《X SENTENCED TO DEATH》 Alex Reddick ¡°Why did that old geezer want me to come?" Alex could have spent the day enjoying his brand-new Lambo if it weren¡¯t for having to deal with all this nonsense. He had sent him a message, an email, and even a letter to make sure he came. The envelope was still sitting on the passenger seat, stealing the spot from a pretty girl who could have been there instead. Alex gritted his teeth just thinking about it. He slammed down the accelerator. The gleaming yellow car roared through the streets of New York. After a few minutes of pure bliss and adrenaline, Alex arrived at his destination. He didn¡¯t even need to open his own door, as a man was already there to do it for him. ¡®For once, it¡¯s not me doing it,¡¯ Alex thought, a wide smile spreading across his face. He handed the keys to the valet standing in front of him. The man was wearing a perfectly tailored red wool suit and a matching cap. ¡°You¡¯ll take extra special care of this baby, won¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, Mr. Reddick, but you know in our line of work, there¡¯s no room for special treatment.¡± Alex¡¯s smile vanished. He didn¡¯t like the look on the valet¡¯s face, nor the insinuation in his words. He got that look every day, accompanied by the same smirk. Eyes slightly narrowed, the corners of the mouth lifted, as if he were some kind of lowlife. Alex had hated them all. Well, he still did, but he had found a way: make enough money to shut all their big mouths. The Lambo he bought yesterday was just the first step. Alex leaned in close to the man¡¯s shoulder and whispered in his ear: ¡°One day, I¡¯ll buy your worthless life and make good use of your sister as my maid.¡± He spat the words in his face. The valet smiled back. But it wasn¡¯t the condescending grin from earlier¡ªit was a genuine, sincere smile. ¡°It¡¯s surprising, Mr. Reddick, that you can afford such a car on a doorman¡¯s salary.¡± He took the keys from Alex¡¯s hand before slipping into the driver¡¯s seat. ¡°Nothing¡¯s free in this world, Mr. Reddick, especially not in ours.¡± He closed the window without even giving Alex a chance to reply and drove off to park the car. Alex watched his Lamborghini drive away, clenching his fists. ¡®I¡¯ll have skin him alive,¡¯ he thought, feeling the veins in his face throb. He was pulled from his dark thoughts by a booming laugh behind him. He turned to see who it was and had to look down to spot the newcomer. Alex wasn¡¯t tall, but he wasn¡¯t short either. However, the man in front of him couldn¡¯t have been more than five foot three (160cm) . He wore a custom-made suit and carried a briefcase in his hand. He was laughing heartily, completely unfazed by the dark glare Alex was giving him. ¡°Hahahahahahahahaha, you really are your father¡¯s son, no doubt about it. - And you are? - Hahahahahahahahaha, who am I? Who cares! he replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. I¡¯m telling you! It must be in your blood or your genes, I don¡¯t know. That irresistible urge to kill people! - I forbid you to insult my father!¡± Alex stepped forward. His tone had turned darker, more menacing. A storm brewed in his eyes as he began raising his hand to slap the insolent man standing before him. ¡°It wasn¡¯t an insult, it was a compliment. I¡¯m a fan of your father, though I have to admit, he turned into quite the coward toward the end of his career¡­¡± Alex swung to hit him in the head. The blow, however, didn¡¯t land. The man had dodged it with a simple tilt of his head. His smile widened even further. ¡°I¡¯ll let this slide today since it¡¯s the funeral of my greatest idol. But be careful, kid, everything in life comes at a cost.¡± As ridiculous as the threats sounded coming from someone so short, Alex had calmed down. A car had just rounded the corner. It was a sleek black Mercedes with tinted windows, concealing the driver from view, but Alex knew that car all too well. His father had arrived. He stepped out of the sedan as a valet moved to park the vehicle. Alex¡¯s father was a man in his sixties, his face as impassive as ever, though he looked closer to seventy. The few remaining hairs on his bald head had already turned white and continued to thin with each passing day. ¡°Mr. Reddick, I must say, you look even older in person than in the photos in my album.¡± Alex¡¯s father¡¯s face tightened. ¡°Who are you? - Why do you all ask the same questions? And come on, lighten up, old man, life is beautiful! - Who are you?¡± he repeated. - I¡¯m telling you, it doesn¡¯t matter! - Who are you?¡± he asked for the third time. - George Washington. Satisfied? - It¡¯s called politeness. - I call it an outdated social code that no one gives a damn about. - Codes are codes, and rules are rules. Everyone must follow them. - Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you happy, old man.¡± George regained his smile and extended his hand. ¡°I¡¯m a fan.¡± The two men shook hands. ¡°Bernard Reddick. I¡¯ve heard of you. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, Mr. Washington, I¡¯d like to speak with my son.¡± George let out a chuckle and shuffled away with small steps. Once he was far enough not to overhear, Alex spoke: ¡°Father¡­¡± ¡°That man is dangerous.¡± His father interrupted him. ¡°Stay away from him at all costs.¡± Alex clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. ¡°I¡¯m not a child anymore.¡± The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. His father turned to look him in the eye. Alex''s body tensed before cold sweat covered his skin. His father¡¯s gaze was stern, but there was something else. Alex couldn¡¯t quite figure out what it was, but it scared him. ¡°You''re still a child, Alex, and people from his world swallow kids like you whole. We¡¯ll talk about the mess you¡¯ve gotten yourself into once we¡¯re home.¡± Alex lifted his head to look at his father. ¡°The mess? - Everything has a price, my son.¡± Alex grew angry. ¡°That¡¯s the third time today I¡¯ve heard that stupid phrase. - So, everyone already knows. - Knows what?! I haven¡¯t done anything illegal. - Oh really?¡± his father responded, his voice weary and filled with exhaustion. ¡°And how did you buy that brand-new, shiny Lamborghini, my son? - I wanted to show you that I could succeed,¡± he answered, clenching his fists and lowering his gaze. - There¡¯s no point in discussing it now. We¡¯ll talk about it once we¡¯re home. - But... - We¡¯ll talk about it once we¡¯re home!¡± Bernard¡¯s voice was louder than he intended. George and another man standing near the steel gates of the cemetery turned to look at them. Alex¡¯s father bowed slightly. ¡°Please forgive my conduct, gentlemen.¡± Alex looked away from his father. He hadn¡¯t even noticed that someone else had arrived. It was a man Alex recognized, and for once, someone he liked. He had crossed paths with him several times at work. After all, the man was the manager of the hotel where both Alex and his father worked. He walked toward them, arms wide open. ¡°I know I shouldn¡¯t be so cheerful on such a sad occasion, but I¡¯m still happy to see you.¡± His tone was jovial, without a hint of arrogance in his body language or on his face. Alex¡¯s father went to greet him, arms also open. ¡°Hahaha, you were only gone for three days, but you miss me?¡± ¡°You old rascal, who do you think would miss you?¡± The two men hugged. ¡°You¡¯re the old one, you don¡¯t even have hair anymore!¡± ¡°Your five white hairs don¡¯t count, you little rascal.¡± He grabbed Alex¡¯s father¡¯s head, laughing, and rubbed the top of his bald scalp vigorously. It was only after their playful exchange that the man noticed Alex¡¯s presence. ¡°How¡¯s it going, kid?¡± - Doing great, and you, Uncle Jo?¡± Jo gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder. - Fantastic! You¡¯ll have to give me a ride in that Lambo of yours one of these days.¡± - Anytime, Uncle Jo!¡± Alex had regained his smile. Jo had this mysterious magnetic charm that could lift anyone¡¯s spirits. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that tomorrow or next week, kid!¡± His smile faded like magic. ¡°Today, though, is a time for mourning.¡± Alex sighed inwardly. ¡®But I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m here.¡¯ His father had told him that the hotel they worked for was like a family in its own right. Yet, aside from Uncle Jo, who managed the New York branch of the hotel, and his father, who worked as a receptionist, Alex didn¡¯t know anyone else. The person who had died wasn¡¯t even a staff member, just a client. Alex had probably only crossed paths with him a handful of times on the hotel steps, but the man had still left an impression. He had never responded to Alex¡¯s greetings or goodbyes, merely casting him a cold glance every time he passed through the door. Once again, Alex despised people like that, the ones who looked at him as if he were trash. Apparently, the man was deaf and mute, but Alex didn¡¯t care. His father had told him that the man had died in an accident four days ago, though even he didn¡¯t seem to know the full details. ¡®Nobody¡¯s going to miss him anyway,¡¯ Alex thought, as he waited for the rest of the guests. There were a few passersby around them, but very few were dressed for a funeral. One man stood out, walking toward them. He wore a flawless suit, had a perfectly trimmed beard, and polished leather shoes. The man might have seemed detestable to Alex if it weren¡¯t for the silly smile plastered on his face. He looked like a kid, or someone on his first day of work. ¡®Or an idiot.