Chapter Text
The night's chill hit his shoulders as he left the restaurant through the back; it wouldn't be long before they came to collect Vegas's body once Nop sent the message notifying of his death. Nausea and a shiver ran through him just thinking about it. He stopped as he walked; he needed a minute, just one to recover, and he didn't even have that.
"Just continue, keep going and don't stop yet," he reminded himself.
Vegas's guards seemed perfectly prepared for what was next. One handed Vegas a black t-shirt to put on, while another waited patiently with the vest in his hands. Vegas's face contorted sharply as he raised his arms to put the garment on; Pete suppressed his impulse to help him if he didn't ask for it. It was easier not to look at him in that state and turn away so as not to get angry all over again for having ended up like this.
—"We’ll send the message when we get there; we’ll catch them entering the mansion" —Vegas tucked his gun into the holster—. "With luck, they won't manage to get inside and we’ll stop them in the gardens."
—"All right. We need to get there fast" —Pete contained his discomfort without looking at anyone.
—"Pete, take whatever you want."
Nop stepped aside, showing the truck full of weapons and everything they might need. Pete took a few steps forward, getting closer to see what they had in detail; he took a vest identical to the ones they had and a larger caliber weapon with a strap.
The other guards watched him put on the vest without taking their eyes off him. Pete didn't bother returning the gaze to anyone when he finished putting on the gear; he tucked two more magazines into his pockets.
—"Pete, in case you need it" —Nop offered, showing him a tablet with a floor plan.
—"I memorized it a long time ago" —he responded, recognizing it was the layout of Vegas's mansion.
—"The priority is to reach my father first and get Macao out of there" —Vegas said in a critical tone—. "If Pete orders you to do something along the way, you do it."
—"All right, boss" —Nop responded instantly.
Vegas began to walk away; Pete knew he would want to get there faster in his own car. Pete finished putting away the last magazine, looking at the guards he only knew by sight on a few occasions.
—"What are your names?" —he asked, gripping the vest as he adjusted it.
—"Aon" —replied the tallest of them—. "And the one who never stops smiling is Win."
—"I’ve been training them personally" —Nop responded with some pride in his voice, as if those boys were his responsibility.
That had felt strange. Nop didn't owe him any kind of explanation; Pete was just trying to find out the names of the people he could count on if something happened.
—"Let’s hope we are up to the task."
They looked young and too enthusiastic for a mission that was complete madness. He gave them a half-smile before trying to walk away. The phone in Nop's hands vibrated. The silence grew more penetrating as they waited for him to say something.
—"We have to hurry, they are waiting for confirmation" —he tucked the phone into his pocket as he walked away to get into the truck.
Pete walked away from them, heading to the car where Vegas was waiting for him. Vegas didn't say anything; he accelerated the car, leaving that old parking lot. Pete worried for a second that the other car wouldn't be fast enough, but he saw them in the rearview mirror as soon as they took the highway. Someone was waiting for confirmation to attack the mansion and they were still far away; they had to get there as soon as possible. They didn't even care how many traffic laws they broke as long as they arrived fast.
—"When we go in, don't worry about me."
—"Because I worry is why I'm here, Vegas" —he looked at him sideways, annoyed.
—"I mean that I don't want anything to happen to you. The guards there don't know you; they only know you're from the first family and, in the heat of the moment, they are capable of shooting you. Don't worry about anything and defend yourself."
He clenched his jaw, looking out the window while Vegas kept accelerating. He knew how they would see him: if he stepped away from Vegas at any point, they wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he was there to attack them.
—"Are you fit to shoot? I saw that you're having trouble raising your right arm."
—"I'm fine, don't worry about that" —it seemed like the breath was cut short in the car for a few seconds after his words—. "And it wasn't your fault; you did exactly what you had to do."
—"Please, don't ever do something like that again" —he wanted to be able to turn around and hit him himself for the terrible idea he’d had, clenching his hands with nothing to calm his anger in them.
He heard Vegas huff as he focused on the road ahead. Pete didn't want to ask what Vegas had in mind, but he couldn't wait to arrive to find out.
—"Are you still planning to kill your father?"
