In the luxurious mansion, armed with grand white pillars, the lights were on—yet two were awake, and two asleep.
Violet lay sound asleep atop purple satin covers.
Stephanie lay in her large king-sized bed with premium sheets, the left side empty.
Mario sat at his desk on the third floor of his monster of a house. Cordell sat across from him; one leg folded over the other.
They were discussing plans—trade, drug management, and the current status of the factions.
"Three months, like clockwork," Cordell said, tapping his fingers. "Still… no one's that consistent without a reason. You sure they're not playing us?"
Mario leaned back and took a puff of his cigar.
"I don't know," he said directly. "But for as long as I can remember, he's delivered—every three months, no delay."
Cordell paused and then pressed on.
"But he must have some motive. I mean, I know he's not just curious about Western technologies."
"I agree," Mario said, standing and gazing out the window behind his desk—stars and streetlights glowing in the distance. "But this is the life we were given. We do what it takes to survive. We need him. He's our sole supplier. Without him…" He turned slightly. "…the Phoenixes fall."
Cordell leaned back in his chair.
"I understand. It just worries me."
"No reason to worry," Mario said, his confidence returning. "If the Phoenixes fall, so will the rest. I'll still be here, in my grand castle."
He laughed—low and deliberate.
Cordell chuckled too, but then went quiet, as if a question had been burning in his mind.
"Boss, I've been wanting to ask you…" He hesitated. "You ever wonder why the Dragons barricade themselves in compounds? Elk too. Even the Tigers. You're the only one who runs an empire from your living room."
Mario smirked and turned away from the window to face him.
"There's a myth in the idea of work-life balance," Mario said. "Some want to separate their work from their life, ignoring that there is no division. They bleed into each other. My life—and the life of my family—is endangered wherever we go. I must be on call at all times. I am not just Mario. That's just the name given to me at birth. I am the Boss. That is my entirety. And my workspace reflects that."
He paused, then added, "The others… they believe in a different philosophy. Compounds, distance, separation. But in the end, it's all the same. You either control your world—or it controls you."
Cordell smiled.
"I see. As intense as usual."
Rain began to pour outside. The sound could be heard from within.
"The prom should be ending soon," Cordell said, glancing out the window. "I forgot to give Elizabeth an umbrella. I hope she doesn't get wet."
He watched the raindrops streak down the glass.
Then—Ring Ring!
Cordell's phone buzzed. He picked it up. Listened. His eyes dropped.
"What do you mean my vehicle was found wrecked?" he said with widened eyes. He jumped up from his seat.
"Where's my daughter?!"
"Sir, I don't know," the man pleaded on the phone. "I just saw your vehicle…"
Cordell pointed a trembling finger at Mario.
"I told you not to entrust my daughter with that trash! Look what happened!"
He began to panic, eyes wild, voice rising. He looked at Mario with malice.
Mario turned to him, calm.
"Cordell, I understand you love your daughter. And you're frustrated." Then Mario locked eyes with him. Silent. Cold. "Do not forget your place."
Cordell took a breath. Looked away.
"I'm sorry."
Then he rushed out of the mansion, climbed into his black SUV parked outside, and sped toward the scene of the crash.
Mario remained at the window, watching the rain.
"Someone plotted against us," he muttered. "I shouldn't have put the boy in this position. He's too weak to handle anything of this magnitude."
He sighed and sat back in his black leather chair behind the desk. He took a puff from his cigar. Then a shot of whiskey.
***
In the Elk compound, Billy aimed his .44 Magnum revolver at Vito's head.
Vito's eyes went blank. Death was before him.
Billy pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet soared through the air, and Vito closed his eyes.
The revolver kicked back—hard. It jumped out of Billy's hand and smacked him in the nose.
Vito opened his eyes. He turned and saw a bullet hole in the top of the wall behind him.
The revolver hit the floor. Blood poured from Billy's nose.
Vito stared at the scene—then burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! You've never shot a gun before, have you?"
