Chapter 26.2

Jumping back down, he glanced around and let out a sinister chuckle. “Seven, you’ve always been good at making choices. So here’s one more for you. A: You run away and let both of your lovers die. B: You try to save them, but you can only pick one. Pull out the burning cloth before young master Cruz goes up in flames. C: Stop the crane before it crashes, and Ivan won’t be smashed to death. What will it be?”

He struck a match, lit it, and casually tossed it down. With a smile, he said, “Seven, choose.”

The moment the match hit the ground, the diesel-soaked cloth ignited instantly.

Almost simultaneously, Mo Zimu lunged forward. His first target was the burning cloth. He stripped off his jacket and threw it over the flames, but the fire leaped past it, continuing to spread. He grabbed the burning cloth with his bare hands and yanked it back with all his strength. The flames seared his skin, but he refused to let go.

Jude stared at him in stunned silence. “Seven… so you’re capable of risking everything to save someone….” He raised his gun. “Perfect. That makes you truly perfect. Goodbye, Seven.”

Mo Zimu paid no mind to Jude or the gun. His entire focus was on pulling the deadly cloth strip out of the sewer opening.

Jude hesitated, his finger hovering over the trigger. The crane was still moving, then came a loud crash as it slammed into the stacked shipping containers. He murmured, “Sorry, Boss Ivan. Didn’t expect you to end up as a pancake. If you truly understood your lover, you wouldn’t blame him. And don’t blame me either. At least now, you have your answer.”

At the last second, Mo Zimu managed to yank the burning cloth out of the sewer.

Jude smiled grimly. “I’ll keep my word, Seven. I’ll spare Cruz’s life. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”

He lifted his gun and fired.

But just as the shot rang out, a figure lunged forward, knocking Mo Zimu aside.

He hit the ground hard and instinctively grabbed a metal rod nearby, hurling it in Jude’s direction. The rod struck Jude’s arm, making him cry out in pain.

At that moment, the distant roar of engines filled the air. The sound was growing louder as multiple vehicles approached fast.

Jude turned his head, listened for a brief second, then bolted toward the docks.

“Ivan! Ivan!”

Mo Zimu cried out, clutching Ivan, whose body was soaked in blood. The bullet had missed him but hit Ivan instead.

Ivan’s eyes fluttered open. He exhaled weakly. “Give me a cigarette.”

Mo Zimu’s hands shook as he rummaged through Ivan’s pockets, pulled out a pack, and lit one, holding it to his lips.

Ivan took a few deep drags, exhaling slowly.

Tears welled in Mo Zimu’s eyes. “Ivan… about that choice…”

Ivan raised a bloodstained finger and waved it slightly. “No need to explain, baby. I know you didn’t do it for yourself. You did it for that stuttering little priest. Baby, like I said, true lovers understand each other.”

Mo Zimu’s tears finally spilled over.

Ivan smiled. “I’ve seen you cry before, Seven, but this is the first time you’re crying for me.”

A convoy of cars screeched to a halt nearby. A tall, thin man jumped out and shouted, “Boss! What happened?!”

Sticks, who usually spoke in a creepy, sinister tone, now bellowed so loudly his voice sounded like a cracked gong.

“Hurry up Sticks!” Mo Zimu waved him over.

Sticks approached, took one look at Ivan lying on the ground and gasped. “Holy shit!”

Ivan was hurriedly lifted off the ground and placed into a car by his bodyguards. Mo Zimu stayed by his side the whole way. The Geoffrey family’s vehicles sped through the streets at full throttle, heading straight for the hospital.

Outside the emergency room, Mo Zimu sat alone. No one paid him any attention. A nurse approached, cleaning and dressing his burned hands. She examined the damage, sighed, and shook her head. Though the burns weren’t severe enough to disable him, the scars would remain. His once flawless hands would never be perfect again.

—

Ivan remained in critical condition, his life hanging in the balance. That’s what the doctor had told Mo Zimu.

Sticks spoke coldly. “I always knew the boss would die at your hands sooner or later.”

Mo Zimu didn’t respond. He simply sat beside Ivan’s hospital bed, watching over him in silence.

Rong Qing was also admitted to the same hospital. He suffered a fractured leg and mild concussion, requiring rest but nothing life-threatening. Merlin had visited once. He knelt beside Mo Zimu, gently holding his hand. Tears rolled down his face, but he said nothing. In the end, he whispered, “Seven, you’re free now,” before leaving.

Geoffrey came as well. He stood at the door, watching Mo Zimu, who hadn’t moved from Ivan’s bedside. His gaze remained fixed on Ivan’s face, as if nothing else existed. Even when Geoffrey entered the room, he didn’t bother looking up.