He unconsciously looked at his hands, which had some old traces of blood. He wanted to tell him that there were more options than that, that he could choose to be different, but deep down he knew: nothing would change. And if he had the chance, he himself would take Gun’s life. After the call from that very morning, there was nothing else he desired more than that.
—"If I get there before them, yes. If he lives, he will only be a problem for you and for Macao; you will never be able to live in peace."
He kept quiet the rest of the way. He couldn't think about what would follow after that night; he couldn't even reason what would follow for himself. Reaching the mansion and surviving to rescue Macao before they took him away was the ideal; his mind had to be there.
Vegas stopped the car at a considerable distance from the mansion, turning off the engine. They had to wait for confirmation from Nop that he had already sent the message before they could move forward. He felt uncomfortable in the seat, his breath cold; this was probably the preamble to the most dangerous moment of his life.
The streetlights were out; not a single sound could be heard nearby. That is how great Korn’s power was—enough to turn off the neighborhood streetlights and make the police look the other way. Pete had never cared before, but he had never been on the other side either.
Pete paused to think about how he would do it; that was his best way to always be prepared. After destroying the gate and entering, he would wipe out all the guards in the main courtyard of the house, forcing them out while covering his team with an armored car or something large. But above all, he would send another group through another of the house's entrances to take everyone down more silently, reaching Gun’s office faster.
A grand entrance and loud gunfire would be the best way to draw all the attention to just one point, using their lack of preparation for the attack as an advantage. No one would think about two assassins coming through a window or a back door. He grabbed Vegas’s arm while Vegas was looking at his phone.
He didn't get a chance to speak when he heard an explosion followed by gunfire in the distance; he could only expect the worst. They started the car again, moving fast; they wouldn't let the attackers get far into the mansion if their own guards were half as good as they thought—it wouldn't take the intruders long to get inside.
—"The mansion has another entrance, a service one, in the back."
—"Yes, going around the block," Vegas confirmed.
There had been no need to say anything; Vegas swerved the wheel to start circling the mansion to reach the other entrance. Parts of Pete leaped inside him, smiling because Vegas had understood him without many words, but it was no time to celebrate how well they understood each other.
It wasn't fast; the mansion occupied a large estate in the middle of the gated community, but even there, the gunfire from all the guards could be felt. They got out of the car quickly, running when they saw the door open and a guard on the ground.
Pete knew this path; Vegas had taken him out through there once. He entered with his weapon braced against his chest, aiming at every corner. They moved at full speed through the hallways until they saw the backs of two people walking with weapons; he looked at Vegas, and Vegas nodded. He knew what Vegas meant: they weren't their people.
Pete put one in his sights and shot him while Vegas shot the other. Before confirming if they had fallen, Pete ducked behind a wall, waiting for shots in his direction.
Vegas had done the same from his side of the wall. Pete watched Vegas's chest move with his breathing, the erratic way he breathed as he hid. When Vegas saw the opportunity, he began to fire again, seeing the person run—the attacker hadn't decided to stay and face them, but to advance further. Their orders were clear: they had to reach Gun as soon as possible to eliminate him, without wasting time fighting more guards.
Pete had him in his sights from a distance, but he didn't bother shooting; he wasn’t within range. They walked down the hallway past the fallen body Pete had shot; he moved it quickly to confirm who it was and didn't recognize him. That somehow lifted the weight from his chest, while he prayed that the one advancing wasn't one of his friends. He looked up at Vegas, and Vegas kept moving down the hallway.
Their shoulders brushed, giving Pete the security he needed, even though Vegas was watching his back while walking backward and Pete looked ahead. He had forgotten how big the mansion was and how long its hallways were; it was too easy to get lost in them with the background noises and the dim lighting on those walls with abandoned art.
Pete walked slowly, ensuring no one appeared out of nowhere when Vegas's arm pushed him against one of the walls, pressing his body against Pete's as gunshots whizzed past them. Vegas had hidden them behind a large decorative column that was disintegrating with every shot, falling in pieces over them. It looked expensive and very old; as its beauty vanished due to the voracity with which they were attacked, it was no longer a good place to take cover. Pete lowered his gaze to prevent the dust from getting into his eyes, focusing on Vegas’s breathing while Vegas kept his face close to Pete's ear, barely hearing him. Vegas covered him perfectly between his body and the column pressed against the wall.