He rushed in and punched Billy in the stomach.
"You dumbass. You really made me think I was dead."
He hit Billy with a right hook. Then a left. Then pulled out his pistol and slammed it across Billy's face.
"Billy!" Liz screamed.
Blood poured from Billy's mouth. The bottom half of his right front tooth hit the floor.
Vito struck him again with the pistol.
Billy collapsed onto the wooden floor, facedown.
He groaned.
Vito grabbed him by the throat, lifted him, and slammed him into the wall.
Then he let go.
Vito smiled.
"I really thought you were a badass for a second. But no. You're just a kid who got lucky—and missed your only chance."
Billy reached for the .44 Magnum, but Vito kicked it across the room.
"No. You're not touching that."
He punched Billy in the stomach again.
Spit and blood spilled from Billy's mouth and nose.
His left eye was swollen shut. His right barely open.
He breathed—but it sounded like strangulation, trying to filter out blood, mucus, and saliva.
Billy reached toward his stomach.
Vito sneered.
"Oh, after all that, you're worried about your stomach?"
He punched him again.
Billy collapsed. Dazed. In and out of consciousness.
Vito pulled his head up by the hair and kicked his face into the wall.
Billy's head pressed flat against it. He could barely see. Blood poured from his face and mouth.
Vito stepped back.
"Alright," he said. "I've had enough fun."
He raised his pistol. Aimed it at Billy's face.
Billy gently reached toward his stomach again.
Vito laughed.
"Damn, after all that ass-kicking, you're still worried about your stomach? I've got a gun in your face! You really are a fucking dumbass!"
Billy reached into his coat pocket.
Then smiled.
Click. Boom.
A bullet tore through Vito's throat.
He dropped his pistol and collapsed to his knees.
Blood poured violently from the wound. His breathing sounded like a clogged toilet.
He reached for his throat—but it was no use.
Billy stumbled to his feet. Fell. Pushed himself up.
He finally stood over Vito.
He pulled a snub-nose revolver from his coat pocket, smoke still rising from the hole where the bullet had punched through.
His voice was soft. Strained, as he gazed into Vito's dying eyes.
"I may have failed kindergarten," he murmured, "but don't think for a second I'm not a quick learner."
Vito saw the gun.
His eyes rolled back.
He collapsed—cold and dead.
Billy looked at the snub-nose.
"I'm sorry I had to lie to you, Mom."
He walked to Liz and untied her.
"Billy… your face, your body—you're hurt so bad."
"It's fine," he said, flashing a chipped smile. "Let's get you out of here."
She teared up.
Billy gripped the snub-nose and escorted her down the stairs.
***
Billy opened the front door—
Bullets hailed.
Mafia soldiers were everywhere. Bodies hit the ground. Explosions lit the sky. A car alarm wailed beneath the thunder of gunfire.
Then—silence.
The bullets paused.
Billy saw their chance. "Come on," he said, grabbing Liz's hand.
He limped through the warzone. Bodies surrounded them. The smell of smoke and death plagued the air.
But the near vicinity was clear. The only conflict now raged in the distance—at the apartment building beside the manufacturing warehouse.
They reached the base of the forest.
Crash. There was a sound, sounding like the pounding of metal.
Billy turned.
Men were firing at something near the mafia building.
A red car was being smashed—lifted, slammed, lifted again. Each impact crushed the men around it.
Then Billy saw what was doing it.
His eyes widened. Blood spilled down his face. Liz screamed.
It was a man—no. A monster.
Twice the size of a normal man. Muscles like tree trunks. Veins like ropes. Eyes—fiery orange.
He looked straight at Billy.
Billy's heart stopped. His breath caught. He froze, locked in the behemoth's gaze.
It squinted, roared, and stepped toward him—rage incarnate.
But then, a piercing sound rang out from behind it. The behemoth turned, snarling, and swiped at the unseen perpetrator.
