? Protective Fear ?
Vince entered the building without urgency, footsteps echoing down the long corridor like the ticking of a fuse.
Outside, Faustino stood frozen, horror blooming slowly across his face. He had tried—God, he had tried—to control the fire before it caught. Tried to steer this night toward gold, not blood. But now, his own precaution—the rifle, the rooftop insurance—threatened to light the match.
The Veracci henchmen shifted restlessly at his back, jaws clenched, weapons half-raised, rage simmering just beneath the surface. But Faustino raised a hand, quiet and sharp.
“Stand down,” he commanded, voice cutting through the tension. “Don’t fire unless he does. John!” he called upward, louder now. “Stand down! Unless he shoots first!”
Above, John remained still as stone.
He lay prone at the rooftop's edge, the butt of the rifle tucked firmly into his shoulder. His breath came slow and steady, honed by years of tight escapes and closer shots. He was no amateur—his posture told as much. One eye closed, the other fixed on the narrow door leading to the roof. The only way up.
He swallowed. Hard. His fingers didn’t tremble—but his gut did. There was something unnatural in how calm Vince looked earlier when uncovering the scheme, like a man stepping into a garden, not a rifle's line of fire.
"If he makes a wrong move, I shoot, John reminded himself. But what if he doesn’t? Him and Dominick... they don't operate normally... they got out of every situation."
Below, Vince’s men stood in disciplined silence. They remembered his command—"If you hear a gunshot, kill them all." That line had settled into the silence like a loaded chamber.
Now the abandoned industrial zone held its breath.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Alex watched, frozen at the second-floor window. His stomach twisted as the weight of it pressed down: one bullet would unravel everything. One twitch of a finger, one nervous spasm, and the night would split open into gunfire and screams.
"Is he going to kill him?" Alex’s thoughts raced, flashes of memory slamming into his mind—Robert’s corpse inside the bar, lifeless and discarded.
"He warned me," Alex remembered suddenly. "The man from earlier. He told me to leave. He was worried about me."
His hands curled into fists.
"What kind of person am I… if I just watch?"
And then he heard the creak of steps. Vince was climbing the narrow staircase to the second floor. Steady. Measured.
Alex moved before he could think.
He stepped out into the hallway, heart thundering, and blocked the stairwell landing.
Vince turned the corner—and stopped.
There, hunched and pale, stood the boy. Out of breath, eyes wide with fright, chest rising and falling like wings ready to collapse.
“P… Please,” Alex managed. His voice cracked like a branch underfoot.
Vince blinked once. His expression didn’t shift. This was the first time he truly met the boy.
“He… he was worried about me earlier,” Alex said. “Isn’t there… any other way around this?”
His voice broke into a whisper. “Please.”
He looked down, shivering, the silence around him swelling with dread.
Then Vince reached out.
Slowly. Deliberately. His face was unreadable—stone-smooth, detached. Alex’s body tensed, muscles locking in terror as the hand approached. He flinched hard, shoulders jerking back, eyes squeezed shut.
Was it going to be a choke? A blow? Something final?
But Vince’s hand simply rested on his shoulder—lightly, with the gentleness of a parent steadying a shaking child.
Then...
He smiled.
A warm, human smile.
Alex flinched again—not from fear this time.
He believed it.
And then… without thinking, without any conscious decision, he stepped aside.
Vince brushed past with a calm nod. “Go back to hiding,” he said softly. “Make sure you’re not seen, alright?”
Then he continued up the stairs, footsteps vanishing into the silence above.
Alex stood there, trembling.
The rooftop door creaked open.
John blinked, his rifle trained—steady, precise. No one stepped through.
Then a voice echoed up the stairs, calm and clear.
"I'm coming up with my hands in the air."
John didn’t relax. Not yet.
A moment later, Vince emerged, just as promised—no weapons, hands raised casually like he was stretching after a long day. His eyes scanned the rooftop once, then landed on John.
John kept the scope aimed center-mass. "There’s a trick here. There’s always a trick with people like him."
“Is it true?” Vince asked.
John squinted. “…What?”
“That you acted on your own,” Vince said, tone even. “That you were nervous and positioned yourself here without orders.”
The wind moved through the quiet space like a breath held too long.
John hesitated. “What will you do if I am?”
Vince stepped forward slowly, lowering his hands. He didn’t walk like a man who was afraid of getting shot. He walked like a man daring someone to pull the trigger.
He met John’s gaze. No anger in his expression. Just cold calculation. “We are trying to keep peace here,” Vince said. “Work with me.”