He kept his eyes on the goosebumps on Vegas's neck; they were close, too close. Pete pulled back to look him in the face as the dust dissipated. He blinked a few times, concentrating on what he was doing. Hearing the gunfire stop, he didn't hesitate to lean his weapon out into the hallway and shoot at the man, though without being able to see well. Vegas had leaned out beside him, firing his weapon at the same time.
Pete had the skill but lacked the opportunity to stop that man. Vegas was getting slow at lifting his arm; his pain was worsening as they moved. He took cover again, seeing Vegas bring his hand to his side. Pete placed his hand over Vegas's, feeling his warm hands.
He wanted to stop, lift Vegas's shirt, confirm that his wound hadn't opened or that the pain wasn't unbearable; he hadn't even seen if Win had given him anything for the pain. He could only look at Vegas, waiting for him to tell him if he could continue, confirming his state with a gaze.
Pete didn't think he had hit the man in front of them, but with every turn, they were getting closer to him. When Pete wanted to move, he felt Vegas's hands on his hips, indicating the path they would follow. He nodded, walking alongside him without losing his pace. They didn't need to speak; one look told them more than words.
The screams coming from outside could only be from the men of the mansion; they had undoubtedly been taken by surprise despite Nop’s warning. They continued moving down the hallway. That person seemed to know the shortest route to Gun’s office perfectly, though to reach him he still had to pass the guards at the office door, if they were still there. One of the doors on the way to the office was open, with trails of blood leading inside. Passing by there, Pete stopped immediately upon hearing a woman crying. His instinct flared up, unable to just walk away.
He ignored all rational thought for the moment; he couldn't simply walk past with that weeping and the bloodstains on the floor. He stepped into the room with his weapon raised, seeing a pregnant woman in a red dress kneeling near a large bed. She raised her gun, trembling; as she fired toward Pete, the shot didn't come anywhere near him, and the weapon ended up falling from her hands.
Pete lowered his gun, approaching her slowly with his hands raised in surrender.
—"My name is Pete, I'm not going to hurt you" —he told her, crouching down to see her—. "Are you hurt?"
—"Yes" —she replied, crying.
He saw the wound on her arm; surely a stray bullet. She was losing a lot of blood and couldn't even move it. Pete took a piece of fabric from the bed and wrapped her arm; he had never considered himself capable of hurting a woman, much less a pregnant one. She looked clearly terrified, her makeup running down her cheeks.
He lifted her chin so the light could reach her face; she looked young and beaten. He recognized a slap when he saw one. Her split lip wasn't a good sign either; her cheekbone even had a purplish tone peeking through her tears, which were washing away her makeup.
—"Pete, we have to go."
—"Yes" —he responded, standing up—. "Hide in the closet. I'll come back for you to take you to see a doctor."
He helped her stand up, watching her walk to her closet sobbing and trembling. He couldn't do anything for her now and had to press on. They left the room, knowing they were closer.
They rushed to the office; they only had a few more meters to go. There were no guards there, nor bodies on the floor. He knew at least one guard should be there if Gun was inside.
Vegas and Pete stepped into the office. They saw the armed man being held at gunpoint by Gun. Pete's eyes quickly searched for Macao until he saw him on the floor, in a corner of the office. He didn't seem to wait to see who acted first: Pete shot the guard directly in the head. The body fell, making a dull thud as it hit the expensive, polished wooden floor.
Vegas kept his weapon raised, aiming at his father. Pete moved quickly toward Macao, seeing him stand up to hug him; Pete wrapped him in his arms as tightly as he could. He had only spent hours with him the day before, and yet, that embrace felt like breathing oxygen after holding it in for too long.
He released Macao's arms to look at him properly; he was beaten all over his face, but he still seemed to be okay. He took his gun again; he didn't know who else might come through that door, and Gun still hadn't dropped his weapon.
—"What do you think you're doing, pointing that at me?" —Gun shouted angrily.
—"All of this is your fault" —Vegas countered—. "They sent these men because you wouldn't stop talking about killing Kinn."
Gun looked worse than Pete could have imagined: the dark circles under his eyes, his skin, even his posture, were signs that he was no longer the man he used to be, much less the man Pete used to fear when he started working.
