Divorced by the Mafia Queen: My Death System Awakens

Chapter 8: The Reaper's Game and the Rats' Feast

The Rossi Estate, once a glowing fortress of absolute power, was now plunged into suffocating darkness. The federal police had fled, the hired guards had abandoned their posts, and the backup generators had been surgically disabled by the Vanguard's cyber-division.

The only light in the sprawling grand living room came from the violent flashes of lightning ripping through the stormy sky outside.

Isabella, Marcus, and the dying Don Vito Rossi—hooked to a portable, battery-powered ventilator—cowered in the center of the room. Their private helicopters were grounded, their offshore accounts were frozen, and their political shields were shattered. They were completely, inescapably trapped.

Heavy, unhurried footsteps echoed from the grand foyer.

The massive mahogany doors swung open seamlessly. Ren walked into the room, illuminated by a brilliant flash of lightning. He wore his pristine midnight-blue suit, casually holding a sleek black umbrella to shake off the rain. He didn't bring an army of Vanguard assassins. He didn't need to.

He walked past the terrified siblings and sat down comfortably on the lavish leather sofa directly across from them.

"Ren..." Isabella whispered, her voice a fragile, broken thread. She was clutching her father's wheelchair, her eyes wide with a primal, animalistic terror.

Ren didn't look at her. The deep-blue cybernetic code of the Death-Prediction System illuminated his irises, casting a faint, ghostly glow in the dark room.

[Scanning Room: Three Targets Acquired.]

[Emotional State: Absolute Despair.]

[System Prediction: Imminent Psychological Collapse.]

Ren reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sleek, custom-machined obsidian pistol. He placed it gently on the glass coffee table between them. The heavy metallic clack made all three of them flinch.

"My Death-Prediction System is flawless," Ren stated, his voice a smooth, terrifyingly calm melody. "It ran millions of simulations for tonight. In one hundred percent of those simulations, the Rossi bloodline is completely eradicated within the next ten minutes. However... I decided to introduce a manual variable."

Marcus stared at the gun, his breathing ragged and shallow. "What... what variable?"

"Survival," Ren smiled—a cold, hollow expression that sent absolute chills down their spines. "I am a merciful god, Marcus. I will allow one Rossi to walk out of this estate alive tonight. A wiped identity, a one-way ticket to a remote island, and one million dollars in untraceable cash."

Ren leaned back, crossing his legs elegantly. "But there is a catch. The gun on the table has exactly one bullet. To claim the prize, you must prove you are no longer bound by this corrupted bloodline. Erase your past, to secure your future."

Absolute silence fell over the room, broken only by the rhythmic hissing of Don Rossi's ventilator.

"You're sick," Isabella sobbed, stepping away from the table. "You expect us to kill each other? We are family! We are Rossi!"

"Are you?" Ren asked softly. "You sold my life to a federal penitentiary without a second thought just to save your brother's skin. Let us see how deep this noble family loyalty truly runs when the Reaper offers a trade."

[Target: Marcus Rossi. Neural Activity: Spiking.]

[Probability of Betrayal: 100%.]

Before Isabella could even finish wiping a tear from her face, Marcus lunged across the glass table. He grabbed the obsidian pistol with trembling, sweaty hands.

"Marcus! What are you doing?!" Isabella screamed, stumbling backward.

"I'm the heir!" Marcus roared, his eyes wide with a manic, deranged obsession for survival. He pointed the gun directly at his sister's chest. "I have to survive! I can rebuild the syndicate! You're just a useless pawn, Isabella! You couldn't even keep this stray dog on a leash!"

Isabella fell to her knees, staring at her own brother down the barrel of the gun. The grand illusion of her noble mafia family shattered into a million irredeemable pieces. They weren't royalty. They were just rats cornered in a trap, willing to cannibalize each other to live one more day.

"Shoot her, Marcus," Don Rossi suddenly wheezed through his oxygen mask. The old man’s eyes were filled with a dark, terrifying pragmatism. "She is weak. You are my son. Take the deal."

Isabella gasped, looking at her dying father in sheer, mind-shattering disbelief. Both the men she had worshipped and protected her entire life were sacrificing her without a fraction of a second's hesitation.

"I'm sorry, Izzy," Marcus cried, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Click.

The dull, hollow sound of an empty firing pin echoed louder than the thunder outside.

Marcus froze. He pulled the trigger again. Click. Click. Click.

"No..." Marcus whispered, his face draining of all color as he dropped the empty weapon onto the floor.

Ren sat on the sofa, watching the absolute destruction of their souls with a detached, clinical fascination.

"Fascinating," Ren said softly, leaning forward. "Did you really think my system made a calculation error, Marcus? There was never a bullet in the chamber."

The realization hit Isabella like a physical blow. He was never going to let them shoot each other. He just wanted to force them to reveal their true, rotting nature. He wanted Isabella to die knowing that she was completely worthless to the very family she had sold her soul for.

"You're a demon!" Marcus shrieked, falling to his knees and weeping uncontrollably.

Ren stood up, smoothly adjusting the cuffs of his suit. He looked down at the broken, weeping remnants of the Rossi empire.

"No, Marcus," Ren whispered, his eyes glowing with absolute, lethal authority. "I am the consequence."

Ren turned his back and walked toward the grand doors.

"Dante. Burn it all down. Leave no trace."

As Ren stepped out into the cleansing rain, the muffled, terrified screams of the Rossi family were quickly silenced by the deafening roar of the Vanguard's incendiary charges, erasing the criminal empire from the face of the earth forever.