John exhaled through his nose. His knuckles ached on the grip of his rifle. He wanted to say no. Wanted to keep it aimed.
“…Yeah,” he said. “I came up here on my own. I knew we couldn’t trust you.”
Vince didn’t react. He just walked to the edge of the rooftop and crouched down, planting one foot on the ledge and resting an arm on his knee. His voice rang out like he was calling to an old friend.
“Faustino! Keep him in check next time!”
Down there, Faustino stiffened.
Vince waved lazily down. “John over here stayed in the rooftop to not let you down in case gunshots erupt. To give you cover. And you didn't sell him out when I was on to him.”
"You are good men. Keep looking after each other."
The tone—the casual, almost friendly air—made Faustino’s stomach turn. A moment ago, Vince had looked ready to start a war over suspicion. Now he sounded like a peacemaker. A diplomatic officer. A friend.
The Veracci henchmen exchanged confused glances. Vince’s own crew chuckled under their breath. They’d seen this before. The switch. The terrifying contrast between the man who smiled like a neighbor and the one who carried Dominick's twisted orders without blinking.
Then Vince turned back to John, nodding once. “Let’s go down.”
John studied him. Studied the empty hands. The relaxed stance. The complete lack of fear.
“…Y-Yeah,” he said.
He proceeded to pack his rifle back into the suitcase. He kept glancing at Vince, who didn't flinch, and just waited.
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Once finished, the two moved toward the rooftop door, steps echoing.
But just before John could place a hand on the knob—
Vince’s voice came low. Almost a whisper.
“You try something funny. I kill you.”
John stiffened. His spine locked.
That voice—it wasn't the same one from just now.
This one slithered into his ears like something wrong. Something cold.
“You panic. I kill you.”
“You look anywhere but your next step—I kill you.”
John’s skin dampened. His throat went dry. Vince was behind him now, close, and still unarmed—but suddenly it didn’t matter.
“Even without a gun,” Vince said flatly. “I can still do it in four different ways at this distance.”
Another step closer.
“All of them are ugly.”
John couldn’t speak. His body didn’t need permission anymore—it just obeyed.
Both went through the door and left the rooftop.
They walked. Down the stairs.
From the shadows near the stairwell, Alex watched them descend.
He didn’t hear the words. Didn’t hear the threat. All he saw… was the two of them walking side by side.
No blood. No gunshots. No rooftop corpse.
Just two men coming down the stairs.
And Vince looked calm again. Just like earlier.
Alex exhaled slowly, remembering Vince’s hand on his shoulder, the gentleness in his voice. Go back to hiding… make sure you’re not seen.
Alex had listened.
And now it was over.
He felt… happy. Relieved, even.
But confused.
The man who’d just prevented a bloodbath—this was Dominick’s second-in-command?
Alex thought of his uncle and boss—Dominick’s smothering presence, his iron will, the way his gaze pinned you like an insect.
Vince was different.
He smiled.
He spoke like a human.
John and Vince emerged from the building side by side, joining the rest of Vince's men and the Veraccis, who sighed in relief.
“Let’s carry on with this deal.” Vince said as he turned to Faustino. “Next time, you’ll deal with Dominick. You know he’ll handle this differently.”
His tone was flat, sharp with quiet disappointment. “This took longer than it should have. I don't know if you planned this or if John over here is telling the truth. But either way, it was stupid from you. We have no bone to pick with the Veraccis, so don't go around looking for one because you're scared.”
Faustino’s jaw clenched, but he gave the smallest nod—and raised his hand. His men moved without a word, beginning to unload the crates.
In the northern building's rooftop, Dante was stretched on his side like a cat, eyes half-lidded.
He yawned. “Can’t read that guy at all…”
And finally, the industrial zone could breath again and the guns for gold exchange started.
In the Red Corner district… the fight was over.
The crowd stood in stunned silence—shocked by the length of the battle, the suspense, the raw, punishing back-and-forth.
Whispers rippled through the Red corner kids.
“Can’t believe it…”
“What a fight…”
“That was close.”
“Could’ve gone either way…”
But who won?
Mira was still on her feet—barely—panting hard, one eye swollen shut, shoulders trembling, fists still raised in guard.
Zack stood a few feet from her, blood pouring from a gash on his forehead, his nose bloodied, face a mess. He wiped his sleeve across it, both of them blinking, dazed… from the fight. From each other.
From the Red Corner’s top two fighters.
Then—
“YAAAY! WE WON!”
The silence broke.
Pinch was bouncing in place, fists in the air.
Victory.
The Wolves had won.
Jax lay flat on the ground, arms spread, laughing to himself like he’d just played the greatest game of his life.