—"So you're just like your mother: a treacherous snake who only sought to betray me" —Gun raised his gun against Vegas—. "You're a traitor who only wants my money, my power, my family name."
The sound of his voice boomed in Pete’s ears from the sheer volume. He grabbed Macao’s arm, forcing him to stand behind him.
—"Don't confuse me with you. You're the one who couldn't be satisfied with what you had and tried to kill your brother's son just for revenge, not caring who died along the way."
Pete looked over his shoulder at Macao, behind him. Vegas had asked him to get Macao out of there, but he couldn't leave Vegas alone with his father.
—"I should have killed you sooner—you and your stupid brother—just like I did with your useless mother. You have never been of any use to me, and now you betray me" —Gun spat his words with hatred in his voice.
—"She never betrayed you; you believed your brother's words without any proof. And now, do you think if you kill his son you'll be even? You caused them to want to kill us all."
—"You could have acted first; you could have sacrificed yourself and this wouldn't have happened. Everything was ruined because of you" —Pete couldn't stop looking at the gun trembling in Gun’s hands while he yelled—. "None of you are getting out of here alive now. Not even your bitch."
Everything stopped for him in that second. Gun aimed his weapon at him and Macao; Pete didn't want to shoot him—it wasn't his fight, as much as he hated the man—but he couldn't let him hurt Macao either. Vegas didn't let him finish aiming his weapon and fired, getting ahead of him. Just one shot, effective, right in the middle of his head. Gun fell on his back, ending up against the wooden bookshelf behind him; his head slumped over his chest told them everything was over. In the air, a combination of smells mingled: gunpowder, iron, and whiskey.
The silence deafened his ears as he watched, terrified, what Vegas had done for them, discarding all other possibilities where Gun managed to shoot first. Pete heard his own breathing combined with the thumping of his heart in his ears, returning to the present.
The noises outside had ceased; a false calm was beginning, staining the floors of that mansion red. He feared breathing too hard and somehow shattering the fragile atmosphere. Vegas lowered his gun slowly, and that finally cut through the moment of darkness surrounding them.
—"Vegas" —Pete called out to him, more out of instinct than necessity.
Vegas didn't react, staring at his father’s body on the floor. Pete moved slowly, forcing Macao to move with him by the grip he had on the boy’s clothes. He looked at Vegas as he circled him; Vegas’s eyes were lost on the now lifeless body. Pete stepped between them like a wall to cut off the view of what Vegas had done and took Vegas’s face, forcing him to look at him; he was cold to the touch and barely blinking.
—"Vegas" —Pete repeated in a firmer tone.
—"Yes" —he responded, reacting at last.
Macao, hearing his brother speak, approached confidently to hug him. Vegas was slow to return the gesture; by the time he did, he gripped the back of Macao’s neck tightly while the boy hugged him.
—"Hia, thank you" —Macao repeated over and over against Vegas’s shoulder—. "You came."
Vegas remained silent, his eyes closed now. Pete knew this was what Vegas had wanted, what he had decided even with his cold mind, but it was still parricide and possibly the most horrific thing he had ever had to do in his life. Pete stopped counting the minutes the brothers spent embracing, while he himself breathed with difficulty, trying to let the calm and silence tell him they were no longer in danger.
But something in him told him he couldn't let his guard down; not yet. He had no way of knowing who had survived outside or if they would soon come for them.
Pete looked at Vegas with concern as he squeezed his brother’s neck in the embrace; he couldn't help but see Vegas's side. Even with the poor lighting, he could see the blood soaking through the t-shirt. He thought about warning Macao about Vegas's wound, but Vegas was also holding him in his arms without caring about it; he would endure the pain if it meant being with his brother.
—"Let me look at you" —Vegas asked, trying to pull Macao back to see his face.
Macao brought his hands to his ribs and hunched over; he was possibly hurt, more than he was letting on. Vegas inspected the wounds on his brother's face with a clinical gaze.
—"I’m sorry, they turned off all the lights in the house. I didn't get to grab my phone to warn you, I wasn't fast when they entered the house" —it took Pete time to understand what Macao was saying, because of how fast he was talking—. "I tried to flee but there were many guards."