¡¯ Alex leaned more toward that option as he shook the man¡¯s hand. ¡°Good morning, gentlemen, my condolences. I¡¯ll be the undertaker for this ceremony.¡± The man tried to put on a sorrowful smile, but all Alex could see was the grin of a complete idiot. It worked out perfectly, though, as George seemed to have plenty of questions for him. ¡®Let the two weirdos talk to each other,¡¯ Alex thought. He glanced at his watch. 9:55. There were still five minutes before the ceremony began, but Alex was already bored. His father and Uncle Jo were talking quietly among themselves. Alex couldn¡¯t make out what they were saying, but it seemed to be about work. So he stood there, staring blankly at the trees. Their autumn leaves were falling by the dozens from the branches, twirling in the air for a few seconds before crashing onto the pavement at his feet. The wind wasn¡¯t strong yet, but it was expected to pick up throughout the day. ¡®I heard there¡¯s going to be a storm tonight. I¡¯ll be done with all this by then, sitting in a restaurant with a blonde and a glass of red wine in my hand when it hits,¡¯ he thought, already dreaming the entire evening in vivid details. For now, though, he was bored to death. He only snapped out of his daydream when he heard the rotors of a helicopter. It had landed right on the street, just a few dozen meters from where Alex stood. Three men stepped out of the aircraft. The first two were built like refrigerators, wearing sunglasses despite the autumn season, and each had an earpiece. ¡®Now *that¡¯s* what you call bodyguards,¡¯ Alex murmured, a hint of admiration in his voice. They flanked a man in his fifties, with round glasses and an impressive belly, who was likely their client. The man didn¡¯t even bother greeting anyone and stayed off to the side. The helicopter, meanwhile, restarted, sending the dead leaves on the ground swirling into the air. It took off in just a few seconds, and Alex watched it land on a nearby building. ¡®He could¡¯ve walked; it would¡¯ve done him some good,¡¯ Alex thought, spitting on the ground. Just as Alex was pulling out a cigarette to kill time, a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up in front of the cemetery. It was followed by another sedan, and then several more sedans. The convoy consisted of about ten vehicles, with an humongous Rolls Royce at the center. Two armed men stepped out of each car. The valet approached and opened the door of the central vehicle. A woman stepped out. The moment she emerged, Alex couldn¡¯t take his eyes off her. He had never been attracted to Asian women before, but he would gladly trade his imagined blonde for her. Her silky, jet-black hair flowed down to her hips, her almond-shaped eyes and small mouth with thin lips giving her a delicate yet striking appearance. She wore a beige fur coat and a white slit dress that revealed a long, slender white leg. ¡®Who is she?¡¯ Alex only snapped out of his trance when she approached him. ¡°Hello.¡± He quickly fixed his hair before extending his hand. ¡°Hello, miss. My name is Alex Reddick.¡± She let out a crystalline laugh. ¡°éL¤¯¤ÏÉú¤­¤é¤ì¤Ê¤¤¡± Her voice was soft and pleasant, but Alex didn¡¯t understand a word of what she had said. He didn¡¯t even know what language she was speaking. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Reddick. I was thinking out loud,¡± she said in perfect English. ¡°No worries, miss. May I know your name?¡± ¡°Mako.¡± As Alex grinned like a fool, Mako continued on her way, greeting the others. She was constantly flanked by her twenty or so bodyguards, but Alex could still catch glimpses of her face and the scent of cherry blossoms lingering in the air. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. It was his father, with a slight smile on his lips. His talk with Uncle Jo must have lifted his spirits. ¡®Classic Uncle Jo,¡¯ Alex thought, hiding his own smile. ¡°The ceremony is about to begin.¡± Alex glanced at his watch. 10:00. His father was right, the funeral was about to start. Alex had only one thing on his mind: finish the ceremony as quickly as possible so he could flirt with Mako. He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, talking to an old man. He wasn¡¯t the only one who had arrived in the last few minutes, but Alex didn¡¯t pay the others any attention. ¡®He couldn¡¯t have had many friends if only 10 people showed up to his funeral,¡¯ Alex thought as he passed through the cemetery gates. In reality, there were probably only 8 guests. The undertaker didn¡¯t count, and the old man had remained outside the gates with Mako¡¯s bodyguards. She was walking alone amidst the fallen oak leaves. She looked so fragile and vulnerable that Alex found himself moving closer to her. He didn¡¯t try to strike up a conversation, knowing his father would kill him if he flirted during the ceremony. He simply walked by her side, casting a distracted glance around. The marble tombstones loomed over them, and the smooth outer walls, over three meters high, shielded them from the wind and any unwelcome visitors. They must have reached the center of the cemetery. In front of them stood a grave slab, with a photo of the man, his name, and the words: Husband, friend, and exemplary employee. Beneath that was inscribed a phrase in Latin: Nihil nisi negotium, nihil personale. Alex had no idea what it meant, but it had to be deep. The ceremony began. The undertaker adopted a grave, reverent tone. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, We are gathered here today to say goodbye to John, a person who touched the lives of many in various ways. In this moment of grief and sorrow, we come together to honor his memory and celebrate the life he lived. John was a loyal person, known for his selflessness and diligence. His presence always brought compassion and respect. He will be missed and remain in our hearts forever. It is difficult to find the words to express what we are all feeling at this moment. The loss of John leaves a vast void, but we must remember the moments of joy and the precious memories shared with him. Today, we say goodbye, but we know that his spirit will always remain with us, watching over his loved ones and friends. May we find strength in the love and support we share here, and may we honor his memory by living our lives with the same generosity and compassion that he showed. I now invite you to observe a moment of silence, to reflect on John¡¯s life and what he meant to each of you.¡± The undertaker paused for a few seconds of silence. ¡°Thank you all for coming today to pay your respects. May he rest in peace.¡± The undertaker hadn¡¯t stuttered or paused even once. ¡°I will now give you a few moments alone with the deceased to reflect.¡± The undertaker greeted each person individually before leaving. The atmosphere was heavy, but one thing was missing that Alex had often seen in movies. No one was crying. He felt his phone vibrate. His father shot him a stern look, but he had also received a call. Alex answered. ¡°Who is this?¡± ¡°A final request?¡± Alex didn¡¯t recognize the voice. ¡°I don¡¯t know what product you¡¯re trying to sell me, but I¡¯m not interested.¡± He was about to hang up. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, kid. Your death will be quick, painless, and free of fear, unlike the others. Make better decisions next time.¡± The man hung up. BANG! Alex felt a numbness wash over him. He looked down to see a hole in his chest, right where his heart was. ¡°SNIPER!¡± It was his father who had shouted. He had thrown himself at Alex to try and protect him, but it was already too late. Alex had only one question in his mind as his consciousness faded: ¡°Why?¡± Bernard Reddick Why? Why!? WHY?!! BAM ¨C BAM ¨C BAM. Bernard slammed his fists several times against the steering wheel of his Mercedes. He had just received a phone call and wasn¡¯t happy about what he¡¯d heard. In his rage, he had hung up and thrown his phone onto the back seat. Bernard placed his hands gently on the wheel. He could feel the rough leather under his fingers, but more than that, he could hear the sound of his heartbeat. It was fast¡ªtoo fast. ¡®I¡¯m too old for this crap,¡¯ he muttered, trying to calm himself. He took a deep breath. Bernard could feel the anger boiling inside him, ready to explode. In his younger days, he would have let it out without worrying about the consequences, but not anymore. He hadn¡¯t completely left that world behind, but he wasn¡¯t going back either. He took another breath. HONK. He exhaled slowly. HONK HONK. Bernard opened his eyes and glanced in the rearview mirror. He had stopped in the middle of an empty alley to avoid bothering anyone, but a car had pulled up behind him. It was a yellow, convertible, brand-new Lamborghini with a young man behind the wheel. He wore a half-unbuttoned white shirt and had an arrogant smile on his face, as if he owned the world. On the passenger seat sat a blonde, striking a suggestive pose as she touched up her lipstick during the wait. HONK HONK HONK. The young man kept honking. ¡°Move your damn car, old man!