Too Late for Sorry, My Dear Don

For stumbling upon a purge, I was taken by the city’s most dangerous don, Lucca of the Rossi family.

He said it was the only way I’d survive.

So he kept me in his mansion, taught me how to shoot, and drilled me in the rules of the underground world.

He would stroke my hair and call me his innocent lily.

Everyone knew I was his woman.

Until one day, he handed me over to the enemy to secure an alliance with the Balsamo family.

That was when I realized I was never his lover, just the sharpest blade in his hand.

I buried all my feelings, faked my death, and disappeared.

Years later, we met again at a casino.

He looked at me in a backless gown, the rose tattoo on my back on full display.

“Eliana, I once loved that purity of yours. Look at you now—tempting, yet cheap.”

I smiled lightly, brushing his hand away.

“Can’t help it, Don Rossi. The owner of this place just likes me this way.”

Several factions’ gazes paused briefly on me.

“Who is that? I didn’t see her name on the list.”

“The Moretti family’s newly risen Rose. I hear she’s ruthless.”

“A woman? Don Rossi seems to know her. Their relationship doesn’t look ordinary.”

Holding my wine glass, I looked calmly across at Lucca Rossi.

“Lucca. It’s been a while.”

His brows tightened slightly, a trace of emotion passing through his deep-set eyes.

He walked straight toward me, his voice carrying the same commanding tone.

“Come with me.”

I didn’t move.

Behind him, his consigliere produced a family ring.

“Eliana, I only want to catch up.”

My gaze settled on the ring. Once, it had been something I was willing to risk my life to protect, because the craftsman who forged it had been my father.

Seeing no reaction from me, Lucca’s expression darkened.

He reached out to touch the tattoo exposed on my back, only for a gun barrel to be immediately pressed against his wrist.

Leo, Don Matteo Moretti's underboss, stood beside me. For the past three years, he had remained constantly at my side.

The scene stirred an old memory. Back then, Lucca had appeared just as suddenly, ending my fear with the sound of gunfire.

I was seventeen when members of the Balsamo family forced open my father’s workshop late one night.

Amid the chaos, I watched my father collapse into a pool of blood, while I hid trembling inside a storage room until Lucca’s men cleared the scene.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored black coat, his polished shoes spotless, as though he had stepped through hell untouched.

“I can let you live. But from today on, your life belongs to me.”

I tightened my grip around the cross in my hand.

I wanted to tell him that I wanted to go to school, fulfill my father’s wish of becoming a designer, and live an ordinary life under the sun.

However, faced with the guns