting with Rafayel, discussing art and laughing at his jokes, she could almost forget.
Almost pretend everything was normal.
"Your father said you don't have many friends," Rafayel said after a while.
"That surprises me. You seem very friendly."
"I have friends from class," Nana said. "But my best friend is... well, he's been my best friend since we were kids. We're really close. So I guess I never felt the need for a lot of other friendships."
"He?" Rafayel's eyebrow raised. "Is he an artist too?"
"No, he studies business. But he's..." Nana paused, brush hovering over canvas. "He's important to me."
"Lucky guy."
There was something in Rafayel's tone that made Nana look up. He was smiling, but there was a question in those unusual eyes.
"It's not like that," she said automatically. "We're just friends."
"Just friends who are 'really close' and 'important' to each other?" Rafayel's smile was knowing. "Sure."
Nana's cheeks flushed. "We've known each other forever. It's... complicated."
"Most important things are."
They painted in silence for a moment, and Nana found herself thinking about Xavier.
About the way he looked at her. The forehead kiss at her art class. The way he held her like she was precious.
The scars hidden under his clothes.
"Hey," Rafayel said gently. "You okay? You looked sad for a moment."
"Just thinking."
"About the complicated best friend?"
Nana nodded.
"Want some unsolicited advice from a new friend?"
"Sure?"
Rafayel set down his brush, turning to face her fully. "Life is short. If someone is important to you, tell them. Don't waste time hiding how you feel. You never know when..." He paused, something shadowed crossing his expression. "You never know when you'll run out of time."
There was something in his voice—experience, loss, pain—that made Nana believe he knew what he was talking about.
"What if telling them ruins everything?" she asked quietly.
"What if not telling them means you never find out what 'everything' could be?"
Nana absorbed that, staring at her painting without really seeing it.
Rafayel went back to his canvas, giving her space to think.
They painted until sunset, and when Rafayel finally left, Nana had his phone number and plans to visit his studio next week.
"Thank you," she said as he packed up.
"This was... really nice. I didn't realize how much I needed someone to talk to about art."
"Anytime, Nana. Seriously." Rafayel's smile was warm. "I meant what I said about being friends. The real kind, not just your father's networking kind."
"I'd like that."
After he left, Richard found Nana in the garden, cleaning her brushes.
"So? What did you think of Rafayel?"
"He's nice," Nana admitted. "Really talented. We had fun."
Richard studied his daughter's face. "You seemed happy. I haven't seen you that relaxed in a while."
Nana paused. Her father was right—she had been tense lately. Stressed. Ever since the mall incident. Ever since discovering Xavier's scars.
"Dad?" she asked suddenly. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, sweetie."
"If someone you cared about was lying to you—hiding something big—would you want to know? Or would you rather just... stay happy not knowing?"
Richard's expression grew serious. He came to sit beside her on the garden bench.
"That's a complicated question."
"I know."
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Your mother," he finally said. "She never knew the full truth about me. About who I was before I met her. And sometimes I wonder if that was mercy or cruelty."
Nana looked at him, surprised. Her father rarely talked about her mother.
"I wanted to protect her," Richard continued. "Wanted to keep her separate from the darkness in my past. I thought if she didn't know, she'd be safe." His voice grew heavy.
"I was wrong."
"Dad—"
"The truth always comes out, Nana. One way or another. And it's better to hear it from the person you love than to discover it yourself."
He met her eyes. "Why do you ask?"
Nana looked away. "No reason. Just... thinking about things."
Richard studied her face, and something in his expression said he knew exactly why she was asking. Knew exactly who she was asking about. Then he said carefully.
"If someone is lying to you, even with good intentions, you deserve to know the truth. You deserve to make your own choices about who you let into your life."
"Even if the truth is scary?"
"Especially if the truth is scary."
They sat in silence as the sun set, painting the garden in shades of gold and amber.
Richard hoped desperately that Rafayel would be enough. That his daughter would be distracted, would fall for the safe, artistic young man instead of the killer she'd known since childhood.
Nana hoped desperately that she was wrong.
That there was some explanation for Xavier's scars that didn't involve the violence and death she couldn't stop imagining.
Neither of them knew that across the city, Xavier was receiving a report from his surveillance team:
male, mid-twenties, met with Miss Anderson this afternoon. Father introduced them. Subject remained at estate for 6 hours. Photograph attached.
Xavier opened the attachment and stared at the image of Rafayel laughing with Nana in the garden, both of them holding paintbrushes, both of them smiling.
Something cold and violent stirred in his chest.
Who is he?
Why is he with her?
Why is she smiling at him like that?
Xavier sent a message to Jihoon: Full background check. I want to know everything about him. Now.
Then he stared at the photo for a long time, memorizing the face of the man who'd made his Starlight smile.
And wondered if this was what jealousy felt like. Or it was something darker.
Something that whispered he should eliminate this threat before it grew.
The same way he eliminated every other threat to her.
The silver bracelet caught the light as his fingers curled into fists.
She's mine, something primal insisted. MINE.
And Xavier had never been good at sharing.
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To be continued.