As the sun crested over the thick cumulus clouds, casting long, pale shadows across the Fifth District, the local bandits began their morning patrols. In this forbidden curb, where even the rats seemed to skip the gutters out of a primal sense of dread, a secret power stirred. Beneath the crumbling facade of an abandoned aristocratic mansion lay a sprawling subterranean complex—a sanctuary of cold, clinical order hidden within the decay.
A man moved with measured, silent steps down the velvet-carpeted hallway. Jerald paused before a heavy oak door. To the lower-ranking members of the household, Jerald was merely a diligent assistant to the Underboss. But as he hovered his hand over the doorknob, he adjusted his cuffs. He was an Enforcer sent directly by the Donna, a sentinel masquerading as a subordinate.
He knocked twice.
"Enter," a voice permitted. It was soothing, steady, and devoid of any jagged emotion.
"Thank you, sir," Jerald murmured. He unlocked the door and entered, ensuring the latch clicked shut with surgical precision before facing the room's occupant.
The bureau was a masterpiece of aristocratic style—mahogany bookshelves, a heavy desk of polished ebony, and the sharp, clean scent of bergamot. The owner sat upon a velvet sofa, his posture perfect, radiating an aura of absolute control. He was strikingly handsome, distinguished by a small beauty mark under his left eye. He wore a pristine white tailored suit over a black vest, with a single blood-red rose pinned to his lapel. This was Matheus Dante, the sole Underboss of the Verdugo Family.
Matheus did not look up immediately. He was the type of man whose every move was the result of a thousand calculated variables. He knew Jerald was the Donna's eyes, yet he treated the Enforcer with the professional courtesy one might afford a useful tool.
"Greetings, sir. I deeply apologize for coming late today," Jerald began, bowing low. "I know you already told me that a man of his word should never arrive later than a turtle. Only a piece of his finger is an equivalent price to pay for his failure."
Matheus sniffed his tea, the steam curling around his sharp features. He finally looked up, his gaze analytical. "Is that all? I don't even remember anything about your visit. I am not sure who is wrong here since my secretary didn't inform me beforehand." He took a slow, deliberate sip. "If you are really sorry about it, then it can't be helped. You're really a disappointing man, Jerald."
"My apologies, sir. It appears I entered at the wrong timing. It is not my intention to disrespect you," Jerald said, lifting his head.
"Good grief," Matheus clicked his tongue, though his face remained a mask of calm. "Apology accepted. Who am I to behead an Enforcer of the family anyway? You're a valuable asset to the Boss, so I have no other choice. By the way, what brings you here, Jerald?"
The "assistant" persona remained, but the air in the room sharpened. Jerald summoned a brown folder into his hands. "I have come here to report something very intriguing."
"I'm all ears," Matheus's lips upturned in a thin, controlled line.
"Take this document first, and read it. Our scouts traced powerful mana in this sector, next to the abandoned weaponry building," Jerald reported. He watched Matheus's eyes for any sign of a flicker.
"Hmmm, interesting. Who on earth would release this powerful mana?" Matheus asked, his tone inquisitive yet detached.
"Sir, we don't know yet. Our boys are still investigating. The site was destroyed by a powerful explosion last night. We're only fortunate that we found some trace of uncommon magic and footsteps. One of which, our scout stated the foot had the same size as a fifteen-year-old teenager," Jerald explained.
"Oh, so he escaped, huh?" Matheus noted, his voice dropping an octave, a slight smirk of intellectual satisfaction crossing his face.
"Pardon?" Jerald tilted his head, the mind games beginning. "Escape, sir? That implies you expected someone to be there."
"It's nothing. Please continue. Where did we stop?" Matheus steered the conversation back with effortless grace.
"Oh, right. In the background check, old arsenals were found, but the destruction has placed the investigation into a challenging status. Truly a disappointing result of our performance," Jerald heaved a tired sigh, watching for a crack in Matheus's composure.
"Ooh, that's really intriguing," Matheus responded, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of a complex puzzle.
