"Woah! That's interesting," Gabriel Steele purred with an amused expression all over his face.
Meanwhile, Nicholas was still immobile, staring at his father as if what he had just heard was a product of his imagination.
'I didn't hear him correctly, right? My dad… my dad wouldn't have said that,' Nicholas thought to himself as he fluttered his eyelashes, refusing to believe the words he had heard a minute ago.
"Sinclair, you're wasting my time," Gabriel said, voice low and lethal. "Like I told you, your life is the price for betrayal. I don't do trades. I don't negotiate. I punish the guilty and spare the innocent. That's how I work. I play by my rules."
"I… I know," Sinclair stammered as he nodded his head. "But… but please. I can't die now. Not yet. So instead… why don't I sell my son? He's a stripper. He's also a dancer and… and he is good at making—"
With lightning-fast reflexes, Gabriel Steele rushed over to Sinclair and aggressively grabbed him by the collar, his teeth clenched in near rage while his eyes burned with darkness.
"Don't you dare mess with me," Gabriel sneered. "I have no interest in your son," he spat coldly, lifting his hand and pressing the pistol against Sinclair's forehead.
Sinclair swallowed hard while Nicholas, who had now pieced together the words of his father and that of the Mafia Don standing in front of him, finally let out a loud gasp.
"I… I don't want to die, Dad," he stammered, his gaze fixed on the floor as he scanned the piles of blood on his white shirt, then stared at the lifeless body of his mother.
Everything happening in front of Nicholas felt like a haunted nightmare.
"Nicholas. You have to… you have to trust me, okay? I won't hurt you. I promise. Just… just allow him to take you. Trust me, Nicholas. Trust…"
Quickly, Nicholas cut his father off and began crawling backward, his gaze fixed on him as he shook his head in denial.
"Dad, please don't…" Nicholas pleaded. "Dad why? Why do you want me to trust you? What are… what's all this? I don't understand. Mom… Mom is dead… we should save her… we should take her to the hospital to revive her. They can… Mom needs us. She needs us to…"
His words trailed off one after another because the whole situation around him just felt unreal.
Why should I trust my dad? What plans does he have?
"Goodbye, Sinclair…"
"Nooooooo!" Nicholas screamed as a surge of adrenaline took over. He moved before his mind could catch up. It was pure instinct, an uncontrollable urge to act, to survive as he lunged forward in panic, reaching for the gun in Gabriel Steele's hand, but before his trembling fingers could touch it, Gabriel yanked it out of reach with lightning speed.
Nicholas froze, his heart pounding wildly. "I… I didn't mean to," he stammered, his hands shaking uncontrollably as tears streamed down his face. "Please… I just didn't want you to hurt my dad." He whispered as he stared at his father who was trembling on the floor, shaking his head sideways.
"Nicholas, you shouldn't have done that," he whispered.
Gabriel's expression hardened. A dark, amused smile curved his lips as he tilted his head slightly.
"Well, well… brave, aren't we?" he drawled. "You just tried to take a gun from me."
Gabriel scoffed. "Nice," he drawled, trailing his tongue across his lips as he let go of Sinclair's side and straightened to his full height, a devilish laugh escaping his lips as he tossed the gun on his hand to the floor.
Gabriel lifted his fingers in the air before snapping them and instantly, four men stepped inside the bedroom.
Have these men been here all along? Nicholas wondered while taking more steps backward, sobbing and sniffing as his father, still on his knees, did the same.
They were both scared for their lives because things now felt far more serious than before.
The men who had just stepped into the room were dressed in complete white attire: white trousers, long-sleeved white shirts, and tailored white jackets.
On their feet were custom-made white shoes that gleamed as the room's lights reflected off them.
On their hands were pistols loaded with bullets, and their gazes were cold, deadly, and fierce.
"Pick up my gun," Gabriel commanded.
Nicholas bent to pick up the gun while trembling, but a shoulder slammed into him and he went sprawling.
One of the four men who had entered the room had also bent down to retrieve the gun and he intentionally slammed his shoulder into Nicholas, causing him to fall.
The young man scoffed, lifting the corner of his lips in a sneer before picking up the gun as he turned and handed it over to Don Gabriel Steele.
"Sinclair," Gabriel said with a smile, but it wasn't the friendly kind. It was the sort of smile that made one wish the ground would open and swallow them whole.
"Not only did you team up with another Mafia Don and sell out my route," Gabriel began, his voice sharp, "but now you've encouraged your son to challenge me."
He scoffed and twirled the gun in his hand in a slow, circular motion.
"Take this," Gabriel spat coldly, stretching the gun toward Nicholas.
"No… no, please," Nicholas pleaded as he crawled backward, shaking his head uncontrollably.
Without a word from Gabriel, two of his men closed in and grabbed Nicholas's shoulders roughly, lifting him off the floor.
"I… I can't take… I can't take a gun. I won't dare to challenge you again," Nicholas panted. "I… I don't know what came over me."
Unfortunately, his plea was like a melodious song to their ears.
Nicholas struggled as the men pushed him toward Gabriel, and just as he stumbled forward, Gabriel thrust the gun into his face.
"Kill your father," he spat, "or pay for his sins alongside him."
Nicholas's knees buckled instantly.
One look at Gabriel's eyes told him he wasn't bluffing.
And pleading wasn't an option.
Only two thoughts ran through Nicholas's mind and it was either he summon the courage he had earlier and shoot Gabriel Steele… or pull the trigger on his own father.
The choice was his—and his alone.