¡± Bernard stepped out of his car, but he took his time, carefully removing his suit jacket so it wouldn¡¯t get dirty. He also took the opportunity to slip on a pair of black leather gloves. Judging by the state of them¡ªhalf-torn¡ªthis wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d used them. He closed the car door gently without slamming it, then approached the Lamborghini. There were only two cars in the narrow alley, but a few spectators were watching. A group of about ten African American men were sitting on the steps of a laundromat. Each of them wore blue bandanas, and some had tank tops that revealed a ¡°C¡± tattooed on their forearms. ¡®Crips members. Their gang has been losing ground across the city in recent months,¡¯ Bernard thought, recalling information he had gathered. At times like this, his brain analyzed everything happening around him down to the smallest detail. ¡°Are you listening to me, old geezer?¡± Bernard had reached the young man. He absentmindedly opened the Lamborghini¡¯s door before grabbing him by the throat. ¡°Let go of me, you crazy old man! Do you even know who my father is? He¡¯s the mayor of this city!¡± The young man struggled with all his might but couldn¡¯t break free from Bernard¡¯s grip. Bernard just smiled. ¡°You look exactly like my son. And today, my son has deeply disappointed me and filled me with rage.¡± He punched the man in the face, once. ¡°AAAARGH!¡± Then came the second, the third, and the fourth. Bernard had stopped counting by then. He just kept hitting the man¡¯s head to blow off steam. The young man¡¯s face was now nothing more than a bloody, unrecognizable mess. Bernard only stopped because several people had intervened. ¡®Four, all carrying knives, one¡¯s left-handed, their leader seems to be the guy up front, someone in the back is calling for backup.¡¯ Even in moments like this, Bernard wasn¡¯t angry. His thoughts were cold and calculated, like a machine. He was a knife sharpened by the experiences of his youth, someone people often told, ¡°It¡¯s a shame you want to quit.¡± But he had been too much of a coward to leave that life behind. He loosened his grip, and the young man collapsed to the ground. He was already unconscious and wouldn¡¯t be getting up anytime soon. Bernard turned to the newcomers. ¡°Who invited you?¡± ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have beaten him up, old man. Now his dad¡¯s gonna throw another tantrum and start bothering us again. Maybe if you lose a few fingers, you¡¯ll get out of this, but I¡¯m not so sure.¡± The man pulled a hunting knife from under his tank top. ¡°For now, we¡¯ll rough you up a bit so the boss doesn¡¯t come down too hard on us. We¡¯ll start with the visa¡ª¡± BANG BANG. Two gunshots interrupted him. The first bullet had pierced his leg, and the second hit his shoulder. Blood sprayed several meters, but none of the shots hit a vital point. The smell of gunpowder and the leader¡¯s scream of pain didn¡¯t stop the remaining three from moving. Bernard could only admire their loyalty while condemning their stupidity. Unfortunately for them, his Glock had enough bullets for each of them. BANG BANG BANG. Each of them took a bullet to the leg. BANG BANG BANG. Bernard added a bullet to each of their dominant hands. The men sitting in front of the laundromat had stood up. They didn¡¯t approach, but several were making phone calls for backup. ¡°You¡¯re insane! You don¡¯t know who we are! Damn, this hurts so much.¡± The gang leader writhed in pain on the ground, face down, unable to even see his attacker. ¡°You¡¯re a dead man! Your family and your wife are dead too!¡± Bernard calmly stepped closer, then crouched beside him. ¡°You hear me, old man? And if you have a daughter, we¡¯ll use her to make a nice profit!¡± Bernard placed the barrel of his gun between the man¡¯s eyes and emptied the magazine. Blood splattered his crisp white shirt. ¡°I gave you a chance, but you didn¡¯t value it.¡± No one was allowed to talk about his wife. Bernard stood up. The other gang members were terrified, but he didn¡¯t care. Jo would laugh and pat him on the shoulder, telling him he should become the man he used to be, that it was still in his blood. But Bernard didn¡¯t want that. He glanced at the Lamborghini and noticed that the blonde was still there. She was curled up in the passenger seat, trembling with fear, trying to make herself as small as possible, hoping to be forgotten. ¡®I would have liked to have had a daughter,¡¯ he thought as he returned to his car. The phone on the back seat was ringing. Bernard answered it, slipping his jacket back on to cover the bloodstains on his shirt. ¡°Everything alright, Bernard?¡± ¡°Jo, I killed someone.¡± The person on the other end stayed silent for a few long seconds. ¡°Who was it?¡± ¡°A Crips soldier, but I also shot three of his buddies and disfigured the mayor¡¯s son.¡± He heard his friend laugh on the other end of the line. ¡°Sorry, Bernard, I know I shouldn¡¯t laugh, but really! You¡¯re planning to announce your comeback by killing low-tier criminals? You¡¯ve set higher standards than this.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not coming back.¡± Jo struggled to regain his composure, still chuckling. ¡°I know, I know, I was just joking. As for your son, we¡¯ll talk about that tonight after the funeral, over a beer.¡± ¡°Thanks, Jo. See you later.¡± ¡°No problem, Bernard. That¡¯s what friends are for. Stay safe on the road.¡± Bernard hung up. He delicately removed his gloves before slipping them into the inner pocket of his suit. He restarted the Mercedes and left the scene. He had 15 minutes left on the road to reflect on his actions. He didn¡¯t feel guilty or remorseful. In fact, he didn¡¯t feel much of anything at all. His anger had subsided, and he didn¡¯t even have that sense of justice he used to feel when he was younger. He just felt tired. ¡®It¡¯s in your blood.¡¯ That¡¯s what they had told him in his youth. But he had lost too much blood since then. ¡°Should I leave?¡± He asked himself, glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He could hide away in the mountains or even leave the country. He had the money and the contacts to change his identity and disappear. But no one stayed out of Promesse¡¯s sights for long. Bernard had hunted down many like that before, so he knew exactly how they ended. Usually, with a bullet between the eyes¡ªbut sometimes, much worse. Maybe he should try to escape with his son to save him. But he¡¯d only decide after talking to Jo. For now, he had arrived at his destination. A valet opened the door, and Bernard stepped out of his Mercedes. He could feel the wind rushing into his suit jacket. He handed his keys to the man in the red hat who had come to greet him. His son was only a few steps away, but he didn¡¯t particularly want to see him. His eyes shifted to the only other newcomer. Very short, with twinkling eyes and a slight smile on his lips. ¡®George Washington.¡¯ Everyone inside the Promesse Hotel knew him. As the receptionist for the New York branch, Bernard couldn¡¯t fail to recognize him. ¡®This man is dangerous.¡¯ Every dossier he¡¯d read about him said as much. Yet, every time Bernard saw his small stature and benign face, he had a hard time believing he was in front of one of the country¡¯s most notorious killers. ¡®I¡¯m one too.¡¯ Bernard approached them at a calm pace. ¡°Mr. Reddick, I must say, you look even older in person than in the pictures in my album.¡± ¡®He still knows who I am after all these years.¡¯ ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Why do you always ask the same questions? Smile a little, old man, life is beautiful!¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± he repeated. ¡°I told you, it doesn¡¯t matter!¡± ¡®This man is even more dangerous than he appears.¡¯ ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked for the third time. ¡°George Washington. Satisfied?¡± ¡°That¡¯s called politeness.¡± ¡°I call it an outdated social code that no one cares about.¡± ¡®He¡¯s insane.¡¯ ¡°Codes are codes, and rules are rules. Everyone has to follow them.¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you happy, old man.¡± ¡®Or at least he hides his cruelty behind a facade of madness.¡¯ Bernard turned toward his son. ¡®And he hides his intelligence beneath layers of naivety.¡¯ George regained his sincere smile and extended his hand. ¡°I¡¯m a fan.¡± ¡®But I¡¯m no longer that man.¡¯ They shook hands. ¡°Bernard Reddick. I¡¯ve heard of you. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, Mr. Washington, I¡¯d like to speak with my son.¡± The man murmured something before walking away, laughing, but Bernard still heard him. ¡°You smell a lot like blood and death, Mr. Reddick, for someone who¡¯s retired.¡± George had left without looking back, heading toward the cemetery gates. Behind him, Bernard¡¯s face hardened. He could feel a cold anger rising within him, unchecked. ¡°Father¡­¡± His son had started to speak, but Bernard unconsciously interrupted him: ¡°That man is dangerous. Stay away from him at all costs.¡± His anger faded as he saw his son¡¯s face. But his son, on the other hand, still seemed angry, clenching his fists tightly. ¡°I¡¯m not a child anymore.