THE FOSTER KING OF THORNS

Mornveil Isle. A meeting hall beneath an underground fighting ring.

Sixteen family heads stood with their heads bowed. The air reeked of blood.

Luciano Costa leaned back in his chair, toying with a black handgun. His shirt collar hung open, revealing a tattoo of a crown of thorns across his chest.

The mark of "Ghost" -- a name known to every soul across the Vestland Isles.

Seven family crest rings were lined up in a row on the table.

Luciano tapped them one by one with his fingertip, a slow smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"How many is that, now?"

Carl Rossi, codenamed "Harbinger," stepped out of the shadows.

"Seven, sir. The Conti family of Naporia Isle has been dealt with. All branches have fallen in line."

At the far end of the long table, a middle-aged man trembled and stepped half a pace forward.

"Sir." He swallowed hard. "The Conti family are nobility on Naporia Isle. Our family still holds two shipping routes through the Twilight Sea. We're willing to pay our dues and hand over the route charts -- but the family flag..." He hesitated. "Is there any chance we could keep it?"

The air in the hall froze for a moment.

The sixteen heads dipped even lower.

Luciano let out a soft laugh. He gave the Conti family ring a light push. It rolled across the table and stopped right in front of the man.

"You want to keep the family flag?"

The man grabbed it like a drowning man clutching driftwood, nodding frantically. "Sir, the Conti family would never--"

The gunshot tore through the hall.

A hole appeared in the middle of the man's forehead. He toppled straight backward, blood pouring from the back of his skull, soaking into the dark red pattern of the carpet until it disappeared into it.

Luciano set the gun back on the table.

"I only care about two things," he said, his blue eyes sweeping over the person in front of him and smiling slightly. "Money, and obedient people. Now, who still wants to maintain their flag?"

Dead silence.

Luciano laughed coldly.

Power really was the finest thing in the world.

He leaned slowly back in his chair and stared at his own hand resting on his knee.

An old scar ran from the base of his index finger all the way to his wrist -- cut by a shard of broken glass during his first year in the fighting ring.

He had been sixteen then. Vito and Isabella's biological son Alessio had been found and brought back to the family, and Luciano, the adopted son, had naturally become disposable.

That year, Alessio had gotten drunk and caused trouble, crossing the leader of a local Arberia gang.

The Costa family had paid a small fortune to get him out.

But behind that Arberia gang was the Mornveil Isle mob, and their terms for a settlement were simple:

The Costa family had to send someone to join the underground fighting ring.

Vito didn't hesitate. He handed Luciano over without a second thought.

The real son caused the mess. The adopted son paid the price.

Vito Costa sold him into the darkest underground fighting ring in the Vestland Isles -- on Mornveil Isle itself.

But after seven full years, he hadn't died. He had crawled out from a pile of corpses and survived.

And now, the entire underworld bore the Costa name.

Not Vito's Costa. His -- Luciano's Costa.

Every underground shipping route across the Twilight Sea, every arms deal, every shadow financial operation, twenty-three families, forty-six ports -- all of it ran at his command.

There was only one thing that had remained like a thorn in his chest all these years.

In his third year at the Mornveil Isle fighting ring, he had just barely survived a death match called "Iron Cage Hell," with three ribs broken.

He had been thrown into the medical room and left lying beside another man who was nearly dead.

On the final night, the old man in the next bed stared at his wounds for a long time, then suddenly spoke.

"Your blood is different."

"There is a kind of person whose blood carries a power left over from an ancient age. They are known as Bloodseed bearers.

A Bloodseed is not simply blood or a seed -- it is more like a living inheritance. It rests deep within the host's blood, waiting for the moment it will awaken.

When a Bloodseed bearer experiences a powerful trigger -- a kiss, physical intimacy, a mortal threat -- or resonates with a destined kindred soul, the sleeping power begins to stir.

But before it awakens, the Bloodseed is a curse. It burns through your life faster than it should."

The old man was dead by the next morning.

At the time, Luciano had written it off as the ramblings of a dying man. In a place like the fighting ring, people said all kinds of things on their way out. It wasn't worth remembering.

Until he noticed that no matter how hard he trained, his body refused to improve -- and had actually started to weaken. He tracked down every specialist he could find. Nothing showed up through normal means. His body kept deteriorating, and to this day, he had found no way to stop it.

Taking down the Conti family had partly been about digging up information on the Bloodseed. But as usual, he had come up empty.

Just then, Carl walked in holding a letter that had just arrived.

"Sir. A letter from the Costa family."

Luciano's blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

This was the first word he had received from Genova Isle in seven years.

Interesting.

He picked up the letter. Inside was a single line:

Your grandmother is dying. Come home at once.

Luciano's pupils tightened. His fingertips pressed into the paper hard enough to crease it.

His grandmother. Elena Costa.

The only person in the entire Costa family who had treated him exactly the same after Alessio came back.

