A mission

"Just a guard position on some of the organization's properties, Mr. Hayes. Including here, at the Good Lion Bar. You will be guarding your precious cousin, too."

Tristan frowned.

He wasn't shocked that Pierce knew about his "cousin", or that he brought Gemello up as leverage over Hayes. Which was already getting confusing.

But the reason for Tristan's frown was different.

"A guard position, really? Mr. Pierce, do you think a person like me will be satisfied just standing around for hours on end? If I wanted to guard some useless shit for pennies, I'd find myself a place to work at already. I thought you were going to offer something more interesting."

Tristan leaned back, projecting self-assurance. As long as he acted like he was a professional worth bending for, people would bend for him.

And Pierce bent, too.

Once again, he was impressed by Tristan's self-assurance. Although he was relatively young, Tristan Hayes acted like he spent a decade living the life of a gangster!

In Pierce's eyes, this could mean only incredible natural talent for this life. Eventually, a person like Tristan Hayes was bound to end up in one gang or another, and Pierce loathed to let him join anyone else's organization.

"Alright, Mr. Hayes. I have a job position that puts more risk and responsibility on you, while giving more freedom. Something more like contract work, I could say. You will be given various tasks which might require you to threaten, kill, or capture someone. You will be paid per task, with a monthly stipend on top of it. And you will become an official member of our organization."

Tristan leaned forward in interest.

'This is much better. I will still be just a goon, but a more high-ranked one. And from there, I will know whom I should deal with to get higher in the ranks.'

"You still didn't tell me what this organization is, Mr. Pierce."

"One should only know it if you are our ally, or our enemy. Discretion is very important in our business."

Tristan smirked.

"I expected nothing less. Well, I agree to your offer. Will you tell me now?"

"The organization is named 'King Lion Gang'." Pierce fixed his glasses. "The name was chosen by its boss, Mr. Leon Clavon. As is the name of this bar. I am his right-hand man and adviser over many matters, and for you, my authority is second only to Mr. Clavon himself."

Tristan suppressed an urge to chuckle.

That Leon really must've loved himself and his name! Even Pierce looked annoyed by it.

"This is what you need to know for now, Mr. Hayes. Before you will be officially taken on the position, I need a confirmation of your trustworthiness. You must fulfill a trial task."

Pierce turned to the computer standing at the side of his table and quickly tapped on the keys. After a few minutes, a printer in the room's corner whirred to life, printing several sheets, which Pierce passed to Tristan.

On them was a dossier on a person named Jack Fulone–an unfamiliar man of his age. The photo on the dossier looked like it was taken while he was walking down the street.

"To avoid unnecessary risks, memorize the information here and burn the paper. Your first task is simple—kill that man. His location is already established, and he's not someone with combat experience."

Tristan kept reading the dossier. From it, Jack was just an ordinary college student. There was nothing written that should've made him a target for a gang.

Tristan raised his eyes at Pierce. Pierce stared back.

Although Pierce's face was expressionless, Tristan's incredible observation skill let him notice the smallest twitches around Pierce's eyes.

Tristan understood.

'This is a test. He wants me to be loyal without questions. So be it!'

"Very well, Mr. Pierce. Do I need to bring you any proof? An ear, or something more vital?"

Pierce smiled in that creepy way of his.

"This isn't necessary, but I would be grateful."

Tristan cringed inwardly, but stood up and waved his hand nonchalantly, like he was taking trophies from corpses every day.

"I will see how it will go, Mr. Pierce."

***

Same time, different place.

Mark kneeled in front of the powerful man in front of him. The movement made his not fully healed injuries flare with pain, but he bit his lip and endured.

Ever since Tristan, that ungrateful bastard, beaten him and cut up the love of his life, Mark endured, fueled only by his desire for revenge.

He was the only one left. Ricky, the coward, fled the city first. Evelyn left too, as soon as she healed a little. No amount of pleading from Mark helped to soothe her fears.

Tristan terrified her too much to stay with Mark. And Mark couldn't leave—not until he took revenge for the pain Tristan put them both through.

It didn't matter how much he had to kneel and plead to get his revenge.

<Please, Mr. Quixada! I know that even if my mom was Mexican, this might not mean much for you, since dad American… But you are the only one could ask this. must have revenge!> Mark said in broken Spanish.

His mother was long in the grave, but he was now forever grateful to her for teaching her the language of her homeland of Mexico, even if his name was American.

<Hah… Half-blood, pure-blood—only old men think these things matter more than determination in the hearts of youths.>

Suddenly, a hand reached for Mark's shoulder, lifting him up.

<Raise. You know Spanish, despite your American name, and you kneeled without hesitation, although came up here on crutches. If all my goons were as determined you, the entire city would've been ours already. I will help Mark.>