Billy snapped his attention back to the forest ahead, but the creature's eyes were seared into his mind.
"Billy," Liz said.
He was shaking.
"Billy, I don't know if we can make it."
He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed her hand. "Run!" he shouted, dragging her with him.
They sprinted through the brush. Billy ran as fast as he could, but Liz faltered—her ankle gave out. She collapsed.
"Ah!" she yelped, clutching her leg. Her ankle hung limp.
Billy knelt beside her. "What's wrong?"
"My ankle. I think it's sprained."
He glanced over his shoulder. The behemoth was still distracted.
Billy reached to lift her off the ground.
Blood poured from Billy's leg, shoulder, and face. Every muscle screamed. He grunted, teeth clenched.
"Stop, Billy. Just leave me here."
"Shut the fuck up!" he roared.
He lifted her with both arms, inching forward, then pushed through the pain and carried her into the forest.
They moved deeper, retracing the path of the man who'd abducted her.
"Billy…" Liz began.
"Be quiet," he snapped.
***
They pressed on until Billy saw the compound—just visible through the trees.
Then—click.
Cold steel pressed against his temple.
"Should've killed me while you had the chance," the voice said.
Carlos.
He snickered. "How's it feel to be on the other end?"
Liz trembled, her hope draining.
"Carlos," Billy said, "you don't understand. The Elk are being attacked. It was a setup."
"I don't care," Carlos replied. "Elk, Dragons—doesn't matter. If I kill you and bring them the girl, they'll welcome me with open arms. Don't take it personally. It's either you or me."
Billy remembered those words. The same ones he'd said to Tyler. He smirked.
"I understand."
Carlos blinked. "Didn't expect you to be so compliant. I appreciate it. I'll remember you."
He cocked the pistol.
Billy slammed the back of his head into Carlos's nose.
Bang.
The gun fired into the air. Carlos dropped the pistol, screaming. Billy's ears rang. Liz cried out.
Billy set her down, pulled his snub-nose, and aimed it at Carlos.
The wind howled. Metallic crashes echoed in the distance. Without the compound lights, it would've been pitch black.
"You crafty little bastard," Carlos groaned, clutching his nose. "It's broke."
Billy cocked his gun. He couldn't rely on mercy this time. He had enough bullets. He'd shoot Carlos in the limbs—stop him but leave him alive.
He aimed at Carlos's right leg.
***
Then—GRRR.
A growl from behind.
Carlos turned slowly.
A bear. Massive. Brown fur. Claws like knives. Its mouth opened wide.
It pounced.
Carlos screamed as the bear tore into him. Flesh ripped. Blood sprayed. The bear sank its teeth into his throat and ripped out his windpipe.
Liz hyperventilated. Billy cried out.
He grabbed Liz and ran.
He forgot the pain. Forgot the blood. He just ran.
The bear looked up, dropped Carlos's mangled corpse, and charged.
"Billy! Billy!" Liz screamed.
The bear closed in—fast.
It pounced.
Billy screamed as claws raked his back. Blood gushed. He dropped Liz and tumbled across withered grass and crushed leaves.
He lay face-up, back shredded.
The bear turned to Liz.
"No!" Billy screamed.
He pulled his snub-nose and fired. The bear groaned, passed Liz, and locked eyes with Billy.
"That's right, you bastard," Billy muttered. "Get me."
The bear charged.
Billy closed his eyes—then remembered.
To his left: the sharpened branch he'd tossed earlier.
He reached. It was just out of reach.
"Billy!" Liz cried.
The bear roared, mouth wide.
Billy stretched—fingers straining—and grabbed the branch.
With everything he had, he shoved it into the bear's mouth.
It pierced the roof, drove through the skull, and out the top of its head.
The bear's body slumped forward, its head sliding down the branch into Billy's lap.
Silence.
Billy lay there, panting. Grateful. Lucky. Like something divine had intervened.
He looked at Liz. She was speechless.
