One glance, and Jay could see that Vincent was barely conscious.
"Vincent, are you okay?" he asked calmly.
"Y-yeah," Vincent managed to raise his head. If Jay had come any later, Alen would have definitely beaten him to death.
"So now, tell me, what the hell is going on?" Jay demanded.
"I'll tell you," Don Angel said, stepping out from the bar.
Alen clenched his teeth in frustration as Don Angel emerged. He had planned to leave before anyone else got involved, but now it wasn't just Jay—Don Angel himself had appeared.
"Vinnie here found our mole," Don Angel said with a smile. "Good work."
"Jay, check his condition. I'll handle this rat," he said, turning his attention to Alen.
Alen tensed. Things had turned into the worst-case scenario.
"You think I'm scared of you?!" he shouted. "You think you can take me down?!"
"Why are you yelling? I haven't even done anything yet," Don Angel chuckled. It sounded casual, but to Alen, the man looked twisted.
He hadn't even made a move, yet Alen felt like the walls were closing in on him. He needed to get out of there. But as he turned to leave, he found Gutter blocking his path.
"Shit!"
Alen realized he had no other choice but to fight. Summoning his courage, he charged at Don Angel—a decision he'd regret almost instantly.
Don Angel effortlessly caught his fist mid-swing and drove his elbow forward, resulting in a loud crack.
"Ahhh!!!" Alen screamed. His left arm now bent unnaturally, completely broken at the elbow joint.
"Calm down. Don't be so loud—you attacked me first," Don Angel sighed, grabbing Alen's face and slamming him into the floor.
Vincent, still reeling, was as stunned as Alen. Watching Don Angel take down someone he couldn't even land a punch on, in mere seconds was almost unreal. Don Angel wasn't just strong. He was terrifying.
And he wasn't done.
He pressed down on Alen's jaw until another crack rang out. With sheer grip strength, he crushed it. This time, Alen couldn't even scream—the pain was beyond anything he'd felt.
"Shhhh. Don't make a sound," Don Angel whispered into his ear.
His breath sent a cold shiver down Alen's spine. His death felt certain, yet Alen didn't dare cry out. Every ounce of willpower was focused on enduring. Even if death was inevitable, disobeying Don Angel felt worse.
"I'm going to let you go," Don Angel said. "Tell Marxon that the Yellowsaber doesn't want war with the Triad."
He stood up, wiping his hands with a cloth.
"But since you messed with one of my men, I'll have to take one more thing," he added—and stomped down on Alen's left knee. Another loud crack echoed.
Alen muffled his screams with his own hand as tears streamed down his face. He passed out shortly after.
"Put him in a cab and send him to Triad territory," Don Angel instructed.
"Yes, boss," Gutter nodded, flinging Alen over his shoulder before leaving.
"If he's lucky, he'll be able to fix everything," Don Angel chuckled.
"Boss… are you sure about that?" Jay asked.
"Yeah. I only broke a few bones—nothing permanent," he replied.
"Not that. I mean letting him go. He could return with valuable intel about the gang," Jay said.
"Don't worry about that. For now, we need to do everything we can to avoid all-out war with the Triad," Don Angel said.
Then he turned to Vincent. "How are you, Vinnie?"
Vincent's brows furrowed slightly. 'Was he actually concerned about my well-being?'
"I'm fine… I recover quickly," Vincent said.
"Good. Jay will take you home so you can rest," Don Angel said calmly.
"O-okay…"
---
On the way back, Vincent didn't know when he passed out. The next time he came to, his head was resting on something soft—and above him was a pair of large breasts. From this angle, he could barely make out the woman's face.
"Emily?" he murmured weakly.
"You're finally up," she said, combing her fingers through his hair as he lay on her lap.
It took Vincent only a second to spring upright. They were on the couch, and no one else was around.
"Thank God you're awake," she sighed. "But you shouldn't move around too much."
She'd applied bandages and placed a cool cloth on his forehead.
'Was she… taking care of me?' Vincent wondered.
She got up and headed to the kitchen.
'Shit. If I'd known, I wouldn't have gotten up so quickly'
When she returned, she brought a plate of food.
"It's chicken soup. Drink some, it'll help you feel better," she said, handing him the plate.
Seeing her take care of him like this, Vincent was immediately reminded of the one time she'd looked after him when he was sick. It was just once—right before she ran off with his money. Yet it still left him feeling warm inside.
'Back then, she had black hair, not pink but she still looked the same… so pretty'
"Thank you," Vincent said, before taking a spoonful.
It was nice… and oddly nostalgic.
She did everything without showing emotion, so Vincent could only guess her reasons. Maybe Don Angel told her to… or maybe she actually cared. He wanted to ask, but it felt too corny to say out loud.
So he ate in silence while she sat nearby, watching him.
"What are you doing here, Vincent?" she finally asked. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"
"Is it… because of the money?"
'Money?' Vincent wondered.
"Isn't that the same reason you're here?" he replied.
"It's different. All I have to do is stay put for Don Angel. I don't get beaten up by scary men and come home all bruised."
"You're not safe with Don Angel," Vincent said. "He may seem charming, but he's not a good man."
"You think I don't know that? Just take care of yourself… and stop getting beat up," she muttered, then stood up and went to her room.