¡± Bernard turned to look him in the eyes, with the same murderous intent he¡¯d shown earlier to the mayor¡¯s son and the thug. He wanted to instill fear, and it seemed to work¡ªhis son was struggling to remain standing. ¡°You¡¯re still a child, Alex, and people from his world swallow kids like you whole. We¡¯ll talk about the mess you¡¯ve gotten yourself into once we get home.¡± His voice was deep and authoritative. ¡°The mess?¡± ¡°Everything has a price, my son.¡± He had learned that early on, though he regretted not learning it even sooner. He saw the veins on his son¡¯s face bulge in frustration. ¡°That¡¯s the third time today I¡¯ve heard that damn phrase.¡± ¡°So, everyone knows already.¡± Bernard sighed inwardly, feeling drained and weary. ¡°Knows about what?! I haven¡¯t done anything illegal.¡± ¡°Oh, really?¡± he replied, his voice disillusioned and full of exhaustion. ¡°And how did you buy that shiny new Lamborghini, my son?¡± ¡°I wanted to show you I could succeed,¡± Alex answered, clenching his fists and lowering his gaze. ¡®And I don¡¯t want to see you die,¡¯ Bernard thought. ¡°There¡¯s no point in discussing it now. We¡¯ll talk about it once we¡¯re home.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°We¡¯ll talk about it once we¡¯re home!¡± He let out some of his frustration, his voice carrying farther than he intended. He turned toward George and bowed slightly. ¡°Please forgive my conduct, gentlemen.¡± Another man had arrived while he was talking to Alex. It was his best friend, the man who would help pull his son out of the mess he had gotten into. Bernard could only hope he¡¯d be able to help. ¡°I know I shouldn¡¯t be so cheerful on such a sad occasion, but I¡¯m still happy to see you,¡± Jo said, his smile seeming sincere. Bernard met him with open arms. ¡°Hahaha, you¡¯ve only been gone three days, but you miss me?¡± ¡°You old rascal, who do you think would miss you?¡± They embraced. ¡°You¡¯re the old one, you don¡¯t even have hair anymore!¡± ¡°Those five white hairs of yours don¡¯t count, you little rascal.¡± Jo grabbed Bernard¡¯s head, laughing, and rubbed the top of his scalp. Bernard didn¡¯t like people touching his hair, and Jo knew it very well. Their playful banter lasted only a moment, but it eased Bernard¡¯s anxiety. He then turned to Alex, his signature smile on his face. ¡°How¡¯s it going, kid?¡± ¡°I¡¯m doing great, and you, Uncle Jo?¡± Jo placed a firm hand on Alex¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Excellent! You¡¯ll have to take me for a spin in that Lambo of yours one of these days.¡± ¡°Anytime, Uncle Jo!¡± Alex had regained his smile. It was one of the things Bernard admired most about his old friend¡ªhe always knew how to lift people¡¯s spirits. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that tomorrow or next week, kid!¡± Jo¡¯s smile vanished as if by magic. ¡°But today is a day of mourning.¡± Bernard sighed. John had never been a friend or an enemy to Bernard. In their world, he was more of a legend than a man. He killed all his targets without a word, ignoring their pleas, always finding their weakness and vanishing without a trace. He was the prodigy everyone within the hotel revered, a living god among killers, who had always been unanimously respected. ¡®The people who killed him have no idea what¡¯s coming.¡¯ Bernard felt a gust of wind hit his face. ¡®A storm¡¯s coming, but I¡¯ll be home by the time it hits,¡¯ he thought, noticing someone approaching from the corner of his eye. Bernard didn¡¯t know the man, but he quickly introduced himself. ¡°Good day, gentlemen, my condolences. I will be the undertaker for this ceremony.¡± Bernard shook his hand out of politeness. Despite the man¡¯s silly grin, Bernard had no doubt about his competence. After all, they had chosen him to bury John. Bernard would have liked to ask him about his job, but he had other questions swirling in his mind. He turned to Jo, speaking in a low voice, not wanting his son to overhear. ¡°Did you find out anything more?¡± He dreaded Jo¡¯s answer, but he needed to know. ¡°All investigations have suddenly stopped.¡± Bernard frowned. That should have been good news, but something felt off. ¡°Everyone¡¯s staying silent.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you use this to track down the person who gave my son the money?¡± Jo shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s too risky, Bernard. Any move by my informants would be noticed by someone on the high table. Something¡¯s happening behind the scenes, and I won¡¯t risk the lives of my wife and daughters to uncover the truth. Sorry, my friend, but we have to stay patient.¡± Bernard knew his old friend was right, but he hated being passive. His son¡¯s life might already be hanging by a thread, and he didn¡¯t even know it. Bernard felt powerless, and he despised that feeling. ¡°Can you help us escape?¡± His voice was barely a whisper, but his words seemed to shake Jo. ¡°You¡¯re not serious, are you?¡± Bernard¡¯s determined face said otherwise. Jo seemed to take several seconds to recover from his shock. ¡°I can¡¯t help you.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°What am I supposed to say to Melissa and my two angels if I don¡¯t come home?¡± Bernard¡¯s words got caught in his throat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my friend.¡± Jo gave him a few pats on the back. ¡°Don¡¯t be so pessimistic. We¡¯ll talk about this over a drink tonight. For now, let¡¯s lay one of our own to rest.¡± Other guests were starting to arrive. The first was a chubby man who had arrived by helicopter, flanked by two bodyguards. ¡®I don¡¯t know him.¡¯ He must have been an important figure within Promesse for Bernard not to recognize him. Jo had sent him a dossier that morning with information on all the funeral attendees. If the person standing a few steps away from him wasn¡¯t in the files, then someone with power had ensured their absence. A young woman arrived next, accompanied by a motorcade. She was Asian and strikingly beautiful, but that wasn¡¯t what caught Bernard¡¯s attention. She, along with George Washington, was one of the few people Bernard had received information about that morning. ¡®Mako Fujiwara, the sole heir to the Yakuza clan. Her father sent her to the U.S. to expand the New York branch. I wonder what she¡¯s doing here.¡¯ As she approached to greet them, Bernard noticed several people discreetly moving toward the cemetery gates. He greeted the young woman absentmindedly, turning his attention to the new arrivals. ¡®A man and a woman in their thirties. They arrived together, likely part of John¡¯s inner circle. I¡¯ve heard he got married, so the woman must be his wife. But the man beside her¡ªI have no idea who he is.¡¯ There was also a third person arriving from another direction. It was an elderly man with white hair, whom Bernard didn¡¯t recognize. He knew John was an orphan and had never been adopted, so the old man couldn¡¯t be his father. Perhaps he was John¡¯s mentor or someone important within Promesse. ¡®It¡¯s also possible he¡¯s a member of the High Table.¡¯ They made all the decisions inside Promesse, yet Bernard had only met one of them. It was nearly thirty years ago when he had been looking to change his life. A man in his sixties had approached him, offering a choice, and Bernard still regretted the decision he made 17 years ago. He never saw that man again and never would. ¡®Don¡¯t dwell on the past, Bernard. Focus on the future,¡¯ he urged himself, burying those dark memories deep within his mind. Still, something about the old man brought him back to those years. A sense of familiarity, as if they had crossed paths long ago. While Bernard was lost in thought, the old man had opened the cemetery gates. The guests began to enter, some exchanging words with the elder, who seemed to own the place. Bernard, caught in his own thoughts, was the last to walk in. As he was about to step through the gate, a voice called out to him. ¡°You seem to be doing well since the last time we met.¡± The old man offered no further explanation, pulling a small cigar box from his jacket pocket. Bernard didn¡¯t know much about cigars, but he recognized this box. It could only hold a handful of cigars, yet it was adorned with diamonds and gold leaf. ¡®Where have I seen this before?¡¯ He found himself walking to John¡¯s grave with the other guests, but his mind wasn¡¯t on the ceremony. The undertaker had started his speech, but Bernard was focused on remembering where he had seen that cigar box. It only came to him when he delved into his darkest years. It had been 17 years ago, on the desk of a man in a villa in the heart of Geneva. At the time, there had been three cigars inside, but the man hadn¡¯t smoked any. ¡°I¡¯m saving them for the greatest occasion.¡± That¡¯s what he had said all those years ago. Bernard felt a deep chill, not from the wind, but from a theory that had just crossed his mind. He turned to study the reactions of the other guests. None of them were crying¡ªnot even his wife. ¡®So, he chose the path I was too cowardly to follow 17 years ago,¡¯ Bernard thought, feeling a twinge of pity for John. Someone must have silenced him out of fear that his name would end up on a list. No one would ever find out who did it, and everyone was likely relieved that the latent danger had been removed. ¡®Maybe that person is hiding among us.