The Impotent King Rises

The Mafia Princess, Elena Moretti

"How do you know that name?" Sal hissed, his hand dropping to the pistol on his own hip. "If you're an enemy spy, I'll skin you alive."

David offered a faint smile; the system had provided him with that information as part of his Starter Pack. Elena Moretti suffered from a strange illness that no doctor could cure—an illness that was, in fact, a supernatural poison.

"I know she's sick, Sal. A sickness that made the best doctors in New York give up. A sickness that has driven Don Moretti to despair," David said slowly, every word weighted with emphasis.

He stepped closer until the muzzle of Sal's henchman's gun pressed against his forehead. David didn't blink.

"Take me to her," David ordered. "I have the cure for her 'illness.' If I fail to heal her, you can shoot me in the head right there. But if I succeed... Don Moretti will make you the most valuable man in the organization."

Sal stared into David's eyes, searching for doubt or deceit. He found none.

Sal lowered his hand, signaling his men to drop their weapons.

"You're playing with fire, kid," Sal growled. "But Don Moretti is desperate. If you're lying, dying in this alley will feel like a foot massage compared to what the Don will do to you."

"Just get the car ready," David replied coldly. "The Princess doesn't have much time to wait for our debate to finish, Sal."

Sal extinguished his cigar, smiling cynically at David. "You little bastard, you've got guts."

***

The black, bulletproof limousine had just stopped outside a building. Behind the tinted windows, David sat calmly while Sal "The Knuckles" kept a pistol pointed at his ribs.

"One wrong move in front of the Don, and I'll put a hole through your lungs," Sal threatened.

David didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the Victorian mansion before him, heavily guarded by dozens of men in black suits wearing earpieces.

They were escorted through the magnificent marble lobby, up a spiral staircase, until they reached a set of double doors on the second floor. The pungent scent of sterile medicine and lilies was noticeable even before the doors were opened.

Inside the spacious room, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a hard face, sculpted by the cruelty of the underworld, sat on the edge of a bed. Don Salvatore Moretti. In his hands, he held the pale hand of a young woman lying weakly.

"Sal," Don Moretti's voice was low yet booming. He didn't turn around. "Why did you bring a bum into my daughter's room? I asked for a specialist from Switzerland, not a vagrant from the gutter."

Sal swallowed, taking a trembling step forward. "My apologies, Don. But this man... he took down two of my best guards in three seconds. He said he knows Miss Elena's illness. He said he has the cure."

Don Moretti slowly turned. His gaze was as sharp as a striking eagle. He looked at David with profound disgust.

"You?" Don Moretti stood, pulling a silver Beretta from inside his jacket and aiming it squarely at the center of David's forehead. "You have ten seconds to explain why I shouldn't shoot you and send my regards to the Grim Reaper."

David didn't blink as he stared at the muzzle of the gun. He stepped closer, ignoring Sal's shouts for him to stop. His blue eyes shifted to the figure on the bed.

Elena Moretti.

Even in her dying state, her beauty was breathtaking. Her skin was pale. Her eyelashes were long and curled, and her pale lips hinted at long suffering. However, beneath the surface, David's system eyes saw something else.

Elena's neural network was filled with a black mist. Poison.

[Target Analysis: Elena Moretti. Age 24.]

[Condition: Slow Neurotoxin Poisoning 'Widow's Kiss'.]

[Status: Critical. Time Remaining: 3 Hours.]

"Your daughter doesn't need a doctor, Don," David said calmly. "A doctor will only give her morphine to die without pain. The poison in her body was designed to be undetectable by modern medicine."

Don Moretti's hand trembled slightly. His eyes widened. "How do you know it's po—"

"I know many things," David cut him off. He reached into his torn pants pocket.

"Don't move!" the guards in the corners of the room shouted, cocking their weapons in unison.

David slowly raised his hand, showing a small, shabby pouch (which he had just materialized from the System Inventory by exchanging six hours of his remaining lifespan).

