Chapter 3

At that exact moment, the door was kicked open.

Amelia’s fiancé, Louis White—the heir of one of Boston’s top families—stormed into the room with dozens of thugs behind him.

“You touched my woman? A filthy stray like you thinks you’re worthy?”

Louis viciously stomped on Bruce’s still-bleeding wound, then grabbed Amelia by the hair and dragged her in front of Bruce.

“Amelia, I want him dead. Unless…”

Louis slapped her tear-streaked face.

“If you obediently become my sex slave and wait naked in my bed every night, I might spare his life today.”

For Bruce’s sake, Amelia had no choice but to agree to all of Louis’s demands.

That same night, a fire suddenly broke out in Amelia’s bedroom.

Everyone believed she had burned to death.

As for Bruce, he was thrown into prison, then secretly sold by a greedy warden as a “combat slave” to the battlefields of the Middle East.

There, he crawled out of hell countless times.

Driven by hatred—and by his desire to tear Louis apart piece by piece—Bruce fought his way up until he became the “Commander,” a title feared across the global underworld.

But now, Ewan had mentioned Amelia again.

“She didn’t burn to death? Talk! What really happened?!”

Bruce grabbed Ewan by the collar.

“She’s alive! The news of her death was fake!”

Ewan’s face flushed red as he spoke rapidly.

“The Garcia family secretly set that fire themselves! They rescued Ms. Garcia from the flames in secret and hid her away under a false identity!”

Bruce’s hand trembled violently before he shoved Ewan back down onto the seat.

“She’s… still alive?”

“Not only is she alive, but after the staged fire, Ms. Garcia was discovered to be pregnant!”

Ewan hurriedly pulled a document from his briefcase.

“She gave birth to a daughter.”

Bruce snatched the document instantly.

“A daughter…”

His eyes locked onto the birth date on the report.

His mind went blank.

The timing matched perfectly.

That was his child.

He and Amelia had a daughter.

Freya.

His daughter.

At that moment, a black-clad intelligence officer stepped forward.

“Commander, we found out everything.”

“Speak!”

Bruce’s eyes turned razor-sharp.

“The Garcia family owes massive debts. They accepted five million dollars from the Rourke family and are now forcing Ms. Garcia to marry the Rourke family’s crippled heir, who suffers from syphilis.”

The intelligence officer swallowed hard before continuing:

“The wedding is being held tonight at eight o’clock in Mickinson Grand Hotel.”

Crack!

The armrest beneath Bruce’s palm shattered instantly.

The Rourke family?

A disgusting clan that built its fortune through loan sharking actually dared touch his woman?

“There’s more…”

The intelligence officer’s voice trembled slightly.

“It’s about Freya.”

Bruce instantly grabbed him by the shoulder.

“What about my daughter? Speak!”

“Freya was identified as a perfect heart match for a duke in Boston. Amelia’s father, Donald Garcia, forged Ms. Garcia’s signature and signed a voluntary heart donation agreement in her name.”

The intelligence officer lowered his head.

“In less than two hours… Freya will be forcibly taken into surgery to have her heart removed.”

Silence filled the car.

Remove her heart?

A voluntary donation?

They intended to kill a six-year-old girl just to extend a duke’s life?

“Good. Very good.”

A terrifying voice rumbled from Bruce’s throat.

He slowly stood up, grabbed the black coat symbolizing absolute authority, and draped it over his shoulders.

“Ewan!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Mobilize every soldier of the Apocalypse Mercenaries immediately. Surround Mickinson Grand Hotel.”

Bruce’s eyes were blood-red.

“Not even a fly leaves alive.”

“Inform the Rourke family that tonight, I’m personally sending their entire bloodline to meet the Grim Reaper.”

“Yes, sir! But what about you?”

Bruce kicked open the car door.

“Boston Private Hospital.”

His voice carried endless killing intent.

“I want to see who dares touch even a single hair on my daughter’s head tonight.”

Meanwhile—

Boston Private Hospital.

Secret operating room, second underground floor.

The harsh surgical lights illuminated the pale operating table.

Six-year-old Freya wore an oversized hospital gown that hung loosely on her frail body.

She clutched a faded Barbie doll tightly in her arms, her large eyes filled with fear.

“Doctor… it’s so cold here…”

Her tiny voice trembled as her body shook uncontrollably.

Beside the operating table stood a tall Black doctor wearing a surgical mask.

A trace of impatience flashed through his eyes.

As he prepared a high-concentration anesthetic with practiced movements, he spoke in a fake, gentle tone:

“Sweetheart, it’s not cold. I’m just going to give you a little injection. After you sleep for a while, you can go home and eat the dinner your mommy made for you.”

“Really?”

At the mention of “mommy,” a faint spark lit up Freya’s dim eyes.

She hadn’t seen Amelia for many days.

Those bad people had taken her away from home and locked her inside this white room, drawing her blood every day.

“But… will the injection hurt?”

Freya shrank back timidly, clutching the Barbie doll even tighter.

“Mommy said I’m a brave girl… but I’m scared of pain.”

She looked up at the Black doctor carefully.

“Doctor, can you give me a candy first? Mommy used to say that sweet candy makes injections hurt less.”

The Black doctor looked into those innocent eyes without the slightest trace of pity.

“Candy? Kids who eat candy get cavities.”

He sneered and roughly grabbed Freya’s thin arm while pushing the air from the syringe.

The sharp needle reflected a cold gleam beneath the surgical lights.

“Be a good girl and close your eyes.”

“I’ll make sure you never feel pain again.”

The harsh surgical lamp illuminated Freya’s fragile arm.

The doctor’s thumb slowly pressed down on the syringe plunger as the needle moved toward her pale blue vein.

Boom!!!

The blast-proof airtight door exploded inward.

Violent air currents swept sterile gauze flying across the room.

Red warning lights flashed wildly as piercing alarms shattered the silence.

The Black doctor’s wrist shook violently, causing the needle to miss its target.

The moment he turned his head, all he saw was a black shadow rushing toward him.

A massive hand covered in black leather gloves clamped around his throat.

His feet left the ground instantly.

Bruce lifted the nearly two-hundred-pound man into the air with one arm, his fingers tightening slowly.

The doctor’s eyes bulged outward, his tongue protruding as he clawed desperately at the iron grip around his neck.

“If you dare touch even one hair on her head…”

Bruce’s voice was terrifyingly low.

“I’ll make sure you die without a burial place.”

The sound of cervical bones dislocating echoed clearly.

The two nearby nurses collapsed onto the floor in terror, wetting themselves as they crawled screaming out of the operating room.

Bruce didn’t even spare them a glance.

With a violent motion, he hurled the Black doctor into the nearby medical equipment.

Sparks exploded everywhere.

The heart monitor screen shattered instantly.

The doctor twitched twice before passing out completely.

On the operating table, Freya curled herself into a trembling ball.

She hugged the worn Barbie doll tightly against her chest, tears filling her large eyes.

Biting her lip hard, she desperately tried not to cry out loud.