Chapter 3

The next day, the rain in Brooklyn stopped.

A rare glimpse of sunlight struggled through New York's industrial smog, splashing onto the dilapidated, puddle-filled streets of the slums.

Though the rain had cleared, the heat of the sun only made the fermenting stench of garbage in the sewers more pungent.

I was wearing my faded canvas jacket, the hem still stained with grease, holding Lily's hand near a greasy hotdog cart on the corner.

"Boss, two classic hotdogs, extra mustard and onions," I said, handing over a few crumpled bills.

"Daddy, aren't we eating Mommy's sandwiches for lunch today?" Lily looked up, her slightly pale little face full of expectation.

"Today, we are celebrating a little," I crouched down and gently tapped her tiny nose with my rough finger. "Celebrating that we are moving soon. We are going to a big house where Lily can plant giant sunflowers, alright?"

"Really?!" The little girl's eyes lit up like stars, and she threw her arms around my neck. "Thank you, Daddy!"

I buried my face in my daughter's soft hair, a gentle smile tracing my lips.

In this brief moment, I was just a mechanic and a father.

No one could possibly connect me with the Reaper who had initiated a global termination protocol the night before.

VROOOOOOM—!!

Suddenly, the deafening, obnoxious roar of a V8 engine violently tore through the peace of the neighborhood.

I looked up. A blindingly flashy cherry-red convertible Porsche was speeding erratically down the narrow, trash-filled slum street at over forty miles an hour.

The massive sound system blasted cheap, deafening rap music, sending homeless men and stray dogs diving out of the way in terror.

I narrowed my eyes slightly.

With my dynamic vision, even from a hundred meters away, I could perfectly see the man in the driver's seat. He was wearing a gaudy floral shirt and a thick gold chain—the universal uniform of newly made "slum cash."

Tommy.

Clearly, he had rented this car, impatient to broadcast his impending rise to the "upper class" to the entire ghetto.

The Porsche sped closer.

When Tommy’s eyes registered me standing by the hotdog cart, his face twisted with extreme excitement and a sickening sense of superiority.

Instead of slowing down, he slammed the gas pedal and jerked the steering wheel hard to the right.

The red Porsche charged like a rabid boar. The tires shrieked against the asphalt, barreling straight toward a massive puddle of filthy sludge less than half a meter from us.

SPLASH—!

The black muddy water, mixed with overnight garbage, was launched into the air by the wide tires, descending upon us like a waterfall of filth.

Without hesitation, I spun around, clutching Lily tightly to my chest, using my back as an impenetrable wall.

The foul mud hit my old jacket and the back of my head with a wet THUD, dripping down my hair and into my collar.

SCREECH—!

The sports car slammed on its brakes just a meter away from me.

"HAHAHAHA! Oh! My bad, mechanic! Accidentally splashed a sewer rat!"

Tommy pulled down his signature aviator sunglasses, stood up, and arrogantly propped one foot on the Porsche's leather door, laughing hysterically.

Three heavily make-uped, scantily clad streetwalkers sat in the passenger and back seats, joining him in obnoxious, piercing laughter.

I ignored his barking. My first priority was checking my daughter.

After confirming that aside from being startled, not a single drop of mud had touched Lily, I took a clean tissue from my pocket and gently wiped away the tear formed at the corner of her eye.

"Don't be scared. Daddy is here," I whispered, calming the shivering girl.

Being utterly ignored irritated Tommy, who currently felt like he was walking among the gods.

"Hey! Are you deaf, you broke piece of shit!?" Tommy slapped the car door. Then, reaching into his expensive floral shirt, he smugly pulled out a black, gold-edged invitation card that smelled of luxury ink.

It was an invitation.

Stamped squarely on the front was the golden eagle crest of the Falcone Family.

"Open your dog eyes and see what this is!" Tommy’s cheeks were trembling with excitement. He raised his arm and whipped the gold-stamped invitation right into my face, treating it like trash just to humiliate me.

The hard cardstock grazed my cheek before fluttering down into the muddy puddle.

"This is the VIP pass to the inner-circle banquet at the Falcone Hillside Estate tonight! Early this morning, I took the coin to the head of the Viper Gang. And guess what? The boss, who usually wouldn't even spit in my direction, nearly pissed his pants when he saw the gold coin! He personally delivered this invitation to me, practically begging me to put in a good word for him with the Godfather!"

