Furio's face twisted in confusion. "He's part of the family," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "And he has a big position. Loyalty is the number one thing here. How could he…?"
John's expression darkened as he stepped closer, his voice low and filled with quiet rage. "He shared our plans with Ramsey. He was planning to sell us out to the guards." He paused, his eyes flicking to Ramsey, who stood silently against the wall, his arms crossed. "Thankfully, Ramsey informed us beforehand. We managed to escape and run all the way here."
Ramsey nodded, his face unreadable, but his eyes held a flicker of guilt. Furio's mind raced, his stomach churning as he tried to process the betrayal. "This is… unbelievable," he muttered, his voice barely audible.
John's tone was cold and final. "Yeah. Considering his actions, there isn't going to be a place for him in the family anymore. And we can't just let him go, either. So the best thing right now is—"
Furio cut him off, his voice icy and devoid of emotion. He stepped closer to Henry, his eyes locking onto the terrified man's gaze. "So then we just have to kill him."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Henry's muffled cries grew louder, his struggles against the ropes becoming frantic. The rest of the crew exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke. The alley was silent except for Henry's desperate whimpers and the faint crackle of a nearby torch.
John's eyes widened, his charismatic demeanor cracking for the first time. "What did you just say?" he asked, his voice low but filled with disbelief.
Furio stood his ground, his voice cold and menacing as he repeated himself. "I said we just have to kill him."
Before anyone could react, John's fist shot out, connecting with Furio's face with a sickening *crack*. Furio stumbled backward, hitting the ground hard. Ramsey jumped to his feet, ready to intervene, but Joe stepped in, blocking his path. "It's best if you don't interfere," Joe said, his tone firm but not unkind.
John's voice boomed through the alley, sharp and furious. "You idiot! We don't kill our own family members! Did you forget the fucking rules?"
Furio groaned, clutching his jaw as he pushed himself up from the ground. His voice was strained but defiant. "Even if he almost got us sent to prison?"
John stepped closer, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Your thinking is the exact problem with this world! Did you forget the whole purpose of this crew? We're here to change the fucking world! If we just kill people left and right, how are we any different from those rich bastards we're fighting against?"
Furio stared at him, his expression a mix of pain and disappointment. He didn't respond, but the tension between them was palpable.
John's voice softened slightly, though his words still carried the weight of his conviction. "Listen, Furio. I left my own family—my blood—just to create my real one. And I made a promise to change this world's rules and its injustices. Killing our own… that's not who we are. That's not who *I* am."
The alley fell silent, the crackle of the torch the only sound breaking the heavy stillness. Furio's fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. The weight of John's words hung in the air, a reminder of the ideals they were supposed to stand for—and the line they could never cross.
John's voice rose, sharp and filled with frustration. "Just think, Furio! Why would Henry demand money from the guards to rat us out?" He paused, his tone lowering as he stepped closer to Furio, his eyes piercing. "It's because of poverty and greed. If Henry had been born a noble, he would never have had to fight just to survive on the streets. He would never have stolen from others. And he would never have joined our family in the first place."
The alley fell silent, the weight of John's words pressing down on everyone. Furio stood frozen, his fists clenched but his mind racing. The rest of the crew exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier anger giving way to a somber understanding.
John's voice was quiet now, but no less intense. "It's all because of those people—the ones who put us here in the first place. The ones who hoard wealth and power while the rest of us struggle to survive."
Furio's voice broke the silence, sharp and filled with frustration. "Then what do you suggest we do to him?" he shouted, gesturing toward Henry, who sat trembling in the chair, tears streaming down his face.
John turned to Henry, his expression cold but not without a flicker of pity. "I want you to go to the guards," he said, his voice firm. "Tell them you had the wrong information. Tell them it was a different gang living there."
Henry nodded frantically, his muffled cries growing louder as he tried to speak through the gag. John stepped closer, his tone dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And I never want to see you again."