Something clenched in his chest. His breathing tightened -- and he forced himself to steady.

Dying? And it had to be now.

"When did this arrive?" he asked, his voice lower and tighter than usual.

Carl blinked. "Just now, sir."

"Get the car." Luciano was already on his feet. The hem of his black coat cut a sharp arc through the air. "We leave for Genova Isle immediately."

Carl hesitated. "Sir, the Costa family -- what they did back then--"

"I know exactly what they did."

Luciano gripped the thin sheet of paper, his knuckles going white, a cold blade-like edge pressing up behind his eyes.

"That's why I have to go. If she's really running out of time, I need to see her. And if someone is using her to set a trap--"

He paused. A flash of killing intent, there and gone.

"I'll make them regret it."

The Alfa Romeo rolled into the city as the sky was going dark.

Luciano stood before the iron gate. The butler, Ranieri, saw him and looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Luciano?"

Luciano ignored him and walked through the front hall.

In the sitting room, Vito Costa was on the sofa. His hair had gone mostly white since seven years ago, but his eyes were still sharp as a hawk's.

Beside him sat his wife Isabella -- the woman who, seven years ago, had used the words "family honor" to convince Vito to send his adopted son into the fighting ring.

Luciano's expression darkened.

"Luciano." Vito glanced at him -- still wearing the same worn clothes as seven years ago -- and a flicker of disdain crossed his face. "You're back."

Isabella stood and came toward him with a smile. "Good timing. There's something important we need to discuss."

Luciano stepped inside.

"Where's my grandmother?"

Isabella's smile stiffened. Her eyes slid toward Vito.

Vito set down his drink. His expression shifted into something that looked like grief.

"Your grandmother... is gone. Three months ago. The funeral has already been held."

Luciano's pupils contracted sharply.

The flames in the fireplace lurched.

"Gone?" The corners of his eyes went red. "How?"

Vito's throat moved.

"She passed from illness. Late-stage Alzheimer's, with complications. The doctors did everything they could."

"Everything they could?"

Luciano stepped forward. The fury nearly tore through his self-control.

"You killed her."

"Luciano!" Isabella shrieked. "The doctors have a signed report! We gave her a proper funeral -- it cost tens of thousands of dollars--"

"Proper?" The curve of Luciano's mouth was ice-cold. "You didn't even tell me. You call that proper?"

Vito snapped at him through gritted teeth.

"Enough. We're all grieving your grandmother. But that's not why we called you back. We're not here to dig up the past."

He reached beside the sofa and picked up a small pouch -- blue, tied with a silver cord.

Luciano's pupils tightened.

That belonged to his grandmother.

"She gave this to us before she died," Vito said. "She said if you ever came back, we were to give it to you. It's something your birth mother left for you."

Luciano's hand moved -- but Vito pulled the pouch back.

"There are conditions."

Vito arranged his face into something warm and controlled.

"Do you know the Helsing family?"

Luciano clenched his fist until the pain bit through him, barely keeping down the urge to burn this entire family to the ground.

The Helsing family. He knew them.

They were a well-known name across the Vestland Isles. On the surface, they dealt in antiques and fine art. In practice, they controlled a third of all artifact smuggling routes in the Vestland Isles.

The current head had died and left behind a single heir -- his daughter, Cecilia Helsing.

"Ms. Helsing has run into some trouble." Vito chose his words carefully. "A rare blood condition. The best doctors in the Vestland Isles can't do anything for her. The Helsing family's advisors believe it may be some kind of hereditary curse -- one that requires a specific ritual to break."

"Their family needs all affiliated families to put forward eligible men matching specific genetic and birth criteria to participate in a purification ritual involving Ms. Helsing. The ritual may cause harm to the participating male."

He paused, then made the offer.

"Her father's will states that the family's estate and assets can only be accessed by an heir. So if the ritual succeeds, the participant will become her lawful husband and share in everything the Helsing family owns."

A curse.

The red in Luciano's eyes flickered.

Could it be the same as his?

He drew a slow breath. "Get to the point."

Vito blinked, then softened his tone.

"Luciano -- both you and Alessio qualify. But I'd rather send you."

Isabella nodded eagerly. "I know it doesn't sound ideal, but think about it -- a man who spent seven years in a place like Mornveil Isle, getting a chance to marry into the Helsing family? That's God showing you special favor."

The smile that crossed Luciano's face was pure contempt.

This was the Costa family.

Seven years ago, he went to the fighting ring in Alessio's place.

Seven years later, they were pushing him out as a sacrificial lamb again.

No one had asked how he was. No one had asked what his life had been like. They didn't even seem to think there was anything wrong with it -- because in their eyes, the fact that he had survived at all was already a gift. Now they were handing him a chance to marry up, and he should be on his knees thanking them.

"So." His voice was lazy. "What you're saying is -- you want me to go and die for you."