Tommy laughed maniacally, looking as though he owned the world.

"You poor fuck! An insect who has crawled in the gutters his whole life probably doesn't even comprehend how much that antique ruby coin is worth! It is supreme power! And now, it belongs to me! Tonight, I will personally place it, alongside Elena, on Don Falcone's dining table!"

"I will trade it for endless glory! And you—you'll just wear your stinking clothes and watch helplessly!"

He pointed at my nose, spit flying from his mouth, unconditionally venting his warped, psychotic arrogance.

And me? I maintained the eerie stillness of dead water.

I didn't even have the urge to glance down at the laughable invitation in the mud.

Across the street, the "sanitation worker" sweeping the pavement had veins bulging on the back of his hands. Beneath his oversized uniform, the safety of a silenced Glock 18 had already been flicked off.

Ten meters to my left, the cloudy eyes of two "homeless men" in ragged coats had turned as cold as ice, staring at Tommy like he was already a corpse. Their hands were inside their coats, tightly gripping the hilts of tactical combat knives.

Further away, behind the seemingly abandoned window frames on the fourth floor, though there was no glare, I could keenly sense the crosshairs of at least three sniper rifles locked dead onto Tommy's obnoxiously swaying head.

They were just waiting for the wind to drop.

If I simply raised an eyebrow right now.

Or let out a tiny, nearly inaudible snort.

In 0.5 seconds.

Tommy’s head would be reduced to a bloody sludge mixed with metal.

Even the three women laughing wildly in his car would be silently erased from reality in under two seconds. Not a single drop of their blood would splash onto my daughter’s shoes.

The Reaper's scythe was tangibly resting on Tommy’s carotid artery.

The line between life and death existed purely at my whim.

Watching Tommy dancing wildly on the edge of the abyss, completely oblivious to the fact that he was inside a literal kill box, I felt absurdly amused. It was like looking down at a bug.

I lowered my eyelids slightly, facing the concealed position of the snipers, and gave an imperceptible, fractional shake of my head.

The tightly coiled tension in the air instantly slackened.

The "sanitation worker" resumed picking up trash; the "homeless men" went back to digging through the bins.

It wasn't time yet.

Tonight was the time to catch Tommy and the master he served in one giant net.

Seeing that I wouldn't even look up to defend myself, Tommy's arrogance reached its absolute peak.

"Fucking spineless coward! Talking to you is a waste of my prestigious time!"

Tommy dropped back into his leather seat, slammed his hands on the steering wheel, and shot me a hideously twisted smile.

"Enjoy guarding your trashy garage tonight. Once I become the Don's favorite, the first thing I’m doing is sending my new subordinates to your house."

"It doesn’t even matter if you sign the divorce papers anymore. I'll have them tie Elena up and serve her as the Godfather's post-dinner dessert. The old man has been dreaming about my sister for a long time."

"As for you, mechanic. If you show even a hint of resistance, they will break every bone in your body right in front of your face. Do you understand!?"

I finally looked up.

Through the glaring sunlight, my eyes—colder than an Arctic glacier—locked onto him. Deep within those eyes, there was absolutely no human emotion left. It was the look of observing a corpse that hadn't quite cooled down.

This was the last time I would tolerate him breathing the air of our world.

"Enjoy your night, Tommy," I said. My voice was utterly flat, devoid of any fluctuation, sounding almost like the reading of last rites.

"Freak!" Tommy felt a chill run down his spine meeting my dead gaze, but he didn't want to waste another second of his high-class evening.

"Hold on tight, ladies! We rule the Hillside Estate tonight!"

Amidst the women's fake cheers and the violent roar of the V8 engine, the Porsche’s tires burned rubber, disappearing down the street, leaving only exhaust fumes and mud.

The surroundings returned to the usual noisy chaos of the slums.

"Daddy... Uncle said... he's going to take Mommy away..." Lily gripped the hem of my jacket, her tiny body trembling.

"He won't."

I crouched down, placing the hotdog into my daughter's hands. My gaze swept over the muddy, ruined Falcone Family invitation on the ground, and my lips slowly curled into an edge as sharp as a scalpel.

The breeze was already carrying the metallic scent of impending bloodshed.

There were less than eight hours before the so-called "Ruler's Banquet."

"Daddy promises," I rubbed my daughter's head, looking at the ridge of the hillside estate in the distance.

"After tonight, there won't be a single person named Falcone left in this world."