The Don

As Grey emerged from the elevator on the 89th floor of a colossal, asymmetrical skyscraper, he found himself face to face with a dozen sharp-dressed men brandishing submachine guns. They stood in front of a full-wall waterfall flanked by delicate bonsai trees—an striking contrast of serenity and impending violence.

"Greetings, Underboss Maxwell, Mr. Grey," said a man dressed in a charcoal suit, his sunglasses and wolf neck tattoo lending him a menacing air. He bowed slightly, lowering his weapon. "The Don is expecting you."

The man ushered them through grand double doors into a sprawling penthouse suite. The word 'luxurious' barely did the space justice. Genuine marble floors, maple railings, and walls adorned with fine art and syndicate soldiers holding submachine guns.

"Welcome, Alyx," An elderly man with grey hair and a leathery face said. He wore a charcoal grey suit, and an amused smile, sitting before a coffee table with tea cups. "Come, come; take a seat."

Maxwell's eyes widened when he didn't get addressed, but he sat on the leather sofa with the teen, trying to look unfazed as the elderly man poured water into cups with blooming tea flowers.

"Greetings, Don," Grey greeted, triggering bone-chilling glances from his adoptive father and guards.

"Come now, everyone," the don chuckled, waving his hand. "Today's a monumental day so the boy needn't stand on ceremony. Alyx, just for today, call me Dean and speak freely."

"Thank you for your kindness, Dean," Grey nodded, ignoring his father's warning glare. "I appreciate the honor."

"I like a man who knows how to follow instructions, regardless of how casual or perilous they may be," Dean grinned, his smile causing those around him to shudder.

"Communication is the key to success and survival, two sides of the same coin in this enterprise," Grey replied shrewdly. "I take pride in being alive."

"Is that so?" Dean inquired, a glint of interest in his eyes. "Considering your track record, one might assume you'd have a different perspective on success."

Maxwell shuddered, restraining himself from threatening his [son].

"I have ambitions," Grey clarified. "After I complete my contract and pay off my family's debt, I will pursue them."

"Oh, yes," the don smiled mysteriously. "I've heard of this [contract]. How much must you pay back?"

"19,821,779 credits," the teen answered exactly, making Maxwell tremble with anger.

"Excellent; that shouldn't take you too long with your skills," Dean chuckled. "Last Friday's record-earning event proves that."

Grey's expression turned somber, but he was interrupted by Maxwell. "It shouldn't take long to earn that much. However, he's also tied to the Lycans, so—"

A deadly glance from Dean silenced Maxwell. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

"M-My apologies," Maxwell shuddered.

The don turned back to the teen, gazing at him with his dark brown eyes, contrasting against his light grey hair. "How long are you contracted for?"

"My contract states I can only earn 50 credits an hour, so I'd estimate forty years if I make the maximum and save everything, accounting for work and living expenses," Grey explained.

"I appreciate you confirming," the don said, giving Maxwell a bone-chilling glare. "Why is there a restriction on his potential earnings?"

"I… his parents lost me twenty-five million credits," Maxwell shook slightly. "I needed compensation."

"Hoh? Alyx's betting racket has netted you 20 million this year. Is that not enough?" the don asked coldly.

"Don, with respect, he's been building on my hard work with my money," Maxwell argued. "His success is built upon my—"

"Enough," Dean replied dryly. "Alyx's earning restriction ends today, effective immediately. You will earn 5% of his earnings until he pays off your debt. Due to his extraordinary contributions, I've set the processes for Alyx to become Made. We do not treat our family as slaves."

Maxwell's mind became hazy. His racket was still under Grey's control, and without training a successor, he would lose everything if he didn't act quickly. "I... understand," he said, hiding his inner turmoil.

"You best," Dean said, turning to the teen. "We have an opportunity we'd like you to spearhead, Alyx."

Grey's eyes became sharp, feeling an overwhelming pressure. "What's the opportunity?"

"Myriad Online," the don replied, blindsiding Maxwell. "It's the future of commerce; I need someone young to start business operations. Will you be our man? You have the option to refuse."

"I accept," Grey replied immediately, lacking the option to refuse.

