Episode Ten
Japanese Castle, San Joe,
Soft, graceful notes of the koto drifted through the air, wrapping the space in a calm, almost sacred stillness. The room, adorned with intricate artifacts and sculptures steeped in centuries of Japanese history, felt like a living memory.
A woman in a flowing kimono moved with quiet elegance across the room, her every step echoing a story of tradition. Opposite her, an elderly man sat in peaceful silence, sipping chrysanthemum tea with a thoughtful gaze. The bartender kept a respectful eye on him, always ready to refill his cup. Nearby, a harpist played, each pluck of her strings casting an almost magical spell, as though she was summoning echoes from the past.
Nathan approached with a respectful bow, his voice low and reverent.
*"Konnichiwa," he greeted.
=(Good day).
The old man's eyes—sharp, calm, and impossibly knowing—met his. He gave a slight nod, motioning for Nathan to sit. Without hesitation, Nathan folded his legs and settled on the floor across from him. The old man poured a fresh cup of tea and handed it to Nathan, who received it with another bow before taking a sip.
"You've failed, Nathan," the old man said quietly, the weight of his words sinking deep. "I warned you about Mark. He wasn't the one for this. Now the Cruise sees an opening. They'll mock the Montenegros—just as I predicted."
Nathan's jaw clenched. His voice trembled with fury. "Allow me to fix this. Let me deal with that bastard myself. He killed my father. I'll make sure he pays."
The old man's face was unreadable, but his eyes stayed locked on Nathan's. "Very well. You may go," he said. Then, as if remembering something, he reached into his robe and handed Nathan a small key. "Take what you need. Handle it. I expect no more mistakes."
Nathan rose, bowed deeply once more, and left, his steps heavier now—but with resolve burning in his chest.
---
Chinatown – Ethan's Duplex
Footsteps echoed outside, followed by a sharp knock. Ethan stiffened slightly and crossed the room. He opened the door to find Nicholas standing there, attaché case in hand, dressed to the nines in a black tailored suit and a perfectly tied bow tie. As always, Nicholas looked composed—almost too composed.
But Ethan saw it. A flicker in the eyes. Something unsettled beneath the surface.
"I assume you're enjoying your little promotion," Nicholas said smoothly, though there was an edge to his words. "Don Emilio must think highly of you."
Ethan studied him. "You're jealous," he thought. It wasn't obvious, but the bitterness was there, hanging in the space between them.
"What brings you here?" Ethan asked.
"I'm leaving for Germany today," Nicholas replied evenly. "Maybe you're happy to see me go. But don't be so sure it's permanent."
He stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Ethan's shoulder.
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm glad to see you go? Or is it just hard for you to watch someone else rise?"
Nicholas flinched—just for a moment—but enough for Ethan to catch.
"It's always been about position, hasn't it?" Nicholas snapped. "You play the loyal servant, but you're just waiting for your chance to climb higher. And you think that's loyalty? Don Emilio gave you everything—and this is how you repay him?"
Ethan bristled, his voice taut. "What do you want from me, Nicholas?"
"I want you to remember who you owe." Nicholas leaned in slightly. "Now listen. There's a new recruit joining the Vengeance League in California. I don't trust him. I want you to dig into his past—every detail. I want the truth, no matter how small."
With that, Nicholas turned and left. The door slammed behind him.
Ethan stood still, his mind churning with a storm of emotions. Then, silently, he changed into a fresh set of clothes, grabbed his keys, and stepped into his Mercedes. He made a call.
"Julian," he said when the line connected, his voice low. "Let's take a drive."
Minutes later, his car stopped in front of the Predator Wine Company. Julian appeared, smiling, and kissed him softly on the cheek.
They drove in silence for a while, until Ethan finally spoke. His voice was calm, but there was pain underneath.
"Julian… why did Don Emilio kill Rose? Seventeen years ago."
She froze. Her eyes widened. "How… how do you know about that?"
"Just tell me," he said, his eyes not leaving hers.
Julian looked away, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry, Ethan. I love you, but I… I can't."
"You love me?" Ethan asked, his tone soft but searching.
She reached out, lacing her fingers with his. "I do," she whispered, and kissed him gently.
From across the street, someone watched through a camera lens—click.
A private moment, captured. But by whom, and for what purpose?