“That was so fun! Thank you, Zack!”
Vito knelt on one knee, glaring at Mira, face smeared with blood.
He wasn’t like Alex. No gentleman. He’d landed more than a few hits. Fought rough. But Mira’s speed, discipline, and brutal counters had scraped her the win.
“DAMN IT!” he spat.
Mira lowered her guard at last, still catching her breath.
“He was no joke,” she muttered. “Finally a worthy opponent. But he fought dirty.”
“No complaints. These are the streets. I still won.”
The Red Corner kids exchanged looks, eyes wide with newfound respect.
“The Wolves… they’re strong.”
“Jax and Vito barely lose… and even they couldn’t win?”
“Mira and that lunatic Zack… they’re monsters.”
From the sidelines, Lino sighed in relief.
Tonno let out a long breath, as if he’d been holding it the entire evening.
“Damn. They had me worried.”
Pinch nodded wildly. “I knew it! These two won’t lose to anyone!”
But Zack raised a hand—and the cheers died instantly.
“Red Corner kids!”
Every head turned. His voice had weight. It wasn’t cocky or trash-talking like usual.
It sounded like an announcement. A declaration.
Zack stepped forward.
“Join us. We’re taking over your gang.”
Silence crashed into the yard like a bomb.
Lino blinked. “What?”
Tonno stiffened. “Zack…?”
Pinch’s mouth hung open, all cheer gone.
Mira stared at him from nearby, frozen. She took a step forward. “Zack! What are you doing?”
Zack didn’t turn. “Together with them, we’ll be unstoppable.”
Mira’s voice sharpened. “Since when do we take over gangs just because we beat them?”
Zack looked back at her, eyes steady. “Since today. The age of self-defense is over. Of honorable fights, of playing fair. That got us nowhere.”
“It’s time to go on the offensive. To grow. To be feared.”
He stepped toward Lino, Tonno, and Pinch—who were still frozen. “Our name reached the Red Corner—the most dangerous neighborhood in the slums. And we won. However, the mugging attempts? Pinch getting picked on because he’s small? Mira, getting mistaken for weak just because she’s a girl? Or because the idiot didn’t recognize her until it was too late?”
Zack looked around. “That’ll never stop. Not unless we make it stop.”
He raised his voice. “I want us stronger. I want fear. That fear will protect us.”
Mira called out again, serious now. “Zack. These kids are muggers. Bullies.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re strong. We gain territory. Turf. Respect. That’s what comes with them on our side.”
Mira looked at him like she didn’t recognize him.
Zack kept going. “These two, Jax and Vito, are the only ones who gave us a challenge in months—maybe years. And don’t bring up that loser with the lucky charm token last week. He didn’t land a single hit on you.”
From behind, Vito shouted, “Why would we follow you anyway?!”
Jax stayed silent, still on the ground, legs crossed, curious.
Zack turned toward them. “You don’t have a choice. I’ll beat you again. I’ll keep beating you. I can do this all day. Until you say yes.”
He turned to the crowd—the Red Corner kids. Watching. Waiting. “What about you? You want to follow someone stronger? Or keep getting trashed every time I walk through your streets?”
Some kids flinched. Others looked excited. Then, Mira’s voice cut through the tension, firm and steady: “No.”
“I’m a leader like you, Mira. I get to make decisions.”
“Exactly,” she said, fists clenching. “And I oppose this.”
The storm was building again.
The crowd stirred.
“A second fight?!”
“No way!”
“Zack’s gonna fold her—”
“Are you crazy? Mira’s too fast!”
Zack stared at her.
Didn’t flinch.
Lino stepped up. “Hey! Stop it! Both of you!”
Tonno shouted, “Enough, Zack! Mira’s right!”
Pinch was trembling. “N-No more fighting, guys!”
The air tightened. Zack and Mira weren’t backing down.
But then Zack’s face… shifted.
Softer. Not a look he’d worn in years.
“Mira…”
His voice dropped. “I would never fight you. I stayed, I protected you. I watched your back. I gave everything to you and the guys.”
His voice cracked. Just a little. “So why… why are you looking at me like that?”
Her fists stayed clenched—but her lips parted. The tone had changed. It wasn’t fire anymore. It was something deeper. Sadder.
Zack took another breath. “Are you really fighting me? Or…”
His voice lowered further. “…are you going to leave me? Leave us?”
“Just like Leo did?”
The name hit like thunder. Mira’s eyes widened. So did Lino’s. Tonno. Pinch. All of them heard it. All of them felt it.
The air froze.
Mira didn’t answer.