"Well, it's settled then," Dean clapped. "You start tomorrow; I've arranged your pre-register. Report how we can make money to us next Friday."

"W-Wait, what about our betting racket?" Maxwell asked in a daze, feeling his world spinning.

"Has this boy done your job for so long you can no longer handle it?" the don asked with a vicious smile.

"Of course not," Maxwell replied nervously. "It's not a problem."

"That's good to hear," Dean smiled, enjoying the tense atmosphere. "Now, please, you two. Drink some tea and relax, enjoy yourselves."

***

Grey walked out of the skyscraper feeling refreshed, stretching his limbs. While he awaited his new driver, Maxwell approached him. "You may think you're untouchable, but you're not, Alyx.

Family comes before money, and you're not family yet. If you move or break our laws or customs, you'll go down in flames. The Lycans want you; they don't need you. Don't forget that."

"Family comes before money," Grey chuckled. "That's rich coming from you, Maxwell. It's also ironic. Underbosses must generate 7,500,000 credits quarterly to retain their position. Aren't you a few months too early to determine whether you need me?"

Maxwell shuddered after hearing the question, indicating the teen knew his game and was challenging him openly. "If I fail the earnings call, I'll get demoted," he swallowed. "However, I'll remain a captain, and you'll remain my property. You can't buy your way into our family, you brat."

Grey chuckled chillingly, gazing at him with mocking eyes, "Money can buy you anything, Maxwell—you should know that better than anyone," he smiled ominously. "It bought you your position, properties, power, popularity, personality—and even a person.

I plan to do the same. Look forward to it, Maxwell."

Maxwell's eyes blazed. "Are you threatening me?"

"Oh, look; this is my ride," Grey smiled relaxedly. "I suggest you reflect on [your] place. Once you realize that chronic poison won't solve your problems, you'll recognize how fucked you are."

Maxwell felt a sense of foreboding seep into his muscles. The timing of his healing and breaking free seemed preordained, as if he knew all along but waited until he was five moves from checkmate.

"You know that crushing sense of powerlessness you're feeling?" Grey smiled, taking a deep breath. "Savor it, Maxwell. Though it's not as fresh as when you're five, I'm sure it ages well. It's a shame I'll never get to experience it."

Without further discussion, he opened the car door with a caustic smile that could eat through steel, got inside, and drove away.

Maxwell felt a black hole in his stomach, pulling and twisting his intestines. Grey had shattered the confidence he had that he could outmaneuver him, feeling raw force was the only option. "Forget money, my position, and racket," he shivered. "I need to kill that boy before he kills me."

He couldn't help but think that's what the teen was leading him down that path. Yet, his spirit was broken, crushed under the weight of his past transgressions.

Alyx Grey was the reaper. If Maxwell didn't eliminate him, he'd reap what the man had sown.

***

Grey collapsed onto the luxurious poster bed in a five-story hotel on the upscale side of town, a far cry from the broken twin-sized mattress in his windowless room.

"Oh, the money I'll make and what I'll do to you with it, Maxwell," the teen laughed malevolently, drifting into sleep.

***

He awoke at 5 am the next morning with a well-rested expression and a primal look in his eyes. There was something he had to do before the launch.

"Now then, let's read this game guide, shall we?" Grey grinned. "Tell me your secrets, Myriad Online."

The teen closed his eyes and casually read the Myriad Online game guide from memory, chuckling for hours about his unfair advantage.

Ten minutes before the launch, Grey gazed longingly at the top-of-the-line nerve gear helmet and nutrition kit the Lycans had bought for him. In his hand, he held a hundred-credit visor.

The latter came with a chilling note: "We'll register your professional character and handle your work. Create your real account with the burner nerve gear. Good luck."

He was bitter that Casper wanted him to play but wouldn't let him do it full-time as a criminal. Regardless, he put on the gear and closed his eyes. "Let's go."

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Welcome back, Greed! May your road to godhood be paved with fortune.

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A familiar wave of pain assaulted his mind, making his brain feel like it was splitting. He tried to hold his head, but his arms disappeared, his vision got hazy, and he lost consciousness.