"This is not a laughing matter, sir. Our team will do our best to cover the situation. That's why I come here to inform you of my next plan to prevent outsiders from finding the incident." Jerald handed over a blue folder. "The funds for the restructuring are already calculated."
"Is that all?" Matheus asked with an apathetic, business-like look.
"We need your signature for it," Jerald handed him a pen. Matheus signed the document with a steady, unhurried hand.
"Uh, eh... may I sit down?" Jerald asked, playing the role of the slightly flustered assistant.
"Sure, go ahead."
Jerald sat opposite the Underboss. "Here is another file. These documents have a lot of secrecy that only you and the Mistress must see," he enunciated, a subtle challenge.
"Proceed," permitted Matheus, his gaze now heavy and focused.
"Thank you. Let's start from this page," Jerald pointed to the illustration of a corpse.
"Oh, the corpse looks like a roasted pig," Matheus observed, his voice devoid of pity, merely acknowledging a fact. "One can only imagine the sheer force required to inflict such suffering before death."
Their talk, a cold exchange regarding kidnapping, loss of personnel, and corruption, lasted for one hour. Jerald analyzed Matheus, searching for a slip-up, but the Underboss remained perfectly composed. Finally, Jerald moved to the core of the issue.
"As expected, you're a really good listener, sir. No one has the same caliber as you, Sir Matheus Dante the sole underboss of the Verdugo family," Jerald said, testing the waters with praise.
"Oi, hold your horses, boy. Don't speak some nonsense right now," Matheus scolded, his voice firm but never rising in volume. "Y' do realize we're on a mission approved by the Donna. So keep it to yourself. Zip it. We must completely keep hidden our true identities from the public. This occupied territory is only known as a bandit lair. If someone discovers it, we're screwed."
"Aye, sir, but rest assured. We're totally fine," Jerald agreed, leaning in. "All we have to do is stay under the radar. The Universal Law of Mafiaocre must be followed, or the other mafia Dons will come upon us, especially that man named Hermes Archnemesis. Even though he is still a child, he is the sole survivor of his family and fully stable in this society."
Matheus gritted his teeth, the only physical sign of his hidden frustration. 'I know,' he thought, his mind already calculating the next ten moves in a game Jerald didn't even know they were playing.
"Well, we're still gathering decent information about his identity, and it will take a month to discover his current whereabouts," Jerald continued, his voice steady though he kept his gaze slightly lowered, avoiding direct eye contact with the man who could end his life with a thought. "Hmm, we've lost a hundred spies just to check his status in his mansion. I don't know if they are being bribed or killed, but the fact that no one knows his exact appearance as of now is unbelievable, right?"
Jerald waved a document with a disappointed face, stealing a glance at the Underboss to gauge his reaction.
"Good grief," Matheus responded. His tone was like a calm sea—beautiful but capable of drowning anything that stepped into it.
"All we can assume right now is that the child has powerful servants protecting him. Oh, by the way," Jerald hesitated, then leaned in. "Have you heard about the new merchant and a butler who arrived in the village a few days ago?"
"Nope," Matheus shook his head horizontally, his expression an unreadable mask of aristocratic poise.
"Unbelievable. Here," Jerald hurried to present a photo. "This is the photo of the merchant and his attendant. The child's name is Aljen, and the butler is Justin. They arrived three days ago. According to our source, the teenager has a mask covering his face and is releasing an alarming risk in his surroundings."
"So, why are we talking about him now?" Matheus asked, a flicker of bother crossing his handsome face.
"You don't get it, do you? Well, it can't be helped," Jerald shrugged, though he quickly straightened his posture when Matheus's eyes sharpened.
"I'm curious. Who is this Aljen?" inquired Matheus with a cold, calculated smile.
"This Aljen is none other than our arch-enemy, Hermes Archnemesis," Jerald revealed. "However, he is not skeptical like our Donna. He doesn't even know we've controlled this place for almost five years. He only cares to scheme from his former territory. To think he goes there disguising as a merchant to 'invest'—what a disgusting and pathetic man."