¡¯ His son pulled out his phone and answered a call. Bernard shot him a stern look, but he noticed the other guests seemed to have received calls as well. He reached into his pocket for his phone, which he had silenced for the ceremony. ¡®What¡¯s going on?¡¯ He had missed a call just moments ago. As he turned toward Jo to try to figure out what was happening, his finely tuned instincts sounded the alarm. But it was too late. BANG. A bullet had struck his son in the heart. ¡°SNIPER!¡± He shouted without even knowing why. He rushed to his son, catching him before he hit the ground. Bernard tried to stop the bleeding with his hands, but a cold, detached voice inside his head brought him back to reality. ¡®Sniper shot, 7.62 mm bullet. Point of impact is one of the main arteries. The victim will only survive for a few more seconds, at best.¡¯ His son was already dead. It had only taken an instant for Bernard to lose what was most precious to him. Just like 21 years ago when he had lost his wife. George approached and kicked his son¡¯s corpse to check if he would react. ¡°This guy¡¯s definitely dead. Lucky for us we¡¯re in a cemetery; we can bury him right here without needing the funeral home.¡± Something seemed to break deep inside Bernard. ¡®Why?¡¯ He closed his son¡¯s eyes. ¡®Why?!¡¯ He stood up without a word. ¡®WHY?!¡¯ His son¡¯s death was their fault. Them, with their hidden agendas and power struggles. He had nothing left to lose, and they would all pay for it. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at the chubby man. His bodyguards were gone, and Bernard knew, deep down, that this man was someone important¡ªsomeone who might know who had killed his son or who had caused his death. ¡°HE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU AND YOUR SCHEMES!¡± Bernard had no proof, but he didn¡¯t care anymore. The man¡¯s brow furrowed, and he began to pull a revolver from his suit, but Bernard was faster. BANG. A shot rang out, but it wasn¡¯t from Bernard¡¯s gun. Someone else had been quicker. They shot him in the back at point-blank range. Bernard wanted to turn his head to see who had shot him, but he didn¡¯t have the strength. As blood trickled down his forehead, Bernard closed his eyes. He had only one final question as his consciousness faded: ¡°Who?¡± George Washington ¡°Where am I?! Why the hell am I in the air?!¡± ¡®Maybe I should¡¯ve hung him a little higher so he could be closer to God,¡¯ George thought, pondering whether to pull the rope and hoist the man all the way to the ceiling or leave him where he was. It didn¡¯t matter much to George, but for the man hanging about ten meters above the ground, it probably made a big difference. ¡°Hey! Down there! Can you help me down?¡± ¡°Well¡­ I feel like putting you down, but not exactly in the way you¡¯re hoping,¡± George scratched the back of his head. ¡®Why does he want to get farther from God? That¡¯s strange for a priest¡­¡¯ He couldn¡¯t understand why the old man wanted to come back to earth when he was so close to the heavens. Besides, George had gone through the trouble of making him feel at home. He had tied the priest to a cross and hung it from the ceiling of a church using a rope. The divine light streaming through the stained glass illuminated the crucified priest like a holy martyr. ¡®Maybe this will end up in history books¡ªor better yet, a new edition of the Bible.¡¯ As George pondered existential questions, the priest above him screamed in pain. ¡°Isn¡¯t the church supposed to be a place of silence, Father?¡± The man quieted down for a moment before answering. His voice was soft, tinged with authority, but mostly filled with exhaustion. ¡°Why do you mock me and my suffering, my son?¡± ¡°I was just asking, Father. I wasn¡¯t trying to mock you.¡± The priest coughed at George¡¯s response. ¡°Ahem¡­ yes, it should be.¡± ¡°Did you mean to say ¡®Amen,¡¯ Father?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ yes. Amen, my son.¡± ¡°Amen, Father.¡± A sinister, uncomfortable silence lingered for several seconds. ¡°So you¡¯re not going to let me down from this cross, my son?¡± ¡°No, Father. I wouldn¡¯t want to steal the police¡¯s role.¡± ¡°Why are you doing this, my son? You¡¯ll never get to heaven with this kind of behavior.¡± The priest¡¯s statement made George think. He¡¯d always had a few questions about religion, and with a priest at his disposal, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask. ¡°Did you manage to get forgiveness for all your murders, Father?¡± The old man took several seconds before responding. ¡°How did you find me?¡± ¡°It was pretty simple with today¡¯s technology, but you still haven¡¯t answered my question, Fr¨¦d¨¦rick.¡± If the man had any lingering doubts, they were gone now. ¡°I don¡¯t think changing your identity changes your life in the eyes of God. So, did you manage to absolve the sins of your past life?¡± ¡°No, my son, but perhaps I can pray for yours to be forgiven.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure you can pray with your arms stretched out like that, Father¡­¡± The man coughed again. ¡°That¡¯s not how it works, my son. You must repent through your actions if you want God to forgive you for your sins.¡± George was intrigued. ¡°What should I do, Father, to earn God¡¯s forgiveness?¡± ¡°Let me down, my son, and you will be cleansed of all your sins.¡± ¡°That¡¯s all, Father?¡± The man nodded. ¡®We killed during the Crusades in the name of religion, so God should be happy if I kill an evil priest, right?¡¯ George sincerely wondered, pulling a silenced pistol from the briefcase at his feet. ¡°What are you doing, my son?!¡± George took a few seconds to aim before pulling the trigger. ¡°GOD WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS ATROC¡ª¡± BANG He shot the priest between the eyes, silencing him forever. ¡°Enjoy your stay in hell, Fr¨¦d¨¦rick, and thanks for absolving my sins.¡± George replaced the pistol in his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers. He held about thirty photographs in his hands, each one depicting a different person. ¡°May you all find peace.¡± He tossed the stack into the air. The papers fluttered high above him before scattering and landing all over the church. George absentmindedly looked at the corpse hanging above him. At least he¡¯d had the decency to end it with a single shot to the head instead of letting the man hang for days. After all, it was the least he could do for an old colleague. ¡®If that¡¯s not a sign that I¡¯m a good person, I don¡¯t know what is.¡¯ He turned toward the altar a few steps away. ¡°You didn¡¯t punish him, so I took the liberty of doing it for you.¡± He stood on his tiptoes to grab a golden chalice from the altar. ¡°I¡¯ll take this as payment, God.¡± He trotted toward the door, pulling a set of keys from one of his pockets. ¡°Looking forward to doing business with you again!¡± George opened the door and left it wide open as he exited. ¡®It¡¯d be a shame if no one got to see my masterpiece,¡¯ he thought, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through the photos he had taken to claim the bounty, then opened his maps app. Not being from New York, he needed some help getting to his next destination. George would have preferred to ask for directions, but there was no one on the streets near the church. The cold autumn morning wind wasn¡¯t helping much either. George continued his stroll, admiring the streets around him. He hadn¡¯t come to New York for sightseeing, but he had to admit he might stay a few extra days to explore. For now, he was heading to the funeral of his greatest idol. The irony was that he had met him at his own grandfather¡¯s funeral. John had been sitting in the back row, wearing an impeccable suit and sunglasses in the middle of winter. No one had sat near him¡ªnot just because he was in the last row, but because he seemed to exist in another world entirely. He didn¡¯t speak, and he didn¡¯t seem to hear the sobbing around him. The man¡¯s gaze was vacant behind his sunglasses. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you comforting your mother?¡± George was surprised by the question. ¡°Because she¡¯s sad?¡± He shrugged slightly and glanced at his mother, who was sitting in the front row, crying her eyes out. ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem right. She wanted him dead too much to have the right to be sad.¡± The man shifted his gaze from the void to focus on George¡¯s mother. ¡°Appearances can be deceiving, young man. Why aren¡¯t you sad?¡± ¡°Grandpa wasn¡¯t sad about dying, so why should I be? I know Mom wanted him dead¡ªnow that he¡¯s gone, she should be happy, right?¡± The man wasn¡¯t sure if it was a question, but he answered anyway. ¡°Sometimes people say things without really meaning them. Maybe you¡¯ll do the same one day, without realizing it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± The man raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses. ¡°How can you be so sure?¡± ¡°I mean everything I say, and I do everything I think.¡± ¡°You¡¯re nothing like your grandfather.¡± George was intrigued. ¡°Why do you say that, sir?¡± ¡°Because you lie much better than he did.¡± The man took off his black sunglasses to clean them with a cloth. ¡°You¡¯re a strange young man, George. The people in my world lie, but they usually have a reason for it. They try to manipulate each other, protect their loved ones, or get closer to their victims. It¡¯s a double-edged sword that works in many situations but often does more harm than good.