—"Did any of them do this to you?"
Macao shook his head, while his eyes drifted to his father’s body.
—"How will we get out of here? All his men will want to kill you for this" —Macao asked, pulling away; Pete could see the worry on his face—. "They never defended us, and they brought me here."
—"I’ll find a way" —Vegas said, looking at his brother.
The door opened and Pete raised his weapon, aiming at the man’s head. He lowered it slowly when he saw it was Nop. Nop looked directly at Gun and the other man on the floor without any expression, not even surprise.
—"We have three of the men who came in alive, but badly wounded. The rest of Gun's men are downstairs and in the courtyard. What do you want to do now? I told them I was coming for Gun and you."
Vegas hadn't let go of Macao as the boy circled him from his chest.
—"Gather everyone left who works here first; I will inform them that Gun is dead."
—"Take your time, there’s no rush" —Nop raised his chin without looking away from the body on the floor. Even in the dim light, Pete could make out the contempt in Nop’s gaze just before his eyes shifted back to them.
—"I’ll leave you guys alone" —Pete said, taking a few steps toward the door.
He walked a few steps where Nop had just exited, and Vegas managed to stop him by grabbing his arm. Vegas needed him; Pete was more than aware that Vegas wanted him to stay there, but part of Pete's conscience was pleading with him to go find that frightened woman waiting for him in the closet. Macao was still holding his brother’s arm tightly; the scene looked more like a human chain of people who didn't want the other to leave the room. Ultimately, Pete understood why Macao didn't want to be left alone there with the warm body of his father and another man on the floor by his feet. He looked down, taking in the scene.
—"That pregnant girl is waiting for me in the other room; she's scared and hurt."
—"We’ll go in a moment" —Vegas's gaze pleaded with him not to leave.
He wanted to stay with Vegas, but he still felt uncomfortable with Gun's situation in the room; his body was becoming an impossible noise to ignore. He scanned the office with his eyes until he stopped on something on one of the sofas. He walked over, taking the red fabric in his hands; it was extremely soft. He didn't understand its shape until he unfolded it, covering Gun's body. If Vegas was going to say that a guard killed Gun, he had to at least simulate that Vegas gave him the necessary respect when they came for the body later.
—"That isn't necessary."
—"It is if we tell them that someone else killed the boss of this family" —he covered the body, trying to make sure the fabric wouldn't fall off and that he remained covered—. "It's what his men will see when they come in; everyone outside this room must believe that a guard from the first family killed him. If it was like that, no one will touch you, not even your father’s men. I know it wasn't the plan, but if we are improvising, you must at least behave the way they expect you to."
What he was saying was possibly risky, but their three lives depended on it too. Their entire plan had changed; they could no longer just take Macao and flee. He had to stay so Vegas could take charge of the situation.
—"All right, Hia" —Macao said, holding Vegas's side as he looked at him—. "You should take the ring; it's yours now."
Pete saw Vegas take a deep breath, struggling to bend down beside him. He thought for a second that Vegas would adjust his father’s body, which was not sitting up, but instead, he took his hand and removed the ring from his finger.
—"I always hated this thing" —Vegas confessed, looking at the object with a diamond in the center. He stood up with a wincing gesture of pain, and Pete followed his movements—. "It's supposed to mean you belong to the family and you are strong enough to lead it."
—"Now it's yours. You must show it when you go outside with them; Macao is right."
Pete saw a hidden gesture of annoyance on Vegas's lips as he put the ring on, and Vegas lowered his hand as if it felt heavy.
—"Are you sure you're okay, Macao? I can still get you out of here; you would come back when everything calms down."
—"I'd prefer to stay with you guys."
Vegas nodded, accepting his brother's decision. Now they had a plan, and it depended on how strong they saw Vegas so as not to contradict him. Pete's body reacted like an electric current when Vegas took his hand, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Vegas forced him closer to kiss him. Pete wanted to resist, to use his last strength to refuse to be consoled in some way; he didn't believe he deserved to be consoled and embraced. He needed to be strong and firm to be a support for Vegas. But as much as he denied it, that kiss told him he was alive, that they had made it. A small part of him was relieved that, for a second, no one was hunting him—at least for now. When Vegas let him go, Pete gave him what he could in a smile to show him he was fine.