"And, so... what do you want us to do?" Matheus looked interested now, leaning forward.
"We have to make a countermeasure first. I know there's a risk of showing this, but I think you must inform our Donna before the other Capos find it," Jerald added. "Keeping the information limited is the most efficient way to prevent spies from finding out, sir. That's why I propose to keep it to ourselves first."
Matheus closed his eyes for a second, lips pursed. "Hmm, that's true. I guess we have no choice but to keep it a secret for a while." He picked up a biscuit and took a bite.
Jerald took a deep breath. He pulled out a scorched item and slid it over the table. The Underboss picked it up, and his eyes shook—a rare crack in his level-headed demeanor.
'Oh, these people are dead now. Useless pawns,' Matheus commented in the silence of his mind.
"We found it in the crater," Jerald pointed out, his voice turning grave. "I can prove this is one of the insignia of our Special Intelligence (SI). I believe something is going on behind our leader's back. I suspected the SI was working an undercover mission on the orders of a powerful Capo."
"Bullshit," Matheus tossed the insignia back. It clattered against the table, a sharp sound in the quiet room.
"P-pardon?" Jerald stammered, feeling the weight of the Underboss's gaze.
"As I said before, it's bullshit. There is no way someone has the capability to do that behind my back," Matheus explained blatantly.
Jerald shut his mouth for a second. He summoned another document, his hands trembling slightly as he placed it on the table. "Sir... with all due respect, let's cut the bullshit."
Matheus froze, the biscuit halfway to his mouth.
"I know exactly what you were doing," Jerald whispered, his fear palpable. "You sent those magicless units to capture someone—someone you wanted to handle away from the Donna's oversight. This letter is valid evidence that you initiated a mission to the SI veterans without consulting our master."
Matheus heaved a long, weary sigh. "Good grief. As I expected from our Enforcer, you have no respect for the Underboss, huh? I guess I cannot hide it any further."
"I linked the investigation to this incident, and I speculated the corpses were the SI members," Jerald concluded.
"Well, you're not wrong about it," Matheus said, taking another bite. "The mission failed because someone interfered."
"So... why did you participate personally?" Jerald asked, his voice a mix of awe and terror. He reached back into his dimensional pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag containing a fragment of burned, floral-patterned silk.
"The scouts found this near the blast radius," Jerald stated, his eyes narrowing as he played his final card in this mind game. "I remember your particular talent for crossdressing, sir. More importantly, I recognize this fabric. This belongs to one of the Donna's favorite dresses that went missing months ago. You stole it, didn't you? I recall being bribed with a hefty sum to keep my mouth shut about your 'hobby' back then."
Matheus stared at the scorched fabric, his expression unchanging, though a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes.
"The Donna doesn't care about a missing dress, but she will care that her Underboss was using it as a disguise to run unsanctioned kidnapping operations," Jerald added, his voice trembling despite his resolve.
Matheus didn't look away. Instead, his body seemed to shift, his dominating aura flaring. "Oi, watch your tone. I'm more powerful than you, you know," he warned.
"I don't know your intention, sir, but your target's body is missing," Jerald condemned, retreating into formal reporting to hide his shaking hands. "If you had used your skill, these people wouldn't have died in vain. The site is wrecked, and the primary suspect is this person." Jerald showed the photo of the artillery spell's aftermath.
"Hmm, no wonder those useless pawns failed," Matheus commented, studying the photo. "Is he a hitman? An ally of the Archnemesis family? If he is a friend, it explains the artillery spell. But to think someone is helping him out..."
"I don't think he's an ally," Jerald corrected. "Do you think the bastard is alive?"
"No idea. Continue to investigate," Matheus instructed, the mind game concluding as he regained his apathetic look.
"Affirmative," Jerald simpered, quickly gathering the documents and the burned dress fragment into his dimensional pocket. "I'm going back to East Scily for an urgent meeting with the Donna. I'll keep this a secret... for now."
Jerald exited the room, his back drenched in sweat. In the hallway, he was met by Patioche Woale.
