Genco sat at the end of the table opposite Vito, his arms crossed and his usual jovial demeanor shadowed by a furrowed brow. The atmosphere in the kitchen was thick with tension.
Tatsumi sat along the side of the table, clearly feeling the pressure of the moment. He had barely finished rubbing the sleep from his eyes after being dragged into the conversation. Gauri sat across from him, yawning slightly, still half-groggy from being woken up, but alert enough to read the air.
Vito rested his hands on the table and took a slow breath, glancing once at the window where faint sounds of laughter and olive pressing echoed from outside.
"So Vito... care to explain?" Genco finally broke the silence, his voice even but tinged with sharpness.
"To be honest," Vito began, meeting Genco's gaze evenly, "I did not intend for any of this to happen. When I stepped out this morning, I didn't expect to see them waiting. But they were there—smiling, polite, and insistent on showing their gratitude through labor. What was I supposed to do? Give them a pat on the head and send them away?"
Genco leaned back slightly, his frown deepening. "And you decided to have them help with our business? These are street kids, Vito. They're not trained. They don't know the first thing about hygiene or consistency. One mistake, and a whole batch is ruined."
"I know," Vito admitted. "That's why I'm supervising them directly. I'm not handing them the reins, Genco. But they want to feel useful. And frankly... we do need hands, even if they're small."
Tatsumi quietly looked between the two, his thoughts caught in the crossfire. Gauri, meanwhile, rubbed his face and muttered, "They're not dumb kids. They can learn fast. They survived in the slums—trust me, that kind of grit's not something you teach."
Genco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not saying you're wrong to want to help them. I just want to make sure we're not putting our business at risk because of a sentimental decision."
"Look… I gave you all I have so we can start this business in small steps. You could've at least waited a bit and consulted me on this," Genco added, his voice edged with a restrained frustration that lingered in the quiet kitchen.
Vito gave a slow, understanding nod, his hands clasped together on the table. "I understand, my friend. Truly. That's why I'll be taking full responsibility for the kids. After all, I have a soft spot for them—just like I have a soft spot for my sons and daughter."
Genco let out a small sigh, rubbing his forehead before leaning back in his chair. "Fine. As long as you're the one making sure they're fed, cleaned, and not a burden, then I won't object. Just... keep me in the loop next time."
Gauri, silent until now, gave a single nod of agreement. "If they're pulling their weight and want to stay out of trouble, I see no reason to turn them away."
A small tension dissolved from the room. For the first time since the conversation began, the mood lightened with a shared understanding between them.
Tatsumi, who had been quietly absorbing the exchange, stood up and slowly excused himself. As he left the kitchen, a thought lingered in his mind, sparked by Vito's words.
So Vito-san has kids... and he loves them dearly.
Another hint to the man's past, and perhaps a deeper reason behind his kindness toward the children in the slums.
It was already half past noon, and Genco was cleaning the counter of his once-called inn, while the girls enthusiastically helped out with the rest. The air was warm, filled with the subtle scent of olive and soap, and a quiet rhythm of hope pulsed through the room.
Suddenly, the door creaked open with an assertive swing, interrupting the peaceful cadence. A man clad in pompous attire and smugness stepped inside, his every move radiating condescension. His finely tailored coat shimmered with embroidered gold, and the tap of his polished boots on the wooden floor was as calculated as the smirk plastered across his face. His presence stained the hopeful air like a storm cloud rolling in.
Genco turned slowly, his expression dropping into a hardened grimace the moment he saw the newcomer.
"Ahh... Genco, my dear friend," the man crooned mockingly, his voice syrupy with fake warmth. "I see that you've got some little helpers tidying up what's left of your dying inn. Quite the heartwarming scene."
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Janis?" Genco replied coldly, his eyes narrowing. There was no warmth in his voice—just the weight of history and disdain.
"Oh, it's nothing important," Janis replied with a casual shrug, strolling closer. "Just heard a few rumors flying about town. Whispers, really. Like how you've suddenly decided to close up shop. Curious, isn't it? One doesn't just do that without reason."
He leaned over the counter, drumming his knuckles in a slow, deliberate rhythm that set Genco further on edge.
"And not pay me anything in return, huh?"
Genco's brows furrowed deeper. "It's none of your business, Janis."