"This isn't a weapon," David stated. "This is rare Artemisia leaf fermented with snake venom. My late grandmother's secret recipe from the Asian interior. It's the only thing that can consume the poison in your daughter's body."

It was a massive lie. It was a Spirit Herb from the System. But David knew that men like Moretti trusted "ancestral heritage" more than nameless miracles.

"A leaf concoction?" Don Moretti scoffed, but the desperation in his eyes was evident. He had tried everything. Medicine, shamans, priests. Nothing. "What's the guarantee?"

"My life," David answered flatly. "If she doesn't wake up five minutes after drinking this, you can empty your clip into my head."

A suffocating silence enveloped the room. Only the faint sound of Elena's heart monitor could be heard.

Beep... Beep... Beep...

"Give it to her," Don Moretti finally ordered. He didn't lower his pistol. The cold iron muzzle was now pressed against David's temple as David leaned over the bed.

"Remember this, kid," Don Moretti whispered in David's ear, his voice icy cold. "If she screams in pain... if a single drop of blood comes out of her mouth... you will die before you finish taking one breath."

David ignored the threat. He asked for a glass of warm water. With measured movements, like a pharmaceutical expert, he squeezed the "leaf" into the glass. The water turned a deep purple and emitted a strange, sweet aroma.

David gently lifted Elena's head. Her skin was ice cold.

"Drink, Princess," David whispered. He poured the liquid, little by little, onto Elena's parted lips.

Elena's swallowing reflex worked weakly. The liquid went down.

One second. Two seconds.

Don Moretti held his breath, his finger tightening on the trigger. Sal closed his eyes, not daring to watch.

Suddenly, Elena's body went rigid. Her back arched upward, lifting off the mattress as if she had been electrocuted.

"What's happening?!" Don Moretti snapped. "She's seizing!"

"Wait," David held the Don's hand. "Look."

The pallor in Elena's face began to fade, replaced by a flush of red that quickly spread from her neck to her cheeks. Her breathing, which had been weak and intermittent, now became fast and ragged. Elena's chest rose and fell with a heavy rhythm.

Beep....Beep....Beep...!

The heart monitor beeped faster and faster.

Sweat began to bead on Elena's forehead. But it wasn't the cold sweat of death. It was hot sweat. The sweat of life.

The Widow's Kiss System was a cold, lethal poison. David's system cure was pure Eros energy (heat/passion). The chemical reaction was a massive hormonal explosion.

Elena's eyes slowly opened.

Her pupils dilated, swallowing the color of her brown irises. Her gaze was unfocused and wild. She didn't see her father. She didn't see the guards.

Her eyes locked onto David.

Spirit Herb Side Effect: Erotic Hallucination. To Elena, under the influence of the drug, David was not merely a helper. In her eyes, David shone gold, radiating intoxicating pheromones—the figure of an angel who had come to save her from the Grim Reaper's embrace.

"Ho... ot..." Elena gasped. Her voice was not a moan of pain, but a long sigh that made the male guards in the room uncomfortable.

Elena gripped David's arm with surprising strength for an invalid. Her fingernails dug into his skin.

"Father..." Elena called, but her eyes remained fixed on David's lips. "Who... who is this God?"

Don Moretti lowered his pistol slightly, confused. "Elena? Do you know me?"

Elena didn't answer her father. She pulled David's collar, forcing him closer until their faces were only centimeters apart. David's masculine scent, amplified by the system, flooded Elena's nostrils, triggering a dopamine surge in her damaged brain.

"Help me, God..." Elena whispered, her breath hot against David's face. Her legs beneath the blanket began to move restlessly, rubbing against each other. "It feels... empty here... it feels like it's burning... I want to be filled..."

Don Moretti's face flushed crimson, a mixture of relief that his daughter was alive and shock at hearing his innocent daughter speak like that.

"What did you give her, you bastard?!" Don Moretti roared, pointing the gun at David again. "Why is she acting like... like a junkie whore?!"