"Nothing important, huh? Elaborate on what you told the Underboss, Enforcer," Patioche demanded.
"As I said, sir... nothing important," Jerald sighed, slipping past the muscular man with a respectful bow.
Patioche watched him go, eyes narrowed. "Do you really think I am dumb? Something interesting is happening in my district."
As the door clicked shut behind Jerald, the heavy silence of the bureau returned, only to be broken moments later by a rhythmic, heavy thud of boots. The door didn't wait for a knock this time; it was shoved open with a forceful creak that signaled the arrival of someone who had no patience for formalities or the delicate atmosphere Matheus preferred.
The Fifth Capo of the clan stepped into the room. He was a towering specimen of a man, his presence as subtle as a landslide. His tailored coat was stretched taut across a chest that seemed carved from granite, and his sleeves were rolled back to reveal forearms corded with thick muscle. Unlike the polished, serpentine elegance of the Underboss, this man looked like a predator who solved every problem with raw, physical violence.
"You let that little rat scurry off with quite a few secrets, Matheus," the Capo rumbled, his voice a deep baritone that made the tea sets on the table rattle.
"Good grief. Learn to use the door handle," Matheus replied without looking up, his voice remaining level-headed and cold. He calmly poured a fresh cup of tea, his hand steady. "Jerald is an Enforcer sent by the Donna. He does his job, I do mine."
The Capo pulled out a chair—one far too small for his massive frame—and sat heavily. He leaned forward, his hands resting on the ebony desk like twin boulders. "The district is crawling with guards lately. My boys are reporting increased patrols near the eastern border. You know what that means for our operations."
"I am aware," Matheus said, finally setting his cup down. "The explosion last night stirred the hornets' nest. The village militia is sniffing around more than usual. It's an inconvenience, nothing more."
"An inconvenience?" The Capo's eyes narrowed, his gaze turning sinister. "The Fifth District is my sector. If the guards start poking into the abandoned mansion's basement or the scorched sites, the Donna won't just be 'disappointed' in you, Underboss. She'll be looking for someone to blame for the breach in secrecy."
Matheus leaned back, crossing his legs with a calculative grace. "The situation is under control. The funds approved today will go toward 'rehabilitating' the site. To the public, it was a gas leak in an old arsenal. To the authorities, it's a closed case. What should worry you more is the quality of your own scouts. They missed a powerful mage walking right through the center of your territory."
The Capo gritted his teeth, a low growl escaping his throat. "We're tightening the perimeter. If there's a hitman in this village, my men will find him. But what about this new merchant, Aljen? Your assistant seemed awfully focused on him."
"Aljen is a variable," Matheus stated plainly. He kept the merchant's true identity to himself, enjoying the intellectual edge he held over the brawny Capo. "He claims to be an investor from the south. Whether he's a fool with too much money or something more calculated remains to be seen. I want him watched, but not touched. Not yet."
"An investor in this dump?" The Capo muttered, standing up. His shadow engulfed the desk. "I don't like variables. The air in this district is getting thick. Either we clear the smoke, or it's going to choke us all."
Matheus swirled the tea in his cup, his eyes reflecting the dark liquid. "Remember, Patioche, the villagers of Neue Fiona have no idea we even exist. To them, we are just shadows or common bandits. They fear this place as a forbidden land, not a headquarters. If you lose your temper and draw the militia's full attention, you expose the entire family's operation here. Keep the mask on."
"Keep your temper in check," Matheus warned softly, his eyes flashing with a sharp, authoritative light. "Go back to your patrols. Ensure the guards stay on the main roads and away from the warehouse ruins. I'll handle the reports for the boss."
The massive Capo let out a sharp, mocking huff. "Just make sure your reports don't end up being our death warrants."
Without another word, he turned and exited, the floorboards groaning under his weight. Matheus remained in the silence, his eyes drifting back to the scorched piece of floral silk on his desk. The mind games were far from over, and in the forbidden Fifth District, the first person to blink usually ended up in a shallow grave.