"Oh, but I beg to differ," Janis said, voice tightening as his gaze swept across the room. "After all, you're still squatting here with these little urchins you dragged in from the slums. And let's not forget yesterday's little visit to the black market. Silver in hand, bold as brass. I must say, Genco, that's a bold move for someone behind on rent."
Genco stiffened, the words hitting like darts. He hadn't thought word would travel so quickly—or that Janis would hear it.
Janis caught the flicker of hesitation and smiled even wider, his expression dripping with mock pity. "You really think you can just slip by me? You haven't paid your rent in three months, Genco. Three. And now you're walking around with a heavy purse? Tsk tsk. But don't worry—I'm not a monster. I only need half of what you're holding. That's fair, right?"
Genco's jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "But that silver is already allocated—for taxes... and the children. They need food. Clothes. Medicine."
Janis leaned in, his tone shifting to something cold and venomous. "That's your problem, not mine. You should've thought of that before taking in street rats."
The tension surged, an electric current threatening to snap. Then, a calm but firm voice cut through the storm.
"What seems to be the matter here?"
Tatsumi stepped forward, positioning himself between the two men. His presence was unassuming at first glance, but the sharpness in his tone and the cool intensity in his eyes brought an instant shift in atmosphere.
Janis turned his gaze toward the young man, raising a curious brow. He hadn't noticed the boy earlier—odd, considering how commanding he suddenly seemed.
Young.
Confident.
Dangerous.
Janis tried to dismiss the sudden flicker of unease creeping down his spine. "And who might you be? New help? Some charity case turned bodyguard?"
Tatsumi didn't answer immediately. He simply stared, his silence heavier than words.
"You see, Old Man Genco right here hasn't paid his rent for three months, and I'm not going to let him slip for a fourth," Janis said with a smug grin, his tone dripping with faux politeness as he jabbed a thumb toward the older man.
Tatsumi, standing firm between them, didn't flinch. "Is that so? Too bad..." he said coolly. "For you, anyway."
Janis raised an eyebrow, his smugness faltering. "What do you mean?"
Tatsumi's voice remained calm and steady. "Genco no longer owns the inn. As of now, he's just assisting in day-to-day upkeep. The property and its affairs are under new management."
For a moment, Janis blinked, processing the information. Then he burst into a wheezing chuckle, slapping his hand against the counter. "You sly devil," he muttered at Genco. "You're just eager to pass the burden of paying your rent to this unsuspecting young man, huh?"
Genco remained silent, his face unreadable, though a hint of shame flickered in his eyes. Tatsumi didn't look away.
Janis straightened himself, brushing off his jacket with exaggerated flair before heading for the door. As he reached it, he threw a parting threat over his shoulder:
"Half your rent by the end of the week... or I'll sic you on Ogre and his lapdog."
The door slammed shut behind Janis, the echo of it reverberating through the walls like a judge's gavel marking the end of a hearing. The room was immediately engulfed in silence—thick, expectant, and uncomfortably still.
Tatsumi stood frozen, his hand still half-raised from the confrontation. Slowly, he turned toward Genco, whose expression had collapsed into one of hollow resignation. His shoulders drooped, and his eyes stared downward, unable to meet Tatsumi's.
"Tatsumi... I—"
"So you did have something to hide from us," came Vito's voice, cutting through the silence with surgical precision. He emerged from the pressing room, posture calm but commanding, his eyes sharp and gleaming with restrained judgment. The room seemed to shrink with his presence, the weight of his disappointment permeating the air.
Genco turned toward Vito, startled. "When did you—? I... it doesn't matter anymore." His voice cracked. "I got all of you tangled in the aftermath of my mistakes. No excuse, no apology can undo what's already been done."
He exhaled shakily, the confession dragging itself from a place deep within. Shame seemed to press into him physically, shrinking his presence in the room.
Vito walked forward slowly, his shoes thudding softly against the wooden floor. "You know, I trusted you—not just because we had a business to build, but because I sensed in you a good man. Someone who would rebuild his life from honest effort. But now that this has come to light..."
A long, deliberate pause followed, heavy as an anvil.
"You are no longer my business partner."
Genco stiffened as if struck. The verdict landed like a hammer on fragile glass. He nodded slowly, his eyes clenching shut, and braced for the loss—the loss of trust, of purpose, of redemption. The burden of failure crashed down on him in full.
But then, without fanfare or hesitation, Vito stepped in and embraced him.
"You are now my sworn brother," Vito said, his voice low but firm, the kind that carried not anger but unshakable resolve. "And brothers don't abandon each other. They lift one another. Always."
