Late at night, Kingpin was woken by the ringing of his phone while lying in bed.
As a man of high status, having only one phone wasn't enough to suit Kingpin's stature. He had three phones:
One for work, one for personal matters, and one for emergencies.
At this hour, it was undoubtedly the emergency phone ringing.
Getting out of bed, Kingpin, dressed in his pajamas, walked out of the bedroom to answer the call. He didn't want to wake his partner.
When he picked up, there was silence on the other end, even though someone should have been speaking by now.
"Wesley, is that you?"
Before answering, Kingpin saw that the call was coming from Wesley's number. Wesley wouldn't act like this.
Something happened to him.
Kingpin didn't need to overanalyze—just from his intuition and instincts, he had a good idea of what had happened.
He needed to alert his men and head to Wesley's safe house immediately! Nobody else knew where it was, but Kingpin certainly did. Wesley had personally invited him there, though Kingpin never went. He still knew about it.
Just as he was about to hang up, get dressed, and rush out, a voice finally came through the phone.
"Here's Johnny!"
Kingpin quickly put the phone back to his ear and began walking faster out of the room.
Someone was speaking to him, meaning there was likely an agenda, which meant Wesley was probably still alive!
The main goal now was to buy time!
"It's me, Kingpin. If I'm not mistaken, you must be here for me, right?"
Kingpin knew very well that any major issue with the "company" was ultimately his problem.
Wesley wasn't the type to make enemies with people like this; there was no doubt Wesley was just bait to draw him out.
"Let me tell you the result you're going to face," Wilson Fisk said in a deep, gravelly tone. "I'll find you. Yes, I will find you! It won't be quick, but it won't be slow either. You will spend every second of your life in fear!"
"Anyone you come across will be my eyes! Your family! Your friends! They will all betray you!"
"Because they fear me!"
"Run! You rat! Hide in whatever hole you can find!"
"I'll drag you out myself! I'll smash your face in! I'll burn every inch of your skin until your charred skull is hanging in front of Wesley's tombstone!"
"Hear me! If you kill Wesley, this will be your fate!"
Kingpin's voice was low and hoarse as he delivered a systematic, "friendly" warning to Leon.
With one hand, he scribbled an address and handed it to a guard who had come up upon hearing the noise. Grabbing the guard by the head, he pulled him closer.
"Give this to Bullseye," Kingpin whispered, "He'll know what to do."
Letting go of the terrified underling, Kingpin waved him off, "Go!"
At that moment, the phone in his hand rang with another voice.
"Oh! You must be a part-time fortune teller too!"
The voice dripped with mock surprise.
"Could you help me find the underwear I lost last week? I really liked those, you know. It's my lucky year!"
Kingpin resisted the urge to crush the phone in his hand.
More than that, he wanted to crush this person's head.
The voice continued.
"So… take a guess. Is Wesley dead, or dead, or maybe… dead?"
Screeching noises followed.
Kingpin felt his patience running out.
"Hahaha... you'd better be an orphan, or you'll regret ever having friends and family!"
At first, Kingpin tried to hold back from shouting, but as he continued, his voice grew louder until he finally exploded in rage.
Normally, by this point, Wesley would intervene, waiting for Kingpin's anger to subside before changing the subject with a question or suggestion.
Kingpin would respond, and they'd move on without saying much more. They had that kind of understanding.
But now, the problem was that the one person who could control him, who could always remind him to stay focused, the person who understood his grand vision and ambitions, was the same person who was now captured.
"Hahaha, I was just joking... yeah. For now, Wesley isn't dead yet. But I can guarantee, you'll never see him again. He will die. He'll die alone."
"Die in his own home. And you… you'll witness it all. Surprised?"
Crack...
That fragile phone was finally crushed in Kingpin's hand.
"The car's downstairs. Bullseye is already on his way," someone reported.
Kingpin gave the man a cold stare without saying a word. The underling quickly lowered his head and backed away. Without a word, Kingpin returned to his room and changed into his suit.
A few of his men overheard him in the room, speaking softly, uttering comforting words in a tone far gentler than they had ever imagined from Kingpin.
Each of them tried hard to pretend they hadn't heard anything, wishing they didn't even have ears.
Soon, Kingpin emerged in his suit. Without saying a word, he walked through the crowd, leading them outside as they hurriedly followed behind him.
...
Leon looked down at the phone, listening to the busy tone echo in the silent room.
"Mr. Wesley, it seems like your boss doesn't care much about your life after all. Maybe you overestimated your importance."
Wesley was already crying uncontrollably, mumbling, "Please… please…"
He knew in his heart that today would be his end.
But even a lowly ant clings to life—how many people can face death calmly, especially when they had once possessed such youth and wealth?
At first, Leon had thought about how to make someone like Wesley die slowly, to make him pay for what he had done.
But now, looking at him like this, Leon had lost interest. A man who could only beg and plead, whose spirit had already crumbled.
Now, Leon didn't even want to kill him anymore. In fact, he hoped Wesley would live a long life!
"Yeah, infertile, but with many children! Makes sense, doesn't it? So you—"
Whizz!!
Something flew past. Leon's reflexes were sharp enough now that he dodged swiftly.
It was… a nail!
Bullseye had arrived.
Without further thought, more sharp whizzing sounds filled the air as glass shattered around him. Someone outside must've been firing a machine gun!
Leon grabbed Wesley and used him as a shield. The sharp sounds became dull thuds.
When it was over, Leon looked down. Wesley was dead.
Compared to Wesley, having three or six stab wounds would've been nothing. He now had at least twenty holes in him.
Leon tossed the now lifeless Wesley aside and shouted, "Who threw those firecrackers? Wesley and I were having tea!"
"Oh no! Wesley! Wesley!!"
"Who threw those nails and killed Mr. Wesley?!"
Outside, there was silence.
---
**Ps:** Heading back to the countryside to help my grandparents clean the house, change light bulbs, make dumplings, and visit relatives. I'll do my best to keep up with updates during these busy days.
(End of Chapter)