[April 15th, 2024]
Vito crouched over Rey's motionless form and smiled like a hunter who'd closed a deal.
The kid had talked big. Bold speeches about justice and the rich versus the poor. Vito had expected a scrap. What lay at his feet looked like a boy who'd been pummeled for sport.
"Get up," Vito ordered, boot heel digging into the pavement as he tugged Rey's shoulder.
Rey stayed still — a hollow log under the streetlamp, chest barely rising.
A goon bent down, checked for breath, and straightened, relief flattening his face. "Not dead. Just knocked out."
Vito flicked his cigarette into the gutter and glanced at his men. Business, nothing personal.
He thumbed his phone and dialed the client.
Inside a dim VIP room, glass in hand and music pulsing through the leather seats, Jonny didn't hear the first call.
The second one cut through the bass. He scooped up the phone, voice thick with wine and bravado. "Yeah? Is it done?"
Vito's voice on the line was flat. "He's down. Lying there."
Jonny's grin sharpened. "Send a picture. I want to see him crushed."
Vito answered with a curt chuckle and hung up.
Back on the street, the leader crouched lower, enjoying the scene. "Today's your bad day, kid. Rich boy's coming. You're gonna get more than bruises."
He reached for Rey's hair and pulled his head up so the man could see the boy's face.
The envelope message pinged on Jonny's phone with coordinates.
The rich kid tightened his tie and left the club without a second thought.
Jonny arrived in a rush and found the controlled chaos Vito loved to stage—two cars blocking the lane, a handful of thugs lounging like referees, and Rey sprawled on the ground.
"Perfect," Jonny breathed, chest heaving with that old, eager rage.
He stepped closer, boots crunching over broken cigarettes. "Do you see now? This is what happens when someone disrespects me." His smile was a scalpel.
Vito watched Jonny with thin patience. "Check the body. Let's go before the cops smell something."
Jonny moved in for the finishing act, posture all venom and swagger.
Then something snapped.
A sharp, animal noise echoed from beneath Jonny's boot. He yelped. Pain lanced his ankle.
He looked down.
Rey — blood on his lip, skin cut, clothes torn, and mud-smeared — gripped Jonny's leg so fiercely the rich kid went pale.
Rey rose like a man who'd slept through the worst and just woken to business.
He brushed dust from his jacket with slow, deliberate hands, then wiped the shoe-print from his cheek with the corner of a handkerchief.
Rey's smile was small, dangerous, calm.
"Nice trap," he murmured, voice low and steady. "Mouse wandered right into it."
Jonny scrambled backward, eyes wide, the grin collapsing into real fear.
"Help me," he barked at Vito, scrambling for the comfort of hired muscle.
Vito's face registered a twitch — annoyance more than loyalty.
He straightened, folded his arms, and let the silence hang.
"You wanted me to finish him?" Vito's jaw worked. "Not my job anymore." His glance slid to his men, then right back to Jonny. "You pay enough to stage a beating, not to die for it. I'm not getting my hands dirty. Walk away, kid."
Shock cracked through Jonny. The cheap confidence he'd counted on evaporated.
Around them, the circle of thugs shifted uneasily. Aiden's voice, cold and amused in Rey's head, threaded like a blade: 'Good. Let the boss show his teeth.'
Rey didn't move. He kept Jonny's ankle caught beneath his hand, eyes level, unreadable.
Vito's men started to step back.
Jonny's lip trembled. He lunged, half in fury, half in disbelief — and stalled when a glint of something sharp flashed in Rey's fingers.
The street smelled like smoke and iron. The city hummed obliviously beyond the alley.
Rey's breath was steady. The math was simple: one wrong move and the lines between hunter and hunted would blur forever.
Vito's eyes flicked to the retreating shadows of his own crew.
An empty promise. A broken transaction. The boss had washed his hands.
Jonny went white as the truth landed: he'd funded a spectacle and hired cowards.
Rey's smile thinned to a blade's edge.
"You made a mistake," he said, voice as cold as stone.
Vito shrugged, like a man dismissing a small puddle. "Wrong audience, kid. I warned you."
The street waited for the next motion. The world narrowed to breath, muscle, and intention.
Then — a soft, amused sigh from Rey's side. Aiden's plan, finally moving pieces in a way the thugs hadn't expected.
Whatever came next would not be simple street justice.
-To Be Continued-
What happens now — mercy, retribution, or exposure? The next moment will decide how many secrets stay buried.