John's gaze swept over the group, his voice steady but filled with conviction. "This is who we are," he said, his words carrying the weight of unshakable resolve. "This is what we stand for. We protect our family—whatever it takes."
Furio slowly got to his feet, his jaw still throbbing from John's punch. He looked at John, his expression a mix of guilt and newfound understanding. Without a word, John stepped forward and pulled Furio into a firm hug, the kind that spoke of forgiveness and solidarity. "Tonight," John said, his voice low but fierce, "we lost one of our family members. And we're going to take our revenge against *them*—for his sake."
Furio's chest tightened, a surge of emotion flooding through him. He had never felt like this before—a strange mix of clarity and purpose. For the first time, he understood what John had been trying to teach him. This wasn't just about survival or power. It was about something bigger. Something worth fighting for.
He nodded, his voice quiet but firm. "For his sake."
The group stood in silence, the crackle of the torch the only sound breaking the stillness. But in that moment, something had shifted. Furio felt it—a new meaning, a new fire burning inside him. This wasn't just a crew anymore. It was a family. And he would do whatever it took to protect it.
The moon hung high in the sky, its silver light casting a soft glow over the rooftop. John and Furio sat on the edge, their legs dangling over the side, a bottle of alcohol passing between them. The night was quiet, the kind of quiet that made it easy to talk about things that usually stayed buried.
Furio took a swig from the bottle, his eyes fixed on the moon. "It's beautiful tonight," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Makes you think, doesn't it? About how small we are compared to all this."
John glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah," he said, his tone quiet. "But sometimes, it's the small things that change everything."
Furio hesitated for a moment, then turned to John, his curiosity getting the better of him. "John?" he asked, his voice tentative. "You mentioned how you left your family. What made you do that?"
John's smile faded, his gaze dropping to the bottle in his hands. He took a long sip, the alcohol burning his throat as memories flooded his mind. "Well," he began, his voice heavy with nostalgia, "my mother was a maid for a rich family—the Oblocks. There were rumors that they abused their servants." He paused, his jaw tightening. "And the rumors were true."
Furio's eyes widened, but he didn't interrupt. John continued, his voice low and steady. "When I was young, I was always with my mother in their mansion. My dad… he was an alcoholic. He wasn't around much. So, I saw it all—how they treated her. The disrespect. The pain." He looked up at the moon, his expression distant. "One day, I asked her, 'Why not just leave? Why not work somewhere else?'"
John's voice softened, almost as if he were reliving the moment. "She looked at me and said, 'Son, what makes you think there are better places than this?'" He paused, his hands tightening around the bottle. "Then she forced a smile and said, 'Just accept it. And pray that in another life, you won't be a peasant.'"
Furio's chest tightened, his heart aching for the boy John had been. John set the bottle down, his fists clenched. "That's where everything changed for me," he said, his voice firm now. "I made a choice—to not accept that life. To live how I wanted to live. Not as a servant. Not as someone's pawn. But as my own man."
Furio took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around the bottle. "Can I tell you something?" he asked, his voice low but steady.
John glanced at him, his brow furrowing slightly. "Yeah, of course. What's on your mind?"
Furio took a big swig from the bottle, the liquid burning his throat as he gathered his courage. "My mother," he began, his voice firm, "is from nobility. Her name is Eve Roose."
John's eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly in shock. "Eve Roose?" he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "As in… *the* Eve Roose? The one who—"
"Yeah," Furio interrupted, his tone heavy. "I know. It's hard to hate them when one of them is my mother."
John leaned back, running a hand through his hair as he processed the revelation. "That's… unbelievable. So, who's your father?"
Furio shrugged, his expression bitter. "I don't know. But I don't think he was someone with power. That's probably why she abandoned me."
John's face softened, his voice quieter now. "Does she know what you're doing now? Does she even know you're alive?"
Furio shook his head, his gaze dropping to the bottle in his hands. "No. I don't think she even cares. For all I know, she thinks I'm dead."
