Chapter 64

'Bang' 'Bang.'

Mike raised his elbows and struck out with precision, taking down the burly Brotherhood guards stationed at the door in just a few moves. Against these untrained thugs, as long as they couldn't fire their guns, Mike had no reason to fear them.

The group reached the top floor of the Brothers Nightclub, the third floor, stopping at the entrance of a lavishly decorated room.

Mike wasn't entirely sure where they were going; Bardi had given simple hand signals—left, right, up—and Mike had followed cautiously, clearing the way with care. Bardi played with a 25-cent coin in his hand, his calm demeanor steadying Mike despite the tension. Luckily, the gangsters they encountered weren't prepared or positioned to use their guns, and Mike had handled them all without needing Bardi to lift a finger.

Mike twisted the door handle, finding it locked. He glanced back at Bardi, and with a nod from his boss, he raised his right foot and drove it into the door. The sturdy, well-decorated wooden door splintered at the lock, tearing apart the dark yellow wood. The door slammed open, crashing into the wall with a sharp crack.

"Boom!"

As the door flew open, a burly Black man behind a desk raised a Smith & Wesson M39 pistol. His face contorted into a feral snarl as he roared, "You dare mess with the Brotherhood!?"

The muzzle flared, and a bullet shot toward the group.

Mike froze, his breath catching in his throat as his pupils shrank. Instinctively, he began to move, ready to roll sideways to dodge the shot.

But before he could react, Bardi's arm moved.

In a flash, Bardi's hand crossed in front of Mike's face. With two fingers, his index and middle finger, he caught the incoming bullet mid-air. The projectile's momentum stopped instantly, the sound of its flight fading as it was trapped between his fingers.

"Do you want power?"

Bardi's voice was calm as he held the bullet up in the air, making sure the burly man behind the desk could see it clearly.

Mike exhaled sharply, his pulse racing as he tried to suppress the fear coursing through his veins. Silently, he stepped aside, allowing Bardi to take center stage.

Behind them, Leon stood frozen, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed.

Catching bullets… with bare hands?

Leon had always assumed Mike was the strongest among them. Mike's physical presence, combined with his skill with guns, had made it seem like he was Bardi's bodyguard. Bardi, on the other hand, had always maintained a calm and detached demeanor, carrying himself like a composed leader rather than a fighter.

But this… this was beyond anything Leon could have imagined. Bardi had caught a speeding bullet with nothing but his fingers and then casually crushed the bullet's head. Leon's thoughts scrambled, his mind overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of the act.

The burly man's fierce expression froze. His eyes widened in disbelief as panic began to creep into his features. The idea of someone catching a bullet with their fingers was impossible, yet it had just happened right in front of him. Driven by fear and denial, his voice erupted into a roar: "Trying to do magic tricks on me!?"

'Bang bang bang bang!'

His panic took over, and he fired five more shots in quick succession. Flames burst from the muzzle as the bullets tore through the air toward Bardi.

Bardi remained composed, his hand moving with mechanical precision. His index and middle fingers opened and closed, catching each bullet as it came. The first bullet landed against the fleshy part of his fingers, the second was trapped moments later, then the third. With each opening and closing motion, a bullet fell harmlessly to the ground as another was caught.

By the time the pistol clicked empty, signaling it was out of ammo, Bardi stood there with six bullets held between his fingers.

"Do you want power?"

He repeated his question, his voice steady and unyielding. He had come here to take control of the Brotherhood, to make them his subordinates.

Bardi had hoped to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. His plan had been to quietly take over the Brotherhood, to eliminate the leaders of the other gangs, and then consolidate the territories under his control. But it seemed the Brotherhood's leader wasn't interested in listening.

The burly man's face twisted further into madness. His fear and disbelief gave way to desperation as he flung the empty Smith & Wesson aside. Leaning down, he pulled a UZI 9mm submachine gun from beneath the desk and snarled through gritted teeth: "I'll kill you, you bastard!!"

His voice was filled with rage, but there was a clear edge of hysteria to it. He had already realized that the man standing in front of him was no ordinary opponent. In the suicide slums, survival belonged to lunatics and this man was undoubtedly a monster.

The burly man raised the UZI and pulled the trigger. The weapon erupted in a deafening roar, the room flashing with bursts of muzzle fire as he sprayed bullets wildly.

Bardi's expression turned icy, his patience running thin.

His initial goal had been simple: quietly subjugate the Brotherhood, turn them into an asset, and use them to dismantle the other gangs. But this leader's arrogance and refusal to listen had pushed him past the limit.