—"Let's go" —Vegas ordered, looking at both of them.
That was all they needed to leave that dark room. They took a few steps out until Pete shifted the direction they were going, forcing Vegas and Macao to go to the pregnant woman's room. They entered to see Win sitting on the edge of the bed while wrapping the arm of the woman lying down.
She seemed to be on the verge of unconsciousness while he hurried to tend to her.
—"We need to take her to the infirmary. The doctor is down there, he can check on the baby."
—"Is she okay?" —Pete asked, looking closer.
—"I suppose stress and blood loss are affecting her" —Win responded, standing up.
—"I'll take her."
Pete lifted the nearly unconscious woman in his arms with care, while Macao guided him. He lost sight of Vegas as soon as they left the room. They walked through the hallways, seeing valuables on the floor and the many broken windows in their path; the glass crunched under his feet as he walked. The path was not made any better by the gazes of wounded men around them; Pete was too used to being ignored. He held her tightly, walking fast without loosening his arms so the woman wouldn't fall.
"They still think you are from the main family. Don't look at how tightly they are gripping their weapons," he reminded himself as he followed Macao closely.
They passed through a white door, seeing blood beginning to stain the white porcelain floors. Cries for help came from a stretcher while a nurse ran with gauze in her hand. He walked to the stretchers, seeing one of the less wounded men stand up. Pete carefully laid the woman down, attentive to how she barely opened her eyes.
—"Macao, stay here. I'll get a nurse."
—"I'll do it for you, but I don't expect to have any better luck than you" —a man with a thick bandage wrapped around his leg offered. It took a moment, but Pete recognized him: it was Aon, except he had more bruises on his face than the last time Pete had seen him.
—"Is it serious?"
He laughed, looking at his leg, shaking it afterward.
—"This? It's just a scratch, I'll live" —he smiled with a victorious wince—. "I'll go get your doctor."
Aon walked away, closing the curtain to give the woman some privacy. Macao seemed not to want to get close to her, keeping his distance from the bed.
—"Are you okay?" —Pete asked, touching Macao's shoulder.
Macao looked at him, nodding with a weak smile. He had a bruised cheekbone; the hours he had spent with his father had not been free. Pete ran a hand through Macao's hair, ruffling it. Later he would find a way to talk to him about how to deal with the death of a father; although he didn't believe he had that stage of his own life overcome, he could at least listen to him.
—"Do you know her?" —Pete asked, pointing to the woman with his chin.
—"No, I only saw her once and she didn't speak a word to me. The only thing I heard her say was that, since I didn't live there anymore, she could turn my room into a bigger closet."
Pete let out a laugh; he didn't expect her to be an angel—she couldn't be, to endure being with someone like Gun—but her baby was a different case. That baby might be the only good and innocent thing that mansion had, and everything inside him pleaded to keep it that way. A man in a lab coat pulled the curtain back, approaching her quickly. Pete placed his hand on Macao's shoulder again so the boy would give the doctor space.
—"Call me for anything; I'll be with your brother. I have to get a nurse to look at his wound."
—"Is he hurt?" —Pete saw Macao's face turn a shade paler in a second.
—"A bullet grazed his rib. He’s fine, you saw him, but he needs stitches."
Pete left the area, noticing Aon was walking behind him. He looked over his shoulder, feeling uncomfortable; he had never been one to be followed, or at any rate, if he was followed, it was for something bad. He didn't say anything to him, at least not until reaching the room where all the other guards were waiting. There weren't many, no more than eight men, all looking grim; many of them wearing the black shirts the Second Family used to wear, others in normal t-shirts. He saw Vegas at the far end, arriving with Nop at his back.
Pete stopped immediately, doubting his next step. He wasn't one of the house guards; he couldn't stand alongside them listening to what Vegas was going to say. He thought about standing behind Vegas next to Nop, but Vegas had repeated too many times that Pete was not his guard. He froze in place, looking coldly at Vegas, who kept giving him a strange look. Ultimately, he didn't know what his place was or what he should do.
—"Is everything okay?" —Aon asked behind him, stepping closer.