Her head hung low. Her shoulders tense. Her voice silent.
Then, from the back—Jax stood up. Arms crossed. A sly grin tugging at his lips. “Let’s do it.”
Vito snorted. Then laughed, loud and wild. “Merging the gangs. Building an empire. Sounds exciting as hell !”
Jax nodded to Zack. “I like this kid. This will be interesting.”
Vito turned to his crew. Lifted his chin. “From now on—we’re all Wolves!”
The Red Corner gang exploded into chaos—cheers, howls, arms raised, fists bumping. Victory claimed. Unity forged.
Power seized. But not everyone joined in. Zack stood at the center, calm amid the storm, still staring at Mira with that softened face. And behind her, Tonno, Lino, and Pinch stood with her. Quiet. No words passed between them.
They didn’t need any.
Their eyes said it all.
This wasn’t the gang they built. This wasn’t the fight they chose. And this wasn’t the future they wanted.
An hour later, the shadows stretched long across rusted beams and cracked pavement. The deal had gone through without a hitch. The Veracci men were gone—silenced not by violence, but by the sharp precision of Vince’s maneuvering. They left in peace, albeit thoroughly outplayed.
Vince stood with his arms folded, the air quieting around him like the end of a storm.
“Get some rest,” he told them. “All of you. It’s over for tonight.”
One of the younger men tilted his head. “You, Vince?”
Vince gave a small shrug, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where their rivals had once stood. “I’ll stick around for a while.”
The three wagons, heavy with gold crates, rolled off into the dark.
Moments passed. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged—slim, confident, grinning.
Dante.
“What’s up, Vince?” he said, slapping his palm against Vince’s in a practiced high five.
Vince glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, Dante. Nice job covering both spots. Even though—” he smirked, “—you were completely useless today, to be honest.”
“Give me a break,” Dante muttered, still smiling. “I did signal that my side was clear. And I deserve a break every now and then.”
Vince let out a low chuckle, nudging gravel with his boot. “Yeah. Can’t argue with that. But good job coming out only after my men cleared off. Real discreet. Dominick would’ve been proud.”
His tone sharpened slightly.
“You know he’s dead serious about keeping you two a secret. Just me and the dons know about you.”
Dante grinned proudly. “Yep.”
Vince nodded. “Let’s go to the new kid. He did very good.”
Just then, Alex stepped out of the building, walking toward them—measured, tense, but composed.
Dante lit up. “Hey buddy! Good job! You did it!”
Vince crouched a little, waiting as Alex approached. “Hey there, Alex.”
“H-Hello, Vince.”
“Nice to meet you. You look like Gilbert a lot.”
Alex froze. “Y-you knew my father?”
“Of course I did. Me, Dominick, and him went to school together. I know your mother, lady Elena too.”
Alex blinked.
Vince patted him on the head. “You did well with the signals. All of them were clear.”
Alex swallowed. “Y-You spared him... the man on the rooftop…”
Vince exhaled slowly. “Ah... I didn’t make up my mind fully when I was walking toward him. But seeing you stand up for him, pleading... I decided to spare him and carry the deal.”
“So... you spared him just because I asked?” Alex asked, puzzled.
Vince nodded. “Didn’t want you uncomfortable on your... second time, I believe.”
“I... thank you, Vince,” Alex said, his voice strange and robotic—his heart and mind clashing, yet something warmer creeping in beneath.
“Good. Now you two go home and rest. Thank you for today.”
With that, Vince waved lazily and walked off, yawning—already bored.
Alex stared after him. “I can’t believe this...”
Dante grinned. “Hah! Told ya you’d fall for Vince!”
“He really listened to me,” Alex murmured. “He spared the man...”
He smiled—small, stunned—but his eyes were flat. Distant. Hypnotized.
“He is... maybe the kindest man I’ve met so far in the city.”
Dante looked over.
Smirked.
Then—
“So much for your ‘I will never love a criminal’ mentality now, right?”
The words hit like a slap.
It snapped Alex back.
His eyes lit up again.
"What?"
"Did I... really like him?"
And in that moment, Alex—who had sworn never to admire someone from the mob—realized just how thin his convictions were.
Because Vince had already taken root in the corner of his heart, quiet and dangerous, like a seed waiting to grow.
It suddenly scared him.
A new kind of fear gripped him—not the kind that came from facing a killer...
But the kind that came from facing himself.
He didn’t know what scared him more: the idea that Vince was wearing a mask…
Or the idea that he wasn’t.
Or worse...
The idea that his own defenses—the ones he had clung to so stubbornly—were already cracking.
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