There would be no third warning.

The burly man's roar continued as the UZI spat bullets in a relentless burst of fire. His face was flushed red, his desperation fueling his madness.

And then, abruptly, the gunfire stopped.

Bardi flicked the bullet in his hand, and with terrifying force, it tore through the air and pierced straight into the man's chest. The impact shattered his sternum and left his heart in tatters, spraying blood onto the wall behind him in a gruesome splash.

A massive, gaping hole had replaced the burly man's heart. His face twisted in a grimace, his eyes filled with disbelief. He staggered, his body crumpling to the floor as the UZI submachine gun slipped from his lifeless hands.

Leon, watching from the side, felt his stomach churn violently. He swallowed hard, his mouth filling with bile as his cheeks puffed out like a hamster trying to hold it in. The sight made him nauseous, he was on the verge of throwing up.

"Leon, cut off his head," Bardi ordered coldly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. He turned toward the door, giving Leon an unobstructed view of the Brotherhood leader's lifeless body, as if to force him to confront the gruesome reality.

"What?!"

Leon clutched his stomach, his face pale, his eyes stinging from the urge to vomit. The unexpected order hit him like a slap in the face. For a moment, he froze in disbelief.

Cut off his head? Why?

Bardi cast a calm, indifferent glance at him. He didn't have the time to slowly nurture loyalty among his subordinates. Only violence and bloodshed could forge obedience, instilling fear and awe in those who served him.

It didn't matter to Bardi how these men turned out in the long run. As long as they followed his commands, they served their purpose.

"A minute. If Leon doesn't cut off his head, kill him," Bardi said, his voice devoid of emotion. He didn't care about Leon's potential hesitation or the young man's future.

Mike silently nodded. He turned to Leon, who stood frozen, and pulled a sharp, steel-bladed dagger from his waist. Tossing it to Leon, the knife clattered on the floor, its metal blade ringing against the ground, followed by the dull thud of the plastic handle.

Mike then retrieved a heavy Python revolver, cocked the hammer back, and pressed the cold barrel against Leon's temple without a word.

Leon's body stiffened instantly. His limbs went cold, and his sweat poured like a faucet, soaking through his clothes. The pressure of the gun against his head made him feel as though he might collapse at any moment. It was then that he realized earning that $1,000 was far from simple.

The Brotherhood had been founded by three brothers. Rumor had it their bond was unbreakable, with each willing to shield the other from bullets. Leon didn't even know which of the three this man was, but one thing was clear, cutting off his head would cross a line he could never come back from.

Sweat dripped from Leon's face as he swallowed thickly, his voice trembling as he stammered, "I… I… I'll give you the money back!"

Bardi rubbed his palms together slowly, glancing at him with a calm, assessing gaze. His tone was light but carried a weight that pressed down on Leon's chest.

"Leon, I think you have potential. I need capable people under my command."

Bardi's tone dropped, becoming icy. "How can a man be a man if he's never seen blood? You've got 40 seconds left."

With that, Bardi turned and began walking out of the room, his footsteps echoing faintly down the corridor.

"37…"

"36…"

"35…"

Mike's voice was unrelenting as he began counting down.

Leon stood trembling, his fear rising with each tick of the countdown. His entire body was drenched in sweat, his clothes sticking to his skin. His hands shook violently, and his chest heaved with labored breaths. His legs felt like they might give out at any second.

"Think about your brother," Mike said suddenly, interrupting the count. His words struck like a dagger to Leon's conscience before he resumed.

"27…"

Leon's pupils dilated, and his breathing quickened. A storm raged in his mind, the internal struggle tearing him apart. It felt like a full-blown earthquake was ripping through his thoughts, a magnitude so intense it shook his very soul.

By the time Mike reached "10," Leon's mental defenses cracked completely.

"AHHH!!"

With a desperate scream, he lunged forward, grabbing the knife.

Mike lowered the Python revolver, waiting silently.

When Leon finally stumbled out of the room, the Brotherhood leader's severed head in his trembling hands, his face was pale, and his breathing was heavy. Blood was smeared all over his clothes, his trembling arms struggling to carry the gruesome prize.

Mike clapped a heavy hand on Leon's shoulder, his tone calm but encouraging. "You've got guts. My eyes never fail when it comes to recognizing the strength in someone. Stick with the boss, and you'll get things you never even dared to imagine."

Without another word, Mike followed Bardi's trail, with Leon trailing behind. His steps were unsteady, his body weighed down by exhaustion, fear, and the sticky warmth of blood soaking his skin.

***

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