"I never meant those words. I swear to God, I never meant it."

His lips trembled as sweat trickled down his cheeks, pooling at the corners of the collars of the white cloth which had been soaked in his old blood.

Then came another fist to the face which broke his nose, crunching the cartilage, tucking the edge in. He snorted, trying to sneeze the blood out.

"I swear, he was just being a tough juvenile. He could never had meant it. Please spare him."

Another voice came from beside the juvenile who was being beaten to pulp. Both the juvenile and the fellow who had just spoken were on their knees.

The juvenile couldn't raise his head. His neck seemed too weak to hold the head up from the constant pouncing from these three young men.

Each of the three men was dressed in brown tux, white shirts, and a sort of black rope hanging down the suit chest pocket. The rope seemed to be holding somethimg which was hidden from other's.

"You mean to say, he slipped his tongue wishing the Don death?"

One of the three men yelled at the fellow who was trying to speak up for the juvenile.

"Or do I have recount what he said about the Don?"

The second man in brown tux took his turn. All this while, the third of the three who looked older than the two was quiet. He didn't even make a sound. He only had a big cigar hanging between his lips, smokes dancing out of his nostrils.

"Please spare us this once. We won't do this anymore. He would never dare to mention the name of the Don ever again. Spare us this once."

The lad next to the juvenile kept pleading.

"Oh, he won't dare to anymore."

The man who had been quiet all along spoke up. Speaking up, the other two men next to him shook in reverence. The man had such a threatening and intimidating aura, and his tough face further graced the charisma he sought to stake.

The tough looking man, who had just spoken, put his hand behind his back and brought out a pistol. He took two rough steps towards the two lads knelt at their mercies.

He pushed the cold mouth of the gun to the temple of the beaten juvenile.

"Say hi to Lucifer."

He pulled the trigger and let the idle bullet out. Pow! The sound echoed in the empty and damp hall, resounding.

The two men next to the tough man were shocked. It was obvious from their reactions that they never expected him to do it. Shoot the juvenile. Over what?

The tough man pushed the gun to the head of the other lad. He pulled the trigger. But no sound came. The lad was pissing his pant. He was shivering, his whole body quaking.

"I had only one bullet left."

He said.

"Go spread the word."

He stared blankly at the lad for a while then turned away. He began to walk out of the hall.

"You heard him. You better go tell dickwads like you! You don't fuck with Don Aiolo Family!"

One of the two young men in tux yelled at the lad.

"That's right."

The last one added. Then they ran to catch up with the tough man who had already walked out of the hall.

The lad waited for a while, his head dropped to the cold floor. But then when silence crawled up his skin, he dropped on his face. He could feel some liquid in his butthole. He was still having a hard time processing what had just happened.

And while he was trying to move his body, his hand hit something. His attention changed to the corpse next to him. He lunged at the corpse. Bawling his eyes out.

Outside and away from the empty hall, the three men were walking away. The tough man turned to look at one of the two men with him. The scar in his left cheek flashed across the face of the young man.

"How long will it take us to get to the castle. I'm not used to this road."

He asked.

"About ten minutes. By then, your two brothers will be present."

The young man answered. The tough man stared at the fellow for a while then looked away.

"Marcus will be there too."

The other young man added.

"I have no problem with that Nerd. I'm going for father. And I have someone to show to him."

The tough man ruled out.

"Someone to show him? Do you mean to say the beautiful lady you snatched from the ---"

The tough man glared at the young man and he tucked his head in.

A car pulled over at their front and they got in.

"Welcome back, Cos. Howard."

The driver of the car turned to the tough man.

"Drive."

Howard said with a cold face, shunning the driver. And tyres screeched, then glid up the wet street.