Genco's eyes opened wide in disbelief. The emotional dam cracked. For months, he had carried a weight that felt too massive to bear—a cocktail of debt, guilt, and isolation. And in that one gesture, it all began to melt. Not erased, but shared.
His voice broke as he whispered, "You… you still believe in me? Even after everything?"
Vito didn't answer with words. He simply tightened the embrace. The message was clear: Brotherhood isn't earned by perfection—it's forged in hardship, tested by failure, and proven in loyalty.
Genco finally let the tears fall, unashamed. They traced silent paths down his cheeks as he rested his forehead on Vito's shoulder. It wasn't weakness—it was the purest expression of healing. For the first time in years, Genco felt not just forgiven, but accepted. The chains of regret shattered in the warmth of human compassion, and in their place, a bond deeper than business, deeper than pride—something akin to family—was born.
Tatsumi looked on in silence, the moment seared into his memory. From betrayal and disappointment had emerged something rare and profound: the kind of brotherhood that could weather even the darkest of storms.
"Well then, why don't we talk about… your incurring debt to this Janis? Perhaps we could find out how to deal with it," Vito said, his voice level but edged with implication.
Without waiting for a response, he gestured to Genco and led him toward the kitchen—the place that had unofficially become their war room. A room where hopes were kindled, alliances made, and difficult truths confronted. Vito didn't look back, but Tatsumi could feel it—he was expected to follow. A simple nod from Genco sealed it.
Tatsumi hesitated, glancing toward the door as if second-guessing his place in this. But the silence outside, left in the wake of Janis's departure, felt oppressive. He rose and quietly followed.
As he stepped into the kitchen, he noticed how Genco's steps had grown heavier, slower—like a man walking toward a reckoning. Gauri was already there, seated with a mug of something strong, his eyes fixed on the tabletop like it held the answers to questions he didn't want to ask. The hanging kitchen light cast deep shadows, making the room feel more intimate. Or claustrophobic.
Vito took his usual seat at the head of the table. Genco sank into the chair opposite him, his shoulders hunched, the burden of shame evident in every movement. Tatsumi slid in beside Gauri.
There was silence at first, the kind that buzzed in the ears. Then Vito finally spoke, his tone carefully neutral.
"Genco… how much do you owe him?"
Genco sighed. "Three months' rent. Maybe a little more. I stopped counting when I ran out of ways to stall."
"Three months is manageable," Gauri said, looking up. "But it's not just rent, is it?"
"No," Genco admitted. "There's interest. Janis made sure of that. I tried to reason with him, but he doesn't deal in good faith. Every delay adds weight."
"So, what does he want now?" Tatsumi asked.
"Half of everything we made today. No negotiation." Genco clenched his fists. "And if I don't pay? He says he'll send Ogre."
A grim pause followed.
Vito's eyes flicked to Tatsumi, then to Gauri. "Ogre?"
"Imperial Captain," Genco explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "He has a taste for cruelty. And worse, he's got a lackey who's twice as eager and half as sane."
Tatsumi felt a knot tighten in his chest. "And you were going to keep this from us?"
"I didn't want to drag any of you into it. It was my debt. My failure."
"But it's our operation now," Vito replied evenly. "Your problem became ours the moment we partnered."
"I never wanted this," Genco muttered, his voice cracking. "But I was desperate."
Vito leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Desperation makes men do stupid things. I've been there. I don't hold that against you."
Genco looked up, hopeful for a moment.
"But I do take issue with men who let wolves circle the flock without raising the alarm," Vito continued, his tone sharpened like a blade under velvet. "Janis is no mere creditor. He's a parasite. And parasites grow bolder the more you feed them."
Tatsumi stiffened. That edge in Vito's voice—he'd heard it before. Cold, exacting. Righteous. Dangerous.
"What are you thinking?" Tatsumi asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Vito's eyes narrowed, not at them, but at the wall—as if he could see through it, right to where Janis might be lurking. "I'm thinking it's time we stop playing defense. I'm thinking Janis doesn't get another silver, not from us. He gets something else."
"Vito," Genco said cautiously. "Don't do anything reckless."
Vito looked at him, then at all of them. "What's reckless is letting men like him believe we can be intimidated. We either stand now, together… or we keep folding for cowards with coin and muscle."
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Gauri took a slow sip of his drink. "So… when do we start?"