The name Vizky was not just associated with wealth; it represented absolute ownership of the modern world. For generations, the Vizky empire had operated in the deepest shadows of global power, standing as the undisputed sovereigns of the criminal underworld—a mafia syndicate so immense that entire nations shifted their policies to appease them. Their wealth had long since surpassed the need for currency. They owned unseen territories, private islands protected by heavily armed fleets, and historic estates spanning continents. In their underground vaults rested rare hypercars that had never touched public asphalt, and their private runways hosted aircraft capable of bypassing any airspace restriction on earth. Since childhood, Ciel Vizky had been raised to inherit this crushing, dangerous reality. At seventeen, Ciel was already the most feared entity in the empire. He possessed a terrifying, absolute control over everyone around him, managing billions in assets and thousands of loyal soldiers with a single, quiet command. Yet, he looked entirely detached from the violence he controlled. He was breathtakingly handsome, with soft, pale silver-blond hair that brushed against his forehead and framed his sharply defined, porcelain-pale features. His eyes were completely calm, unreadable, and still. He never raised his voice, because the mere whisper of his surname could end lives. He walked with a graceful, lethal precision, dressed in flawless tailored garments that radiated old money and absolute authority. The world belonged to him, but he cared for none of it. He only cared for Enzo Vladislav. The Vladislavs were a prominent dynasty, but compared to the Vizkys, they were insignificant bugs trying to pretend they belonged at the top. While the Vladislavs paraded their status at formal galas, a horrific, broken reality existed behind their closed doors. Enzo Vladislav was seventeen, a fragile boy with dark, curled hair, pale skin, and a body that had been utterly shattered by the people meant to protect him. Since their childhoods, Ciel had watched Enzo from a distance, recognizing the agonizing truth of his life. Enzo’s father treated him with brutal violence, regularly beating him until he was bruised, bloodied, and struggling to breathe. Worse still, Enzo’s own mother had actively sold him off to disgusting, wealthy old men. For years, Enzo had been subjected to the most horrific, brutal abuse. These repulsive men were permitted into his very bedroom, violating and raping him while his parents collected the profits of his torment. To cope with the suffocating, inescapable trauma, Enzo turned his agony inward. Beneath the long sleeves he constantly wore, his wrists were covered in deep, jagged self-harm scars and fresh cuts—physical evidence of a boy who felt completely broken and entirely alone. Ciel had tried for years to offer him a lifeline, quietly sending priceless, rare gifts—custom-woven garments, rare gems, and exquisite items from around the world. But Enzo, consumed by a deep sense of unworthiness and defensive rage, would violently throw the priceless gifts against the walls, screaming at the universe that he refused to be bought. The turning point arrived during an extravagant formal dinner hosted at the Vizky estate’s grand marble dining hall, beneath massive crystal chandeliers that cast a warm glow over a table crowded with silver and rare flowers. Ciel sat at the head of the table, looking impossibly beautiful and calm, but his unreadable eyes kept tracking the entrance. Enzo was missing. When Ciel quietly questioned a Vladislav representative, the man casually dismissed it, stating that Enzo was merely "resting" because he had been "difficult." A cold, lethal fury settled over Ciel. He did not make a scene. He simply stood up, his chair sliding silently against the black marble, and walked away from the dinner. He moved like a ghost through the vast corridors of the estate, climbing the stairs until he reached the heavy doors of the guest wing where Enzo had been brought. When Ciel pushed open the door, the scene inside was utterly devastating. The room was freezing, the winter air blowing through an open window. Enzo was collapsed on the floor beside the bed, shivering violently, his thin clothing offer no protection. He was heavily bruised, his face swollen from his father’s earlier blows, and his breathing was shallow, frantic, and terrified. He looked up at Ciel with wild, defensive irritation, his voice hoarse as he snapped, "Go away. I don't want anything from you." Ciel did not raise his voice. He walked calmly into the room, stepping past the shards of previous gifts Enzo had thrown in the past. The contrast between them was striking: Ciel, the immaculate, powerful mafia heir, and Enzo, the broken, trembling boy huddled on the floor. Ciel carefully closed the window to shut out the freezing air, then retrieved the thickest, most expensive blankets from the wardrobe. He didn't force them onto Enzo; he simply laid them gently within the boy's reach and sat down directly on the cold marble floor a few feet away, entirely unbothered by the dirt or his expensive shirt. "You're not leaving?" Enzo whispered, his dark curls falling over his tear-stained face as he clutched a blanket tightly around his bruised shoulders. "No," Ciel replied softly, his voice carrying a rare, gentle warmth reserved entirely for Enzo. "Because you're cold." Enzo looked away, his jaw tightening as he stared at his scarred wrists. "I hate your gifts. I don't deserve kindness. I don't want you feeling sorry for me." "I don't feel sorry for you," Ciel murmured, his gaze painfully tender. "Feeling sorry for someone means believing they are weak. I know you are not weak. You do not have to earn warmth, Enzo. You do not have to be useful to exist. And you never have to give me anything in return." For a fleeting second, the absolute safety of Ciel's presence pierced through Enzo's terror, and his breathing began to slow. He didn't say thank you, but he allowed Ciel to stay. Ciel watched over him with absolute patience, remaining awake on the floor until Enzo’s exhausted eyes finally closed and he drifted into a deep sleep. As Enzo slept, the gentle warmth in Ciel’s eyes vanished, replaced by a dark, monstrous resolve. The Vladislavs believed they were safe because of their wealth and status, but to the Vizky empire, they were nothing. Ciel looked out the window at the falling snow, his mind entirely made up. He would not frighten Enzo tonight with reckless promises, but tomorrow, the retribution would begin. He would hunt down every single old man who had ever laid a finger on Enzo. He would track down Enzo's mother and father. He would ensure their ends were slow, agonizing, and utterly disgusting—a brutal testament to the fury of the world's most dangerous heir. He would burn the Vladislav dynasty alive until nothing but ash remained, ensuring that Enzo would finally, permanently be safe.

First meeting 🥀