¡± The man finished cleaning his sunglasses, but he didn¡¯t put them back on right away. For the first time, George could see his eyes¡ªblue like the most massive wave of a tsunami. George felt like no one could escape destruction after seeing them. ¡°Whether to tell the truth or lie¡­ It doesn¡¯t seem to make a difference to you.¡± ¡°Should it?¡± George asked, curious. The man put his sunglasses back on. ¡°It should. Haven¡¯t you ever thought about seeing a psychiatrist?¡± George seemed lost in thought at the question. ¡°I had one for several years, but now he¡¯s dead¡­ by the way! Do you know how to get rid of a body, sir?¡± The man raised his eyebrows behind his glasses. He almost hesitated to respond, seeing George¡¯s wide smile and childlike eagerness to learn. ¡°Why do you want to learn something like that?¡± he finally asked, sighing in defeat. George blinked. ¡°It¡¯s because I killed my psychiatrist, and now I don¡¯t know what to do with his body.¡± ¡°What did he do wrong?¡± ¡°He did something wrong?¡± George asked, intrigued. ¡°Why did you kill him if he didn¡¯t do anything wrong?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! He said I was crazy and that he needed to open my skull to fix my brain. Since I¡¯m not crazy, I opened his skull to see why he was. And then¡ª¡± ¡°And what did you find?¡± ¡°Well, his brain, but he didn¡¯t tell me how to analyze it. After that, I tried to wake him up by tapping on his brain to ask him, but I must have given him too much anesthesia because he wasn¡¯t moving anymore. So, I left him under my bed while I figure it out.¡± The man took off his sunglasses again. ¡°Your mother¡¯s never been bothered by the smell?¡± ¡°I used deodorant and opened the window, so it¡¯s fine, except at night when there¡¯s a little stench.¡± The man pulled a business card from his coat and handed it to George. ¡°Call this number and ask for a full cleanup at your address.¡± As George reached for the card, the man didn¡¯t let go right away. ¡°I don¡¯t have to say this, but I will anyway.¡± His piercing gaze seemed to read George¡¯s soul. ¡°Don¡¯t become a killer.¡± He released his grip on the card and stood up. ¡°I¡¯ve already killed an old acquaintance of mine¡ªI wouldn¡¯t want to have to kill his grandson.¡± He put his sunglasses back on and left the cemetery without looking back. George had only one thought as he watched him leave. ¡®So cool!!! I¡¯d love to surpass him one day, or even manage to kill him with my own hands!¡¯ George had that conversation two years ago to the day, but he would never forget it until his dying breath. It was a promise he would never be able to fulfill, and just thinking about it made him sad. Now, all that was left for him was to kill the person who murdered his idol in order to surpass him. The only problem was that no one wanted to admit to the crime. ¡®All I can do now is wait,¡¯ he thought, continuing to walk. The forces of the higher-ups had already begun to move, and nothing could escape them¡ªnot even the higher-ups themselves. For George, it was just a matter of waiting for the inevitable. Once the murderer was revealed, there would be far too much competition for him to take a piece of the action, but at least he could use the opportunity to clean up a bit in New York. ¡®I¡¯ll have time for that in the coming days,¡¯ he thought, following his GPS. ¡®I wonder just how many killers there are in this city. There must be at least a few around me,¡¯ he mused, weaving his way toward the cemetery. The streets were now crowded despite the cool autumn morning, but George¡¯s small stature allowed him to slip through easily. It only took him a few minutes to reach the cemetery entrance. There weren¡¯t many people around the gates, just a young man in an ill-fitting suit with veins on his face that seemed too prominent. ¡®If that¡¯s not Alex Reddick raging, then my psychiatrist lied to me about the signs of anger,¡¯ George thought as he approached. He recognized him partly because his father was a legend at the club and partly because he was connected to John¡¯s death. George found it amusing that Alex was here and hadn¡¯t tried to run. ¡°Hahahahahahahahaha, you really are your father¡¯s son, no doubt about it.¡± ¡°And who are you?¡± ¡°Hahahahahahahahaha, who am I? Who cares! I¡¯m telling you! You must have it in your blood or your genes, I don¡¯t know. That irresistible urge to kill people!¡± George wasn¡¯t a psychiatrist, but he could sense it. He didn¡¯t even bother giving Alex his name¡ªdead men didn¡¯t need to know it. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare insult my father!!¡± Alex had his father¡¯s fire but lacked his skills or firmness. George had already lost interest in the conversation, but young Reddick wasn¡¯t finished. While George rambled on, his instincts kicked in. He dodged Alex¡¯s slap effortlessly, drawing a gun from his pants and keeping it hidden behind his back. George always carried one in his briefcase and another on him for protection. He could already smell the blood and imagine Alex¡¯s body at his feet. But he quickly decided against it. This wasn¡¯t the time or place for a killing. No one had arrived yet, but the other guests would soon start pouring in. ¡°I¡¯ll let this slide today because it¡¯s the funeral of my greatest idol. Be careful, kid, because everything in this life comes at a cost.¡± ¡®Well, his life is already over, but maybe he can remember this lesson for the afterlife,¡¯ George thought, losing interest in Alex as his attention shifted to a black Mercedes pulling up and the person stepping out. ¡®Bernard Reddick.¡¯ George could¡¯ve recognized the old man in a retirement home. He had that rare, intimidating, and unyielding presence for someone his age. He also exuded a deadly aura, visible to trained eyes like George¡¯s. ¡®He hasn¡¯t lost his touch,¡¯ George thought, noticing the tiny blood splatters on Bernard¡¯s shirt. The man no longer had the sharpness of his younger days, but it seemed he was still killing people. It felt hypocritical for someone who had sworn decades ago never to kill again. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.¡®He didn¡¯t have the courage to go through the ritual to leave the world of crime all those years ago. There¡¯s no chance he¡¯ll leave it before his death,¡¯ George thought. That was one of the reasons why Bernard wasn¡¯t George¡¯s idol. John had taken that step, while Bernard had not. That difference, to George, was what separated a man from a legend. Then again, maybe John had died because of it. ¡°Mr. Reddick, I must say you look even older in person than in the photos from my album,¡± George remarked. He wasn¡¯t lying. Bernard must have been in his thirties in the picture in George¡¯s album. The man standing before him now was thirty years older and had very few white hairs left. ¡°Who are you?¡± Bernard asked with a stern look. The question shook George internally; there was no world in which Bernard wouldn¡¯t recognize him. Still, George remained calm on the surface, continuing the conversation as if nothing had happened. However, his mind was already elsewhere. Bernard had chosen to lie, and George had no interest in engaging with a liar. ¡®I wonder how senile he¡¯s become,¡¯ he thought. George wasn¡¯t just known in Washington; his reputation spanned the entire country. Bernard, as the receptionist of the New York branch of Promesse, should have known the faces of its most important guests¡ªespecially notorious and dangerous figures like George. ¡®Maybe the situation with his son has worsened his mental state. I just wonder if he¡¯ll die trying to save him,¡¯ George mused. The conversation ended with a handshake, but George couldn¡¯t even recall what they had discussed. He left the Reddicks to their family matters and walked toward the cemetery gates. All Promesse members had been buried there since the organization¡¯s founding hundreds of years ago. The cemetery¡¯s massive white walls were inscribed with tens of thousands of names, etched by hand. The oldest inscriptions had already begun to fade, worn away by the elements. The most prestigious members had their names engraved closest to the gates. George didn¡¯t have to search the cemetery to find John¡¯s name. It had been carved by hand into one of the two immense bronze doors. His name stood out not only because there were few others inscribed directly on the doors, but because George knew exactly where to look. The names of the high-ranking members were grouped into five sections, each corresponding to their responsibilities within Promesse. For the four former Princes, their names were engraved at the four corners of the door. George only had to find the ¡°box¡± for the former Princes of War to locate John¡¯s name. An engraver from the organization must have spent hours on it. John¡¯s name had a glow and refinement that made it stand out among the others. Only about twenty names shone brighter than his, inscribed on the arch above the door. Each character had been gilded, giving them an almost divine appearance. ¡®They manage the cemetery, so it¡¯s no surprise they give themselves little perks like that,¡¯ George thought as he read each name carved into the arch. He recognized most of them. They were the Directors of the organization, with the first having built Promesse from scratch, and the others expanding it into what it had become today. ¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡± George wasn¡¯t talking to himself; another man had approached. He was the fourth guest to arrive, with the two Reddicks still engaged in a quiet conversation. The man was bald, seemingly in his fifties, and wore a reassuring smile. ¡®Jo Reagan, director of the New York branch. I wonder what he¡¯s hiding behind that fa?ade,¡¯ George thought, turning to face his guest. He had read several dossiers on Jo from different sources, and they all agreed on the same assessment: charismatic, honest, and trustworthy. But George found it all a bit too perfect. ¡°It certainly is impressive, Mr. Reagan, but unfortunately, you won¡¯t be eligible to have your name engraved on these doors.