Basilisk's Venom

Inside a duplex penthouse in Brooklyn, Marcel was pacing around his study on the second floor. Don Enzo had given him two days to find the culprit behind all the things happening to the family, but he had found no clues whatsoever.

First thing tomorrow morning, he would have to report to the boss, but he didn't know what to say. As consigliere, it was his job to gather all the intel when anything of this sort happened.

But alas, Marcel was an incompetent fool who got to where he was today by a stroke of luck. That, and his undying loyalty to the family. That was the reason he had been kept in his position for so long.

It was also due to his incompetence that he hadn't found prior intel of the Buccanti Family's attack on their turf last year, which led him to come up with a scheme to paint a scapegoat as a Buccanti spy, just so he could get the heat off of him. Now, everything was coming back to bite him in the ass.

"What do I do? What do I do?" His teeth were chattering and his palms were sweaty; he had truly run out of options. Unlike before, he couldn't use the excuse of a spy within the family because the don was already suspecting him.

Just as he was biting his nails and pacing back and forth to think of a solution, he suddenly heard some 'clink-clank' sounds coming from downstairs. His eyebrows furrowed and he grabbed his pistol from the table and immediately went downstairs.

Except for the hookers he would call home every weekend, he had always lived alone. His wife had passed away a long time ago and he'd long since broken ties with his kids and grandkids—in order to protect them, of course.

So when he heard the sudden sound coming from the living room downstairs, he was taken aback. His heart loudly pounded as he slowly and silently walked down the stairs.

Ever since he'd learned that Nico, Roberto, and his crew were missing, he had this nagging feeling that someone was coming after them. That feeling had only been further amplified when the family's storehouses started being raided one after another.

He couldn't help but nervously gulp as he steadied the pistol in his hand. If he wasn't in a state of fear and panic, he would have realized that his pistol weighed much less than it usually did.

Soon, he turned around the corner and his gaze fell on a figure wearing a black hoodie, ripped blue jeans, and white sneakers eating a meal at the dining table, his back facing him. That was where the sound was coming from—it was the sound of cutlery scraping against the surface of the plate.

Marcel first looked around his penthouse, making sure that no one else was there. Then he slowly walked around the figure, pointing his pistol at their face. "Bastard, who gave you the audacity—"

But the words got stuck in his throat when the figure turned to look at him with a smirk.

"Boss, you hungry?" David asked as he stuffed a piece of steak in his mouth, not at all bothered by the weapon aimed at him.

Marcel trembled in fright as, within a few moments, he had recognized the teenager. "Y-You're alive!!?" The next moment, however, a ruthless glint gleamed in his eyes as he pulled the trigger.

CLICK! CLICK!

David sighed in disappointment. "You and Nico are the same. Neither of you could tell the difference between a loaded gun and an empty one, yet you call yourself gangsters? How pitiful."

On the other hand, Marcel's attitude changed a complete 180 degrees. He was old to begin with, and stood no chance against David in any form of combat. The only advantage he could have had had vanished. He couldn't help but inwardly curse, 'FUCK! Why didn't I check the magazine beforehand?'

He looked at David and tried his best to smile, but it looked extremely ugly. "D-David, I always knew you were alive. T-Thank god!"

"Oh?" The teenager was amused. "Then why'd you try to shoot me just now?"

Marcel replied, "I-I thought you were an unknown intruder, I p-promise!"

"I see." David nodded. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "But before Nico died, he told me that you ordered him to kill me…."

"LIES!" Marcel righteously screamed. Inwardly, he wondered, 'He really killed Nico, Roberto, and the rest!'

He brought his hands together in front of his chest and interlocked his fingers and begged. "Y-You must believe me, I didn't tell Nico to do anything. You know how cunning he was, don't you? Before dying, he must've goaded you into fighting all of us. Don't fall for his schemes."

David's lips curled up into a faint smile. "Is that so? …Fine, take a seat."

Marcel nervously gulped, then took a seat on the other end of the table, right across from David. The youth, on the other hand, continued eating his steak with great relish. "By the way, I'm planning to eradicate the family. You in?"

Without hesitation, Marcel replied, "I'm in." He would do anything to get out of this situation alive first. Then he would find a way to get word of the brat's survival to Enzo and Angelo, and kill David once and for all.

As he was thinking of how to get out of his situation alive, David suddenly threw a dagger in his direction. He didn't even have time to dodge the incoming attack, but much to his relief, he realized the dagger wasn't aimed at him. Instead, it lodged itself against the table right in front of him.

He looked at the purple blade of the dagger that gave off a sinister aura and shuddered in horror. He then looked at David and meekly asked, "W-What's the meaning of this?"

"You said you'd join me, right?" David wiped his mouth with the napkin. "Then prove it."

"H-How?" Marcel wasn't liking where this was going.

David's eyes narrowed and only one word escaped his lips: "Omerta."

Marcel clearly understood what the youth meant. The Rosetti family was lenient with their initiation ceremony, in that they only asked to prick the fingers and offer drops of blood. But David was actually asking for an entire finger!

He looked at the dagger for a very long time and couldn't help his body from trembling. But he knew that if he wanted to get out of this situation alive, he really had no other choice. In the end, he took a deep breath and positioned his pinky finger right beside the dagger.

Marcel's eyes shone with fear as well as resolve as he ruthlessly brought the blade of the handle in a downward motion, cleanly cutting off his finger.

"AAARRRGGGHHH!!" He screamed in pain as he saw the blood gush out from the stump on his hand. Seeing that, David smirked and threw the napkin that he was using at the old man.

Marcel hurriedly grabbed the napkin and covered his wound, causing him to scream even more. But he knew he had to stop the bleeding. His face was pale and he was sweating all over. He looked at David and said with great difficulty, "I… swear… fealty—"

Suddenly, he was unable to speak as he felt a burning sensation course through his body. He removed the napkin from his hand and his eyes widened in shock. From the region of the cut finger, purple veins were spreading toward his entire body; they had already covered his hand!

He looked at the dagger in horror, then at David, who was looking at him with an amused look. Marcel finally understood everything that had happened, but it was too late. The purple veins had crawled up his neck and were beginning to cover his face.

He began bleeding from all his facial orifices and he writhed in pain. He wanted to curse David before he died, but the pain he was experiencing was too excruciating. It felt like his insides were slowly being devoured.

He continued suffering that inhumane torture for an entire minute before his heart finally gave in. David got to his feet and walked toward the dead man. He grabbed his dagger and wiped its blade with the tablecloth, then grinned from ear to ear.

"Basilisk's venom… not bad!"