John exhaled sharply, his hand covering his mouth as he stared at Furio. "God… I don't even know what to say, Furio."
Furio looked up, his eyes locking onto John's. "John," he said, his voice serious, "this stays between us. I don't even wanna think about what would happen if the others found out."
John's expression shifted, his usual confidence returning as he placed a hand on Furio's shoulder. "You've got my word," he said, his smile warm but firm. "This stays between us."
Furio nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. The two sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Furio's secret hanging in the air. The moon shone brightly above them, a silent witness to the bond they had just forged.
---
Two days later, Ramsey found himself standing outside a random inn, the sound of laughter and clinking bottles spilling out from the room above. He hesitated for a moment before knocking, the noise inside growing louder as someone approached the door.
Michael opened it, his expression blank as usual. "Welcome," he said, stepping aside to let Ramsey in.
Ramsey stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the scene. The space wasn't large, but it was packed with people and littered with empty bottles. The air smelled of alcohol and sweat, the kind of atmosphere that made Ramsey's skin crawl. He spotted John almost immediately, the man stumbling toward him with a wide, drunken grin.
"Ramsey!" John slurred, his voice loud and boisterous. "My favorite nerd!" He let out a loud burp, earning a few chuckles from the others in the room. "Where's Furio?" he asked, his words slightly slurred.
Ramsey forced a smile, his tone casual. "He's sick. Can't make it tonight."
John waved a hand dismissively, nearly losing his balance in the process. "Eh! We don't need to worry. He's a beast—he'll be back on his feet in a day or two." He laughed again, the sound echoing through the room.
Ramsey nodded, his smile tight as he made his way to a chair. Michael and Joe were already seated, their cards in hand, along with a new member Ramsey didn't recognize—a burly guy named Buffon, who looked like he could break someone in half without breaking a sweat.
John plopped down in his seat, his cards ready as he dealt another round. "Alright, boys," he said, his voice still loud but now tinged with a competitive edge. "Let's see who's got the guts to win tonight."
Ramsey picked up his cards, his mind only half on the game. The laughter and chatter around him felt distant, his thoughts drifting to Furio and the secrets they shared.
Ramsey glanced at John, his unease growing as he watched the man's personality shift with every drink. The charismatic leader he knew was gone, replaced by a loud, boisterous version of himself that seemed to thrive on crude jokes and chaos. The room was alive with laughter and the clinking of bottles, but Ramsey couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort settling in his chest.
As they played cards, Joe leaned back in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. "So," he said, his tone casual but laced with mischief, "who do you think the father was?"
Ramsey's head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat. "Who are you talking about?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Joe smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You know… Eve Roose. Furio's mom."
Ramsey froze, his mind racing. How could they possibly know about Furio's mother? He had only just told John two nights ago, and John had promised to keep it a secret. His eyes darted to John, who was taking a long sip from his bottle, his mouth curling into a grin as he laughed openly.
Buffon, the new guy, leaned forward, his voice booming. "Probably some random soldier who had a way with his words," he said, earning a round of laughter from the group.
John slammed his bottle down, his laughter loud and unrestrained. "You know what?" he said, his voice slurred but full of amusement. "I think it was my alcoholic father!" The room erupted in laughter, John laughing so hard he was practically spitting. He looked at Ramsey, tears streaming down his face as he added, "I mean, who knows?" before bursting into another fit of laughter.
Joe joined in, his voice rising above the noise. "Who knows? Maybe my dad fucked her too!" The room exploded in laughter again, the sound deafening. Even Michael, who rarely showed emotion, was laughing hard, his shoulders shaking.
John wiped tears from his eyes, his voice still shaking with laughter. "You know what I heard?" he said, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "They say she's so fat that they had to take 40 kilos of mold out of her ass!"
The room erupted once more, the laughter reaching a fever pitch. John was pounding the table, unable to control himself, while the others doubled over in hysterics. But Ramsey sat silent, his hands clenched into fists under the table. His jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold, the jokes cutting deeper than anyone realized.