¡± The man chuckled softly at George¡¯s response. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of that, Mr. Washington, but I¡¯m curious¡ªwhy insult me at our first meeting?¡± ¡°An insult? I only stated the truth. Did you want to ask me something?¡± The man waved his hand as if trying to brush away the leaves swirling in the wind. "Not at all. I just wanted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Washington, nothing more," Jo said, still smiling. George stepped closer, standing on his tiptoes to whisper in Jo¡¯s ear. ¡°People who approach me always want something, Mr. Reagan, and I don¡¯t think your flawless reputation exempts you from that.¡± George wasn¡¯t sure of his assumption, but he didn¡¯t care about making another enemy. He¡¯d only be in the city for a few days, and once he returned to Washington, he wouldn¡¯t have to worry about it anymore. ¡°I heard you crucified Father Fr¨¦d¨¦rick?¡± Jo hadn¡¯t lost his smile even as he asked the question, but the temperature around them seemed to drop sharply. George knew it was only psychological, but he was still impressed. ¡®This guy could contribute to global warming with just his smile,¡¯ he thought, widening his eyes in surprise. The moment Jo¡¯s smile stopped being warm, George felt the biting autumn cold on his arms. ¡°I didn¡¯t break any rules, so I don¡¯t see why it would bother you.¡± ¡°He was one of my men,¡± Jo replied calmly, without raising his voice. ¡°One of your men?¡± George had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh so as not to disrupt the Reddicks'' conversation. ¡°He hadn¡¯t killed in years. Unless you¡¯re the president of a club for retired New York killers, I doubt he was one of your men.¡± Jo twitched slightly at George¡¯s flippant response. ¡°Stop your activities in my city, or you¡¯ll face the consequences, Mr. Washington.¡± ¡°Jo Reagan, threatening me? I wonder what the members would say if they found out.¡± ¡°You¡¯re insane. No one would believe what you think or say,¡± Jo replied dryly. Before George could respond, they were interrupted by Bernard¡¯s raised voice: ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this when we get home!¡± After realizing his outburst, Bernard turned to George and Jo, bowing slightly. ¡°Please excuse my behavior, gentlemen.¡± George didn¡¯t care much, not wanting to interact with the old man, but Jo was different. George watched Jo slip back into his warm, approachable demeanor in the blink of an eye, opening his arms as he walked toward the Reddicks. ¡°I know I shouldn¡¯t be so enthusiastic on such a sad occasion, but¡­¡± George had already tuned out Jo¡¯s words. ¡®I don¡¯t know what to make of him¡ªmaybe he¡¯s really trying to build an army of retired killer grandpas,¡¯ George thought, his curiosity piqued. One thing was certain: George now had a new pastime for the next few days. He had already stepped into Jo¡¯s business, and he doubted Jo would let him leave without a fight. ¡®At least I won¡¯t be bored. I just wonder how many killer grandpas he¡¯ll send after me and how they¡¯ll try to kill me,¡¯ George thought, imagining a variety of possible scenarios. Each one was thrilling, but George hoped that whoever came after him in the next few days would meet his expectations. He snapped out of his thoughts when the fifth guest arrived. The man was impeccably dressed, with an equally impeccable demeanor. ¡®Who¡¯s this?¡¯ George wasn¡¯t high enough in the hierarchy to know all the guests, but he could recognize most of them. The only ones who remained unknown to him were the higher-ups. Even within the organization, many of them were so secretive that George struggled to gather any information about them. The only one he knew was the Prince of his own department. His name had been John, and he had died a few days ago. ¡®I imagine his wife has taken over in his absence,¡¯ George thought as he watched the man approach. George didn¡¯t know him, but the young man didn¡¯t have the air of a high-ranking figure with his silly smile and uncertain steps. Still, George had learned one thing in his two years as a killer: never trust appearances. ¡°Good day, gentlemen, my condolences. I¡¯ll be the undertaker for this ceremony.¡± The other guests seemed uninterested in the new arrival, but not George. He was curious to know what kind of person this undertaker was. There were a few prerequisites for being hired at this cemetery, and only two types of people could meet them. They had to either be very close to the Director or completely unaware of the identity of the people they were burying. That was part of the rules that the Directors had to follow. George knew some of the other rules, but there were many more that he didn¡¯t know¡ªsecrets known only to the higher-ups. George was curious about the undertaker¡¯s nature, wondering if he was more of a black or white character. To get an answer, he went straight up and asked. ¡°Hey, Mr. Undertaker, are you all black or all white?¡± The man turned around, not immediately seeing who had spoken. Standing at six-foot-two, it took him a few moments to look down and finally spot George. ¡°Were you talking to me, sir?¡± The undertaker already seemed aware that the identities of the deceased held something special. There was a cautious glint in his eyes that didn¡¯t escape George¡¯s sharp observation. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Mr. Undertaker, I just felt like chatting and asking you a few questions.¡± No matter how reckless George could be, he wouldn¡¯t dare touch him. Getting involved with a branch director was one thing, but messing with a man tied to the big boss was another. The undertaker ran a hand through his hair. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can tell you much, especially about the deceased¡¯s identity.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t even know who you¡¯re burying?¡± The man seemed embarrassed by the question. ¡°I usually know very little¡ªnot that it bothers me, sir. I understand that the identity of the deceased can be exceptional, but I¡¯ve never seen the boss act this mysteriously.¡± ¡°How long have you worked here?¡± ¡°A few weeks at most. You know, it¡¯s rare to find a place with working conditions this good.¡± ¡°You only work here for the paycheck?¡± The man gave a sheepish smile. ¡°It¡¯s hard to deny. Sir?¡± ¡°George. You can call me George. And who am I speaking with?¡± ¡°James Smith, but feel free to call me James.¡± The two of them chatted for nearly five minutes. George was great at talking about everything and nothing, and by now, he had learned the names of most of James¡¯ close relatives and part of his family tree. George would be in New York for a few more days, plenty of time to dig deeper into the undertaker. For now, he couldn¡¯t tell whether James¡¯ identity was genuine or if he was a master manipulator. ¡®It doesn¡¯t matter, I¡¯ll know after I¡¯ve dug around a bit,¡¯ George thought, glancing at the other guests. Everyone had arrived. George only recognized one¡ªJohn¡¯s wife. She was beautiful, dangerously so. With her blood-red hair, scarlet dress, and deadly aura, she resembled a rose. Magnificent but thorny. George didn¡¯t dare greet her or meet her gaze. She had become the new Princess of War after a unanimous vote and was now his boss. ¡®All the more reason to stay away,¡¯ he thought as he observed the other guests. There was a large man, a young guy in his twenties who had arrived with John¡¯s wife, a young Japanese woman, and the Director. The latter wasn¡¯t participating in the ceremony, but he was the one who opened the cemetery gates. He was an elderly man with gray hair, someone George was meeting for the first time. George was confident of his identity since James had gone to greet him as soon as he arrived. George deduced this from what he had learned about the rules of Promesse. ¡®At least it¡¯s been useful once in my life,¡¯ George thought, looking away. As for the last three guests, George didn¡¯t know. There could be other big shots among them, but he wasn¡¯t sure. James stood by the gates alongside the Director, preparing to let the guests in. George was among the first to step through. He nodded toward the Director before following James toward the grave. They walked at a leisurely pace, George taking the time to appreciate the surroundings. After all, he would be buried here one day too. The white marble tombstones, the black jade slate path, and the freshly fallen autumn leaves gave the place a sacred atmosphere. ¡°Working in a place like this must make you want to take up this job, James. I''ve buried a few bodies myself, so I¡¯m sure I wouldn¡¯t be bad at it.