Pete hummed an affirmative answer, walking a few steps toward Vegas. Vegas was near some stairs, so Pete could at least lean against the banister; he had no idea where he belonged, but it didn't seem so bad to just disappear to the side. He leaned on it without touching the steps, with Nop's strange gaze on him. Even Nop was on the staircase, a few steps up.
—"They have killed my father" —Vegas blurted out without pity or pain.
Pete looked at the floor so they wouldn't see him make expressions at what he had heard. No one in the room seemed surprised; everyone maintained their silence—. "If anyone decides their service ended with him, this is the time to leave."
He didn't sound very kind in his words, but Pete understood that Vegas had a very clear message to convey: those who did not accept Vegas from that moment on could march away. No one in the room moved or coughed.
Pete brought his hand to his lip while crossing the other over his chest; he didn't want to look up and see how many of Gun’s men were making faces or looking at him badly. He recognized the "You don't belong" looks before they even gave them to him; they were there on him, from every corner of the large room.
—"What will happen to those who died today?" —one of them asked, lifting his chin.
Some of the men leaned against the furniture without sitting down completely, looking tired, while others crossed their arms.
—"Same procedure as always: a coffin to their family along with the extra payment for the years worked."
Pete saw the man who asked take a step back without taking his eyes off Vegas. For many families, that payment represented a complete life change, even if it was at the cost of a son or a grandson. Now Vegas would have to take all that money out of his own pocket. Pete didn't know if Vegas had access to Gun's accounts to make use of the family funds.
Just thinking about everything Vegas would have to deal with now caused a throbbing pain to press against Pete's head.
—"Will we attack the main family for this?" —an armed man asked, raising his hand.
—"Did I say we were going to do that?" —Vegas asked angrily—. "You are guards; your duty is to protect us, and you are paid generously for that, not to seek a vengeance that is not yours to take."
Pete saw Vegas take a few steps forward, near the man who spoke, and instinctively, the guard took a step back.
—"If that doesn't sit well with you, you can leave now," —he added in a critical voice.
The man nodded, and Vegas turned around to return to where he was standing.
—"Will we work with someone from the main family now?" —a guard asked, looking at Pete—. "Or is he coming to teach us how to behave?"
—"Or is he a renegade from the other family?" —someone added from the back with a laugh.
Vegas walked forward, looking directly at the one who asked first. Pete didn't hesitate to step closer than he had before; he knew Vegas was capable of doing something crazy just to send a message, but Pete couldn't allow it. The moment was too fragile for Vegas to act without thinking.
Vegas drew his gun without aiming at anyone; he held it at his side. Pete knew that if he raised it, he would surely be hurting himself more. Pete could see around him how everyone took a step back while Vegas took a step forward. They didn't even hide their faces of fear toward Vegas.
—"Watch your tone from now on. Pete is my partner and, if it weren't for him, all of you would be dead too."
He saw the man swallow slowly. Pete couldn't expect them to understand or know the reasons he had for trading the Main Family for Vegas, but he certainly recognized that Vegas pointing a gun at one of his own for him wouldn't help. He stood tall, showing no expression. Vegas took a step back to look at him before grabbing his wrist and walking toward where Nop was. Vegas took a silent second to speak again, letting the men there breathe; everyone seemed to tense up when Vegas had a drawn weapon.
Pete couldn't imagine the reasons why they were so afraid of him, or what they had seen Vegas do for the mere act of holding a weapon to cause those looks.
—"Nop will tell you what to do now; he is in charge of everyone in the mansion now."
All the men quickly divided under Nop's directions: forming two groups, one to secure the mansion again and another to patrol. It was the best they could do, and Nop seemed to have it clear. The room emptied out little by little. Pete remained right in his place, watching everyone leave except for Aon, who was still there watching him from afar.
—"I’ll go to the basement to see if I can get anything important out of the men who survived the attack."
—"Your wound is bleeding" —Pete reminded him, his eyes fixed on the blood on Vegas’s clothes—, "and it’s obvious you can barely move sideways. Let's go see a nurse or the doctor."
—"I’ll do it later" —Vegas squeezed his hand tightly—. "Aon, come with me," he requested.
