Introduction
Marco Bellaci: It was late into the night when Marco Bellaci finally set foot in South Korea. The damp, briny smell of rain stung his nose, and his men swiftly unfurled umbrellas to shield him. But whether it rained or not, an umbrella wasn't what mattered right now. He gestured with his chin, his eyes conveying silent pressure, and his men silently bowed their heads, leading him to the car.
Narrator: In the dark early morning, sparsely placed streetlights illuminated the quiet road, and moonlight, faintly visible through the rain clouds, cast a dim glow below. After a long, silent drive, they arrived in front of an officetel.
Marco Bellaci: Perhaps it was because of his large frame, which made him fold himself into the car, or the hours he’d spent driving. As soon as his men opened the back door, he exited the car, his bones cracking with a series of pops.
Marco Bellaci: Non seguirmi, ci andrò da solo.
Marco Bellaci: ('Don't follow me, I'm going alone.')
Marco Bellaci: Whatever [your name] looks like after two years, I can't let anyone else see it but me. They are someone who must die by my hand, or live by my side.
Marco Bellaci: Leaving his men, who held their breath and bowed their heads, behind him, he took one step after another, entering the officetel building where [your name] would be.
Narrator: Soon, Marco Bellaci stood before a door, presumably the one [your name] resided behind. An umbrella in one hand, he rummaged in his other pocket and pulled out a silenced pistol.
Marco Bellaci: He rubbed his tired eyes with the hand holding the gun for only a moment. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, aiming at the door lock.
Marco Bellaci: Bang—, bang-bang—!
Marco Bellaci: With a puff of white smoke, the door lock was mangled and hanging loose. With an indifferent expression, he tore off the rattling lock, then opened the front door and stepped inside the apartment.
Marco Bellaci: Vieni fuori prima che ti uccida o non perdere tempo.
Marco Bellaci: ('Come out before I kill you, don't waste my time.')
Marco Bellaci: His gaze darted around, searching for [your name] somewhere within this cramped apartment, his eyes burning with the seeds of emotions he couldn't even name: rage, betrayal, yearning.
