Empire of Shadows

Kent was starving. After working late into the night yesterday, he hadn’t eaten since morning and felt like he could devour an entire cow!  

He eagerly wiped his hands, which he’d just used to scratch his toes, on his pants and rubbed them together in anticipation of the meal. Saliva flooded his mouth, making his hunger even more unbearable. He swallowed it down and snapped impatiently, ”What are you two idiots standing there for?”  

Seeing the two men who had already gone out lingering near the door, Kent couldn’t help but grow irritated. “Hurry up and bring the stuff over! Don’t tell me you went out and didn’t bring back any food, for f’s sake!”  

As the owner of an underground casino and the younger brother of a senior gang member, Kent wasn’t one to tolerate dissatisfaction—unless it was from his brother. Since the day he used a bat to kill the neighbor who had bullied them, anyone who displeased him faced his wrath.  

But when a third person stepped out from behind the door, Kent froze. He didn’t even bother to lift himself off the chair. Instead, he turned and bolted toward the back room.  

His chair’s armrest snagged his pants, disrupting his movement and sending him sprawling to the floor. He ended up on one knee, the other leg kicking against the ground in a half-risen pose.  

At that moment, he mentally cursed his henchmen and doormen’s families three times over. He vowed to teach them a lesson once this ordeal was over.  

Before Kent could even reach the back room, a gunshot rang out.  

Though the McGray revolver was a small-caliber firearm, its sound was amplified in the confined space, startling everyone.  Kent, who had just managed to get to his feet, collapsed back to the floor. Supporting himself with one hand for balance, he slowly raised both hands.  

“No need for this, Lance! It’s just fifteen hundred bucks!”  

Just yesterday, he had called Lance and his friends fools, but now it seemed the real fool was him.  

Facing away from Lance, Kent didn’t know who had been shot but didn’t dare gamble that the next bullet wouldn’t be for him.  

Lance walked over to Kent’s chair, sat down opposite him, and placed the food on the table. By now, Elvin and the others had entered, all holding guns.  

Elvin herded the guards into a corner and had one of Ennio’s friends watch the door. The room was now fully under Lance’s control.  

“We heard you shouting about being hungry before we even came in. Well, here you go—dig in,” Lance said with a smile, his demeanor oddly casual, as if this weren’t a confrontation.  

Kent was tense. Slowly, he turned to face Lance. “You win, Lance. The fifteen hundred is in the room. I’ll give it back to you now.”  

Lance gestured for him to sit down. “I heard you’ve been busy all night and haven’t eaten. You must be starving. Come, let’s eat first. I haven’t eaten yet either.”  

Lance holstered his gun, tore open the bag of food, and released the savory aroma of pork knuckles into the air.  

The deli they’d come from clearly knew their craft. These knuckles were first simmered with spices until tender, then drained and fried to achieve a crispy exterior. Each piece had a golden-brown crust and layers of juicy fat. The scent alone made everyone hungrier.  

“Fantastic! I love pork knuckles!” Lance exclaimed as he popped a piece into his mouth. The taste and texture were excellent, though a bit salty.  

He looked at Kent, who hadn’t moved, and made an inviting gesture. “You should try some. It’s really good. I must say, your friend made an excellent choice picking this.”  

Kent remained still, watching Lance intently. “You don’t need to do this, Lance. I’ll give you the money, and I’ll…”  

Lance abruptly stood and punched him square in the face. The blow snapped Kent’s head to the side, leaving him dazed.  

Flexing his wrist after the punch, Lance sat back down. “If you so much as say another word, I’ll rip your tongue out! Eat!”  

Kent stayed silent for a moment, the swelling on his cheek visibly growing. After some deliberation, his expression softened, even raising an eyebrow as if conceding. “Fine. You’re the boss now.”   Ŗ𝘢Νŏ฿ƐṨ

It sounded like he had surrendered, but both men knew there was an underlying meaning: You’re in charge for now, but next time, it’ll be different.  

Kent had extensive gang resources behind him and didn’t believe Lance and his friends could withstand the Camille Gang’s retribution. The losses he suffered today would be repaid in full. For now, feigning submission was the smartest move.  

Lowering his head slightly but keeping his eyes locked on Lance, Kent grabbed two large pieces of knuckle and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing like a ravenous wolf.  

Yet his gaze was venomous, giving Lance the distinct feeling of being watched by a snake.  

Lance smiled, but it was a chilling grin that sent shivers down the spines of Kent’s guards.  

“See, my friend? It’s not so hard. We’re friends, aren’t we?”  

Lance took a small bite of his meat while Kent nodded without speaking.  

“And you know what I do for a living, right?”  

Kent hesitated but began eating again when Lance gestured for him to continue. “You’re with a finance company,” he mumbled.  

Lance pointed at him. “Exactly. We’re good friends, so I knew you’d know.”  

“Now, about the fifteen thousand you took from me yesterday. When can I expect it back?”  

“Friends or not, debts must be settled.”  

Kent stopped eating, but Lance motioned for him to continue. Begrudgingly, Kent kept stuffing his mouth. “I don’t have that much on hand.”  

The blatant extortion left Kent fuming internally, but he had no choice. Yesterday, he had extorted Lance, underestimating how much Lance would demand in return.  

As he ate more knuckle, the initial deliciousness gave way to nausea. The crispy fat, initially delightful, now felt greasy and cloying.  

Kent tugged at his collar, forced another bite, and muttered, “Give me a few days. I’ll get it.”  

Lance didn’t reply, turning instead to Ethan. “Our friend has a poor appetite. Help him eat faster.”  

At Elvin’s whispered suggestion, Ethan approached with a sinister grin. Grabbing handfuls of meat, he forced them into Kent’s mouth.  

Kent flailed, unable to breathe, his struggles futile against Ethan’s towering, muscular frame.  

Only after Lance signaled for a pause was Kent allowed to cough up the meat. Gasping for air, he realized that if he didn’t produce the money, he wouldn’t leave this room alive.  

“In the safe,” he croaked.  

At Lance’s nod, Elvin took a couple of men to retrieve the safe.  

Slumped by the safe, Kent glared at Lance as if to etch his face into memory. After a tense moment, he turned and unlocked it.  

Inside were bundles of cash, some gold jewelry—likely pawned by desperate gamblers—and even a handgun.  

Lance picked up the semi-automatic pistol, inspected it, and remarked, “You know, you could’ve resisted earlier.”  

Kent said nothing. He knew he’d only have taken one person down before being gunned down himself.  

Lance gestured for Elvin to gather the money. Turning back to Kent, he said, “Your memory’s good. Do you recall what I said yesterday?”  

Kent shook his head. “Not sure what you mean.”  

“A few thousand bucks is enough to make people like us, desperate immigrants, risk our lives.”  

“Now there’s tens of thousands here. That terrifies me.”