Pete couldn't say anything more as he watched him walk away. He squeezed his eyes shut, running his hands through his hair. He had nothing else to do; he could go back to the infirmary with Macao and the pregnant girl. He found it hard to know where else he would be useful or where else someone might need him.
He opened his eyes to find Nop standing there in front of him, in the same stance Pete himself used to take days ago; now it felt like another life.
—"How is it that everyone seems so afraid of Vegas? I saw them take a step back when he drew his gun. It was as if they were sure he would eliminate them that very minute."
Pete didn't bother using tact; the scene he had just witnessed kept replaying in his mind, where men expert in weapons and security feared someone who was holding a gun without even aiming it at anyone.
—"Do you mean besides everyone being sure that he killed his own father in cold blood?"
"Yes, that would be a good reason," Pete thought. "One that wasn't far from reality." His idea of making it look like the guard had killed Gun didn't seem to be working.
—"I suppose they remember the last guard who disrespected Macao. Of course they fear him; they believe he has no soul or that he lacks pain. They have never seen anything other than the man who tortures people for his family."
Pete nodded slowly, lost in his mind again, staring at the empty space in front of him. Without a doubt, the last few months of his life had completely changed his perspective on things. He was one of those who used to think Vegas had no heart.
—"You can relax now and take the vest off," Nop reminded him, looking at his chest.
—"I thought I looked better like this than in my old family uniform," Pete said with amusement, unfastening the bulletproof vest from his side; his ribs felt compressed after wearing it.
The white shirt could pass unnoticed, now with light drops of blood on his collar and gray dust stains on his shoulders.
—"At least you took off the jacket with the pin," Nop responded, accepting Pete's weapons as he disarmed himself.
He was tense, he knew it; he couldn't feel comfortable in that house. If he was staying there, it was because of Vegas and Macao; he didn't think he could endure many more looks of hatred or intrigue directed at him. To them, he belonged to another side, one that had just burst in with weapons and had killed their boss; he understood that.
—"Truth is, I don't think you need protection," Nop admitted, holding the pack of cigarettes out to Pete until he took one.
—"This is a mess," Pete acknowledged, accepting the lighter. "Everyone looks at me like a traitor."
Nop laughed and stepped a few paces away. Pete didn't understand what was funny about that situation.
—"I wouldn't worry about that. You don't have to be liked by them; you aren't their comrade. Vegas makes them see you as his equal; they have to see you as being at his level, that's all."
Pete lowered the cigarette, looking at the guard. Strangely, that didn't sound like something that would relax him; he didn't know how he was supposed to behave now, he couldn't even decide where to stand. What kind of help was that?
—"Plus, those looks will help you endure what's to come later," Nop continued. "Whether you like it or not, you will be a traitor to them in a way; you left your comrades to follow Vegas. Everyone will find out, if they don't know already."
Pete looked at his stained hands again. He was a traitor, as much as he tried to hide or deny it; he had to accept it. He hadn't stopped to think that the looks he might receive from now on would arrive with more resentment than usual.
—"Will it ever stop?" Pete asked with a half-smile, hoping for some compassion.
—"Yes, when you stop caring."
Pete needed another cigarette and to sleep for more than four continuous hours, and above all, he needed to change the conversation so that pressing pain in his chest would stop hurting.
—"In time they will respect you," Nop looked far too relaxed while Pete fought an internal battle, "or you could just beat them up like that guard at the restaurant, and they'd learn faster."
Pete laughed at that; even breathing deeply there felt strange and out of place. Now he had to accept that their little dream of living together in their apartment might never arrive; Vegas had to stay there now, and Pete had no idea what would become of him in the future.
—"Don't worry about what they think," Nop added while smoking.
—"No, that doesn't worry me."
The idea of moving with confidence in a house that didn't belong to him still seemed unthinkable. But something more dangerous kept him uneasy: the thought that Kinn wanted him at any cost to interrogate him, that Kinn thought of him as a traitor. Pete knew well what happened to traitors, and his word was no longer worth enough to be a guarantee.
—"You're thinking about your old boss, aren't you?"
Pete looked at Nop with a worry impossible to hide. The time would come when he would face Kinn, and he had empty hands.
—"I need help with that. I can't avoid them forever."
—"Tell me what you need."