Billy remembered the behemoth.
He rose, limping, and picked her up.
"Billy," she whispered, "I thought we were going to die."
"Not yet," he said, smirking.
She buried her face in his chest, crying.
He followed the retraced steps. Heard the running water. Saw the streetlights.
Relief bloomed.
Then—his body went light.
Everything went dark.
***
It felt cold—yet there was a warm embrace. Hair brushed against his arm. The pain of prom night… it was fading.
There was weeping. And the sound of beeping.
Billy slowly opened his eyes. Blurry white. Then clarity.
He was in a hospital bed. Hooked to an IV. A breathing mask on his face.
His mother, Liz, and Cordell stood nearby.
"Billy, are you okay?" his mother asked, stepping forward.
The nurse blocked her. "He needs rest. No touching right now."
His mother wept, watching from a few feet away.
Cordell approached. The nurse tried to stop him.
"Get out of my way," Cordell said coldly, moving her aside.
The nurse gasped and stormed out to alert the authorities.
Cordell leaned down and whispered, "Young man… I was wrong about you."
Billy's eyes slowly met his.
"Because of you, my daughter is alive. You sacrificed your body for her. I won't forget that. You've earned my respect. I owe you everything."
Cordell bowed. "I'll let you rest. But know—I am forever in your debt."
He stepped back and sat in the corner.
Liz, on crutches, approached.
"Billy," she said softly. "I'll never forget what you did for me. I was a brat… and you still risked everything."
She blushed, looking into his eyes.
Billy drifted in and out, then smirked and gave a subtle nod.
"Let's go, Elizabeth," Cordell said, helping her to the door.
Billy's mother came closer.
"I love you so much, Billy. I'm not mad about the camping trip… even if you didn't tell me."
Camping? Billy thought. Odd. But he was too tired to question it.
He reached out and touched her hand.
They stayed like that until the nurse returned with administration.
***
At the Elk Compound, there were no more shots. No more fighting.
Just a naked man sitting on the grass beside a crushed red car. He was average height, thin but fit, white with a slight tan, and had messy black hair. He rubbed a stab wound on his lower back and sighed. Then he stepped on a corpse's head.
"Annoying bastard. Still… weak for a boss."
Corpses of Elk soldiers surrounded him. The few still living bowed in submission.
"Steven!" he shouted. "I'm thirsty. Bring the coolers!"
"Yes, Sir!" a young man replied, rushing over with two large blue coolers.
The man opened one—filled to the brim with water. He tipped it up and drank.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
Then the second.
The prostrating men watched in awe.
"Ahhh… I needed that."
He belched.
More men arrived, carrying shiny black boxes—jewelry-sized.
"There they are," he said. "More than I expected."
He smiled. "Where's Javier?"
"I'm here, sir!" a man called as he emerged from the woods, running toward the others. He was medium height, with black curly hair, a grey trench coat, and olive skin. He caught his breath.
"Mr. Garreth, sir… I didn't find the girl or the boy. Just the remains of a man—and a dead bear, its head impaled by a stick."
Garreth's muscles tensed. His naked body radiated fury.
Javier avoided eye contact.
"You idiot! You couldn't find them? What about Vito?"
"Dead, sir."
"What?" Garreth's eyes widened. "How did Vito die? He was one of the best soldiers." He stepped forward. "Did Vireo do it? Where's Vireo?"
"Also dead."
Garreth sighed.
"Then the boy did it. That little bastard. Because of him, a perfect plan failed—and Vito's dead." He paused. "And a dead bear… did he really kill it with just a stick?" He chuckled. "He's really going to be an issue."
His face went flat.
"We're going to have to kill him."
He turned to the bowing men.
"But don't be discouraged. We laid waste to the Elk. And because you submitted… you are now Dragons. Congratulations."
The men rejoiced.
Garreth held up the black boxes.
"Those of you who fought hard—first dibs."
The men surged forward.
"Aye—wait. One at a time," he said.