¡± James had to cough multiple times to stifle his laughter, though he couldn¡¯t help but let his goofy grin slip back onto his face. ¡°Believe me, George, burying a man and burying a pet are two completely different things.¡± ¡°Oh, I know! One takes much longer but is way more satisfying when it¡¯s done. I just envy you for not having to go into the middle of the woods at night to bury people.¡± ¡°I suppose you could see it that way¡­¡± James didn¡¯t seem to process what George had said, nodding absentmindedly with a vacant look in his eyes. After what felt like an eternity to the poor undertaker, they finally arrived at their destination. Graves stretched out endlessly around them. The rest of the guests arrived a few minutes later, with old Bernard bringing up the rear. George didn¡¯t have time to wonder why the Director wasn¡¯t participating in the ceremony. James turned to address the group, preparing to deliver the eulogy. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, We are gathered here today to say farewell to John, a person who touched the lives of many in various ways. In this moment of pain and sadness, we come together to honor his memory and celebrate the life he lived. John was a loyal individual, known for his selflessness and dedication. His presence always brought compassion and respect. He will be missed, and he will remain in our hearts forever. It is hard to find the words to express what we all feel at this moment. The loss of John leaves a great void, but we must remember the moments of joy and the precious memories we shared with him. Today, we say goodbye, but we know that his spirit will always be with us, watching over his loved ones and friends. May we find strength in the love and support we share here, and may we honor his memory by living our lives with the same generosity and compassion he showed. I now invite you to a moment of silence, to reflect on John¡¯s life and what he meant to each of you.¡± James paused for a few moments. George wished he had more memories with John beyond his grandfather¡¯s funeral, but he didn¡¯t. To George, John had been a legend, one you could only meet if he allowed it. ¡°Thank you all for coming today to pay your respects. May he rest in peace.¡± James concluded his speech, offering his condolences to each guest before leaving them to have a private moment with the deceased. ¡®At least someone cried at my grandfather¡¯s funeral,¡¯ George thought, glancing skyward to avoid watching the farce in front of him. The clouds were already dark and foreboding, promising an incoming storm. Maybe if he left now, he could get out of the rain¡ªbut even he doubted that. He cast one last look at the pristine grave. ¡®I wonder how God will judge you. With any luck, I might be able to use your name to spend a few days in heaven. On that note, goodbye, my prince.¡¯ He bowed his head slightly and turned to leave. However, as he took his first step, his phone rang. He answered it without much thought. ¡°Who¡¯s this, and who¡¯s the target?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d actually show up.¡± It wasn¡¯t the voice George was expecting, but a radiant smile spread across his face. ¡°You have cell service where you are, sir?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the voice replied. ¡°I didn¡¯t think technology had advanced that much... I have one last request while I¡¯m at it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like not to die from some sneaky sniper¡¯s bullet. I¡¯d at least like you to show up in person to kill me.¡± The voice didn¡¯t respond for several seconds. ¡°Very well, I¡¯ll come personally to finish you off.¡± The man hung up. BANG Alex Reddick collapsed to the ground without a sound. ¡°SNIPER!¡± Most of the guests ducked behind tombstones to avoid the second shot, but not Bernard or George. Bernard was trying to stop his already-dead son¡¯s bleeding with his hands, while George stepped closer to Alex¡¯s corpse to give him a light kick. ¡°This guy¡¯s definitely dead. Good thing we¡¯re in a cemetery; we can bury him right here without needing the undertaker.¡± He shot a quick glance at Bernard¡¯s face. ¡®The old man¡¯s lost his mind,¡¯ George thought, stepping back a few paces. In situations like this, they needed to either find an exit, confront the shooter, or stay put and wait for outside help. Each option had its own advantages and disadvantages, leaving George uncertain about which to choose. ¡°IT¡¯S BECAUSE OF YOU AND YOUR DAMN SCHEMES THAT HE¡¯S DEAD!¡± Bernard roared, rising over his son¡¯s body. His once pristine suit was now soaked in blood, and all his restraint had vanished, replaced by unbridled rage. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the large man like a starving beast ready to pounce on its prey. The man was without his bodyguards, making it seem like the perfect moment to settle things. Yet, just as Bernard drew his pistol¡ª BANG A bullet struck the back of his skull, piercing his brain and exiting through one of his eyes. Bernard was dead before he even hit the ground, not getting the chance to see his killer. His body crashed onto the slate ground with a heavy thud, sending crimson leaves scattering in all directions. Despite George stepping back, several drops of blood splattered onto his suit. He shot a disapproving glance at Jo, who was lowering his gun, the barrel still smoking. ¡®He won¡¯t get very far if he goes around killing off his own grandpa army,¡¯ George thought, pulling out his second pistol from his briefcase. He probably wouldn¡¯t need it, but he liked having a gun in each hand. The other guests tensed at the sight of George drawing a weapon. Some instinctively placed a hand on their own, ready to pull it at a moment¡¯s notice. Jo, too, seemed to be weighing whether to get rid of a thorn in his side. ¡®Looks like I don¡¯t belong here,¡¯ George thought, stepping back a few more paces. BANG A bullet whizzed past his ear. The sniper had fired a second shot, and this one had missed. It skimmed George¡¯s shoulder, coming just inches away from his heart. ¡®Is that how you keep promises?¡¯ George thought, turning to the west. Despite the storm picking up, the wind howling stronger and stronger, that bullet had been meant for him. ''If you don¡¯t want to show yourself, let me come to you.¡¯ George had already made his decision. He began running in the opposite direction of the exit, heading west, with his blood already boiling in anticipation of the duel he had long awaited. He sprinted for several hundred meters, the distance between him and the sniper shrinking with every passing second, but the third shot never came. George arrived at an open space, breathing heavily after running nearly 500 meters in record time. The sniper could have set up an ambush, could have fired as soon as George came into view¡ªbut nothing. Because there was no one behind the scope. ¡°What the hell is this!?¡± Before George stood a sniper rifle several meters long. It was mounted on hydraulic legs, with a massive scope attached above the sight. The entire setup had been hidden beneath a pile of leaves, making it nearly impossible to spot from even a few meters away. ¡°THIS IS THE DUEL YOU PROMISED ME?!¡± No one answered him, the wind drowning out some of his shouts. As he approached, ready to vent his frustration by dismantling the rifle, a loud mechanical sound echoed. SCREECH The barrel of the sniper rifle swiveled toward him. BANG The bullet hit him. He wasn¡¯t as lucky as the first time. It didn¡¯t strike his heart but instead shattered a part of his spine. George couldn¡¯t tell whether that was fortunate or not. A shot to the heart would have killed him instantly, while this wound would leave him a few more minutes to live. He would have liked to try and stop the bleeding, but he couldn¡¯t. First, because he couldn¡¯t move any of his limbs, and second, because there was nothing he could do. The wound needed immediate treatment if he wanted any chance of survival. But no one was coming to his rescue within the next few minutes, leaving him to bleed out alone among the leaves and graves. ¡®He lied to me¡­¡¯ Even as the end neared, that thought dominated George¡¯s mind. He closed his eyes in exhaustion, losing track of time. Seconds or minutes could have passed in the outside world¡ªhe couldn¡¯t tell the difference. All he knew was that he kept bleeding, and there wasn¡¯t much blood left in him. ¡®I must be hallucinating¡­¡¯ he thought, trying to open his eyes. He could hear footsteps approaching. He tried desperately to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy. What he did feel, however, was the cold metal of a silencer pressed against his forehead. ¡°I came as promised. Why did you have to follow this path?¡± George¡¯s response took several seconds to come, his voice raspier than usual. ¡°We¡¯ll meet again in hell, won¡¯t we?¡± The man gave a small, sorrowful chuckle. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll be joining you there soon enough.¡± A radiant smile spread across George¡¯s lips. ¡°We¡¯ll have our duel then...¡± His voice was barely a whisper. PEW PEW PEW George felt his consciousness waver before it finally faded into nothingness.