The only person not laughing was Ramsey. His eyes flicked to John, his mind racing with anger and betrayal. John had promised to keep Furio's secret. And now, here they were, laughing at the expense of someone who wasn't even there to defend himself.
Ramsey sat frozen, his mind reeling as the laughter and crude jokes continued to echo around the room. The image of John he had built in his head—the responsible, family-loving leader—was crumbling before his eyes. This wasn't the man who had spoken so passionately about loyalty and justice just days ago. This was someone else entirely. Someone reckless. Someone cruel.
The jokes kept coming, each one more vulgar than the last. Ramsey's hands clenched into fists under the table, his nails digging into his palms. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. John had promised to keep Furio's secret. He had sworn it would stay between them. And now, here they were, laughing at Furio's expense, tearing apart the very person they called family.
Ramsey's stomach churned, the only emotion he could feel was disgust.
Quietly, he pushed his chair back and stood up, his movements deliberate but unnoticed in the chaos of the room.
As he walked toward the door, the laughter followed him, the jokes growing louder and more grotesque. Ramsey's jaw tightened, his steps quickening as he reached for the handle. He didn't look back. The sound of their voices faded as he stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.
---
The next day, John arrived at the orphanage, his steps confident as he walked into the dimly lit dining hall. The room was eerily quiet, the usual chatter of children replaced by an unsettling stillness. The only sound was the faint creak of the door as Ramsey closed it behind him, leaning against it with his arms crossed. John glanced around, his eyes narrowing as he took in the empty room—random chairs and tables scattered about, the air heavy with tension.
Furio sat at one of the tables, his back turned to John, a glass of wine in his hand. He didn't move as John entered, his posture calm but unnervingly still. John cleared his throat, his voice breaking the silence. "Alright," he said, his tone casual but with an edge of unease. "So, what's the plan? We go in and out in secret, right?"
Furio didn't respond immediately. He took a slow sip from his glass, the sound of the liquid swirling echoing in the quiet room. Then, he stood up, his movements deliberate as he turned to face John. His expression was cold, his voice chillingly calm. "Yeah," he said, his tone dark and measured. "But the problem is… I don't think you can keep secrets."
John's smile faltered, his eyes darting to Ramsey, who stood silently by the door. Realization dawned on him, and his stomach dropped. He looked back at Furio, his voice strained. "Oh… God." He swallowed hard, his mind racing. "Look, man, I know I shouldn't have done that. But it was a bad day, and I was drinking a lot, so I—"
Furio's voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and filled with raw emotion. "Why, John? Why?" His words were laced with pain, his eyes burning with betrayal. "I thought I could trust you. I thought you were my brother…" His voice lowered, trembling now. "I thought we were a family."
John raised his hands in a placating gesture, his tone desperate. "Look, Furio, it was just a joke. We were just joking around. No need to be upset about it."
Those words hit Furio like a spear to the chest. His vision of John—the man he had admired, the leader he had trusted—shattered before his eyes. The room seemed to close in around him, the weight of John's betrayal crushing him.
"A joke?" Furio said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He chuckled darkly, the sound hollow and bitter, as he ran his hands over his face. "It was all just a funny joke…" He laughed again, but there was no humor in it—only pain and disbelief.
John let out a sigh of relief, mistaking Furio's reaction for acceptance. He stepped closer, his tone light and conciliatory. "I'm glad you understand, Furio. Now let's put all of this behind us and focus on how we can pull this heist off. So, I want to—"
Before he could finish, Furio's hand shot out, grabbing a plate from the table beside him. In one swift, brutal motion, he slammed it into John's face. The force was so powerful that the plate shattered on impact, shards scattering across the floor.
John crumpled to the ground, clutching his face as a bloodcurdling scream tore from his throat. "My eyes!" he wailed, his voice raw with agony. "It's in my fucking eyes!" He rolled on the floor, his hands pressed to his face as tears and blood streamed down his cheeks.
