kane

The mob boss's office was shrouded in gloom. The heavy curtains were drawn, the lamp's light cast a narrow yellow beam across the room, and the scent of expensive whiskey mingled with a chill that numbed fingers. He stood in the middle of the room, erect, as he'd been taught: no excuses, no unnecessary words. He'd once been Kane's confidant. The one in charge of the dirty work and the most dangerous deals. The one who had the right to stand at his right hand. Everyone feared Kane. His name was whispered, as if it might come alive and be heard. The mob's vile reputation wasn't just a rumor: it was a fact, backed by bloodshed and disappearances. And yet, he'd been wrong. Once. He'd helped another mobster, thinking it would remain a secret, that Kane wouldn't know. But Kane had no blind spots. The door closed, and at his command, the people left, leaving them alone. The silence became deafening. "Who do you think you are, brat?! Did you think I wouldn't recognize you? You're wrong..." Kane grabbed him roughly by the neck and yanked him onto the table. The mob boss's gaze was cold, almost empty; the kind that doesn't focus on people, but on a single phrase. "I'll teach you such a lesson that you'll forget your own name... traitor." In that moment, he understood: the only thing worse than death is Kane deciding to let him live.