The following morning, Vincent went to the bar. That was where everyone usually gathered during the day, unless they'd been given a job by the boss.
As he stepped into the open space, every thug present turned to look at him.
He paused, confused by the sudden attention, then remembered what Jay had told him.
'They must've seen me with the boss. Now they're curious'
Vincent walked confidently to the bar counter.
"Just a glass of water," he said to the bartender, a man just as intimidating as the others, with a tattoo wrapping around his eye.
The bartender pulled out a cup and poured him some water.
"Jovic, pour me another glass," another man said as he approached the counter.
"Okay," the bartender grunted, grabbing a bottle and pouring the man a drink.
"Hey, new guy I'm Alen," the man said, stretching out his hand.
Vincent didn't feel any hostility, so he accepted the handshake.
"I'm Vincent."
"Welcome to the family," Alen said with a soft smile. His appearance was less scary than the rest with a dyed red hair, dark glasses, and a slim frame.
Vincent almost wondered if he was in the wrong place.
"Everyone's been talking about you," Alen added.
"Me? Why?" Vincent asked.
"They say you're the boss's brother—that's why you're so close to him."
Vincent almost laughed. "Me? Don Angel's brother?"
"Well… aren't you staying in the compound?"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm his brother."
"Yeah, I figured. I've actually seen you around before. You were always with that old man unloading drinks from the trucks."
Vincent smiled awkwardly. "You noticed me?"
"I notice everything," Alen said. "But I gotta ask—what did you do to get such a promotion?"
Vincent's smile faded a bit. "To be honest… even I don't know."
Alen sighed. "Well, if that's the case, don't tell anyone else. They'll look down on you."
Vincent looked at him again. Maybe Alen was actually a nice guy.
"Thanks. I'm still trying to understand how things work around here."
"No problem. I can help you with that. First thing you need to know—don't mess with the top guys."
"The top guys? Jay told me there's no official hierarchy in the gang."
"Yeah, because he's one of the top guys. There's no hierarchy but there's an unofficial ranking of the strongest members of the gang."
"An unofficial ranking?" Vincent repeated.
"Yup."
"Let me guess, Gutter's number one?" he flashed back to their brief interaction.
"Nope. That spot belongs to the boss himself."
Vincent raised an eyebrow. He knew Don Angel wasn't weak, but stronger than that brute Gutter? That was hard to believe.
"Seriously?"
"Dead serious. The boss rarely fights, but no one's ever seen him go all out."
Vincent remembered how easily Don Angel had taken down that man the other night. It looked like he wasn't even trying.
'What did I expect? No way these people would follow him if he wasn't strong'
That means before he would be able to take out Don Angel he needed to know exactly just how strong he was because he would probably have only one chance.
"Then who's next?" Vincent asked. "Gutter?"
"Nope. Next is the Hound, he rarely shows up around here. Then it's Scarface, followed by Crazy Jay. Gutter's fifth."
"That doesn't sound right," Vincent muttered. "Jay before Gutter?"
Gutter was massive while Jay was even smaller than Vincent, he didn't look like someone that could actually do that much.
"Yep. Jay's ahead of Gutter. His other name is Silver Fang. I heard he's killed more people than anyone else in the gang."
Vincent blinked. He tried to picture Jay—calm, and collected, with a small smile.
'I've been talking casually with someone like that…?'
"I had no idea…"
"Then there's Spade and Garo—the execution squad. That's them over there," Alen said, nodding toward a corner table.
Vincent followed his gaze. One man was placing a hatchet on the table while cleaning another. The second man was tall and slender, he leaned back in his chair, wide crazy eyes staring directly at Vincent.
"What the fuck you staring at?" Spade barked, standing abruptly and kicking his chair back.
"I asked you a fucking question!" he snapped as he started toward Vincent.
Beads of sweat gathered on Vincent's brow.
Suddenly, Spade halted—Jay had just entered the bar.
Without a word, Spade turned, picked up his chair, and sat back down.
Vincent watched in awe. Jay stopped him with just a look.
"They're actually scared of him…"
"Hey Vincent, what's up?" Jay asked casually. "Had breakfast yet?"
"Not yet," Vincent replied.
"Then let's go grab something. I'm craving chicken," Jay grinned.
Vincent drove, Jay riding shotgun and Alen in the backseat.
"You—what's your name?" Jay asked, glancing at the rearview mirror.
"Alen."
"You new? I don't think we've met."
"I've only been with the gang for two months. This is our first time speaking."
"Got it." Jay turned to Vincent. "Remember what I told you?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Because Spade's coming for you. When he does, you'll need to defend yourself. The more brutal you are, the better. Make sure no one ever dares look at you the wrong way again."
"Okay," Vincent nodded, a cold knot forming in his gut.
They ate breakfast, then drove to another building.
"What are we doing here?" Vincent asked.
"The boss sent me to collect his money," Jay replied.
They waited outside until a man emerged, flanked by thugs.
"Nightmare," Jay greeted calmly. "What's with the crowd?"
"What do you think?" the man grinned. "I came to tell you I'm no longer doing business with the Yellowsaber gang."
Jay's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? Maybe we should go inside and talk."
He reached into his suit and pulled out a knife.
"Or… we could talk out here. Either one's fine by me."