Furio stood over him, his chest heaving.
It was too late for words. Too late for apologies. The only emotion Furio could feel now was rage.
It burned through him like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. The man he had once admired, the leader he had trusted, now lay broken at his feet. But Furio felt no remorse.
Furio lunged forward, grabbing John by the collar and slamming him back onto the ground. John's eyes were bleeding, his hands flailing weakly as he tried to defend himself, but it was no use. Furio's rage was unstoppable, a force of nature that had been building for far too long.
"What happened to *you have my word*?" Furio roared, his voice shaking with fury as he drove his fist into John's face. The impact was brutal, John's head snapping to the side as blood sprayed from his nose.
Furio didn't stop. "What happened to the rule that past lives don't matter in the family? You lying piece of shit" he shouted, his voice raw and guttural as he punched John again. John's hands came up weakly, trying to shield himself, but Furio's blows were relentless, each one fueled by betrayal and pain.
John screamed, his voice cracking as he struggled to fend off the assault, but Furio was beyond reason. "What happened to being a *family*? Does that even mean anything to you?" Furio bellowed, his voice breaking as he brought his fist down again and again. Each punch was a hammer, shattering the memories of the man he had once admired—the man who had promised loyalty, who had preached about justice and unity.
John's struggles grew weaker, his arms dropping to his sides as Furio's fists rained down on him. Blood splattered across the floor, mingling with the shards of the broken plate. John's golden necklace, once a symbol of his charisma and power, was now drenched in crimson, the metal glinting faintly under the dim light.
Furio didn't stop. He couldn't. Every punch was a reminder of the betrayal, of the trust that had been shattered. John's body went limp, his face a mess of blood and bruises, but Furio kept going. His knuckles were raw, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but the rage inside him burned hotter than ever.
He had given everything to this family, to John. And in return, he had been mocked, betrayed, and discarded like a joke.
Finally, Furio stopped. His arms hung limply at his sides, trembling from exhaustion. His hands were raw and bloodied, the knuckles split and bruised. He stared down at John's lifeless body, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. John's face was unrecognizable—a swollen, bloodied mess that bore no resemblance to the charismatic leader he had once been.
Ramsey stood frozen by the door, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock. He had watched the entire scene unfold, unable to move, unable to speak. The sound of voices outside the door snapped him out of his daze. Mother Charmine burst into the room, followed by another nun, their faces filled with concern.
"What is going on here?" Mother Charmine demanded, her voice sharp with worry. "I heard screams—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as she took in the horrific scene before her. John's lifeless body lay on the floor, his face battered and bloodied. Furio stood over him, his hands dripping with blood, his expression blank but his eyes burning with something dark and unreadable.
The other nun gasped, her voice trembling. "Is he breathing?"
Mother Charmine rushed to John's side, her hands shaking as she checked for a pulse. After a moment, she looked up, her face pale and her voice hollow. "No," she whispered. "He's gone."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down on everyone. Paulie and Jackie had entered the room now, their faces a mix of confusion and horror. Paulie's eyes darted between John's body and Furio, his anger boiling over. He grabbed Ramsey by the collar, his voice sharp and demanding. "What the hell happened here? Explain this!"
Ramsey's voice was calm but cold, his eyes locking onto Paulie's. "Some things are better left unknown to the likes of you."
Paulie's grip tightened, but before he could say anything else, a bloodied hand clamped down on his shoulder. He turned, his eyes widening as he saw Furio standing behind him. Furio's face was a mask of fury and pain, his eyes so intense that Paulie felt a chill run down his spine. Without a word, Paulie released Ramsey, taking a step back.
Mother Charmine's voice cut through the tension, sharp and accusing. "Get back here, you murderer!" she screamed, her face red with anger and grief. But Furio didn't respond. His movements were jerky, almost mechanical, as he turned and walked out of the room, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
In the end, his so-called family was nothing but an mere illusion.
That night, Furio chose his real family.