In the end, Geoffrey said nothing and quietly walked away.

Three days passed before Mo Zimu finally spoke. “Ivan, it’s just a shoulder injury. Do you really need to stay in bed this long?”

Ivan, who had been feigning unconsciousness the entire time, finally stirred at the sound of his voice. His eyelids fluttered before he mumbled drowsily, “Where… am I?”

Mo Zimu replied flatly, “In the hospital you had Sticks bribe to take you in.”

Ivan turned to look at him. “Why have you been here all this time?”

Mo Zimu’s expression didn’t change. “To see how long you’d keep lying there.”

Ivan extended his hand from under the blanket and grabbed Mo Zimu’s wrist. “Come here, baby.”

Mo Zimu stood up, unhurriedly removing his clothes. As his lean, toned body came into view, Ivan wasted no time. He yanked off every piece of medical equipment attached to him and threw them aside.

Mo Zimu climbed onto the bed, straddling Ivan’s lap. His fingers tugged at the ties of Ivan’s hospital gown, slipping inside to grasp his already fully hardened length.

Guiding himself, Mo Zimu slowly lowered his body, taking Ivan in.

Ivan had never seen Mo Zimu this passionate before. The man who was always so proud of his self-control nearly lost it right then and there. He fought against the overwhelming urge to release, letting Mo Zimu set the pace. Watching him move above him, Ivan felt something unexpectedly warm settle in his chest.

They had been intimate countless times, but it had always been driven by raw desire. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet at this moment, there was something different, something almost… tender.

He reached out, pulling Mo Zimu closer before flipping him over and pressing him beneath his body. His hands traced every familiar sensitive spot, drawing out the sounds he loved most. The sharp intakes of breath, the soft moans, and the rhythmic collision of their bodies. Seeing Mo Zimu surrender completely to the pleasure he created filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction.

In that moment, Mo Zimu belonged entirely to him.

Ivan had long understood that winning Mo Zimu was never going to be easy. He didn’t just want his stunning body, he wanted the emotions buried deep inside him. Mo Zimu guarded those emotions fiercely, but Ivan was certain that if he ever managed to unlock them, what lay beneath would be a treasure trove of raw, intoxicating beauty.

Every prize came with a risk. The greater the gamble, the greater the reward. Ivan had never shied away from high-stakes games. Just like how he had willingly taken a twenty-year prison sentence to solidify his position in the Bonanno family, he was willing to bet everything on Mo Zimu.

Patience and capability had always been his strengths, and he had known for a long time that he would be the ultimate winner in this gamble.

He had told Mo Zimu that Jude wasn’t a simple man, and that was the truth. But simple or ordinary men, were often predictable. Jude wasn’t after money, and Ivan knew it. He had seen the hatred burning in Jude’s one remaining eye.

He had expected to get hurt. Before coming, he had already arranged for top medical experts at the nearest hospital to West Africa Dock, fully equipped with advanced technology and a ready supply of blood.

Jude wasn’t the type to kill with a single bullet. A man like him preferred elaborate, dangerous games.

But the more complicated the game, the more room there was for the unexpected.

Ivan had accounted for every possibility.

All he had to do was wait for the right moment.

The moment Mo Zimu dashed out to stop the burning cloth, Ivan knew his opportunity had come. Jude’s focus had shifted entirely to Mo Zimu, giving Ivan the opening he needed. He slipped from beneath the crane, climbed onto the crane arm and swiftly slid down.

The moment the crane crashed into the stacked containers, Jude completely forgot about him.

He raised his gun. Ivan dashed forward. The bullet hit his shoulder, but his concealed bulletproof vest absorbed most of the impact. As Mo Zimu lashed out in rage, he seized the moment to shatter the blood pack he had hidden on himself, making the wound look far worse than it was.

He didn’t worry about what would happen next. He had already informed Sticks from atop the crane, and backup would arrive soon.

Thick-skinned, resilient, dangerously intelligent, and unshakably dominant, these qualities made Ivan unstoppable. Even someone as stubborn and unyielding as Mo Zimu had no choice but to surrender to him.

Ivan drove into Mo Zimu with a deep, punishing thrust one last time, drawing out his desperate moans. He didn’t pull away immediately after his release. Instead, he remained on top of him, savoring the warmth of his body.

“Ivan!”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t ever stage something like that again… I don’t like it.”

Ivan smiled faintly, lifting his head to look at Mo Zimu before leaning down to claim his lips, sealing his promise with a kiss.