Chapter 1

pg. 02 | chapter 1

"Embrace your death, Amor."

• • •

LAUGHTER and chatter filled the whole pub as men dressed in black suits, luxurious watches and black formal shoes drink alcohol to their heart's content while also smoking cigars entertained by the women displayed on the stage.

Israel, a man of disinterest in women, damps his cigarette stick on the cigar plate while his playmates laughed at the table made for seven. At the center sits a board game that has them grinning from ear to ear.

"Say, if I win this next round, I'll get a piece of your fortune," a man utters before lifting his cold gaze towards another gentleman. Brown sharp orbs immediately met his and his lips stretched into a devilish grin.

The other man simply crossed his legs before lifting a chess piece in his hand. He looked at the board game in front of them and then, slightly removed his mask to drink a tequila shot from his glass.

"And if I win?" the man taunts, moving his next chess piece towards the queen on the board.

"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

A chess game inside a pub where women dressed in strings dance and entertain guests from the center stage while alcohol and cigarettes engulf the four corners of the room. Seven gentlemen betting on the life line of their fortune and a part of them considers money as nothing but bad luck and something to waste.

"Deal."

Games such as chess were entertainment for them. It was the sole purpose of their meeting aside from their transaction and nothing but a good time to release.

Pawns were disposed slowly, the queen gets trapped by the bishop. Black and white chess pieces decrease and within fifteen minutes of play, the king gets captured and a cornered queen dies.

It was a gamble of a do or to die.

"Putain, j'ai perdu!" [Fuck, I lost!] the man utters, immediately getting up on his two feet. His forehead creases into a thin line before his opponent shook his shoulder. Despite winning the game, there were no signs of excitement flashed through his face.

He was a man wearing a half-mask to cover the scars that have wounded him in the past. A dead man who was expressionless like a mannequin.

"Give me the goods," the man commands and within a flick of a finger, his friend calls for a subordinate to bring out a bag full of cash.

The man then throws the money at the table and clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Fuck your luck, Glasgow," he comments and then stretches his hand for a shake.

However, in spite of his solemn face, everyone in the group already knows him well.

"Fuck you as well, Tom." He accepts the hand and then shakes it gently. "Good game," he adds before taking another shot glass.

"I guess, you've got no luck today, Thomas, better luck next time," another man comments, nudging his elbow towards his fellow friend before letting out a chuckle.

"Tsk, I'll be sure to get back at him," Tom utters before turning his gaze towards Israel. "Dude, you seem quiet the whole time, are you still thinking about that woman?"

His sharp brown orbs turned to look at his friend, however, the only response he gave was nothing but dead silence.

"Mind your own business," he coldly stated, lighting a new stick of cigarette in his hand. The color of the orange flame wrapped with warmth engulfed his eyes for a few seconds. It reminded him of the woman's eye that night.

"Psh, c'est ce que tu dis tout le temps," [Psh, that's what you say all the time.] Thomas retorted, rolling his eyes on the side. "Come on, man! Why don't you just join us with some gambling?" he insists, making Israel annoyed.

He creases his perfect forehead, his thick eyebrows slowly furrowing. "No," he briefly said which made the other gentlemen turn towards his direction.

"What do you want that will make you gamble with us?" A voice suddenly said; it was none other than Akihiko. His eyes were fixated on his brother but again, he responded with nothing but dead silence.

As he lets out a smoke from his cigarette, at the corner of his eyes, he suddenly notices a silhouette bursting into the unknown, running as though it was being chased. Israel stared right at the empty space of the window pane and upon a few minutes suddenly stood up.

"Where the hell are you going?" His friends called out to him but all he did was walk away.

"I'm leaving," he stated and quickly disappeared to the door.

The seven gentlemen in the pub, now six remained confused by their brother's move but were able to continue as though nothing had happened.

"What a weird man," one of them uttered and the whole group chuckled.

Meanwhile, Israel, who found himself walking towards his vehicle suddenly takes notice of the same silhouette he had seen earlier.

Rabid breathing could be heard from a mile away, followed by small sobbing. At the corner of his eye, he saw a woman slumped on the ground, full of bruises on her arms. He long stared at her without any remorse.

"W-What are you staring at?" The woman yet stuttering manages to act cold and indifferent to him. She gave him a death glare followed by wiping the tears in her eyes.

Israel pulled out another cigarette stick before lighting the end of it. He continued to stare at the woman with lifeless eyes as though he did not care for her state.

"Quit staring at me," the woman repeated and in an instance, tried to get up and leave. She wobbles on her feet, almost falling onto the ground. He remained there, staring.

He enjoyed how the woman was suffering from her own deeds.

As soon as the woman falls into the ground due to her wobbling state, Israel walks towards her direction.

The woman who was suspicious and annoyed by the man's gesture managed to glare at him when the man lifted her gaze forcefully.

Black doll-like orbs, long and thick eyelashes, furrowed straight eyebrows, porcelain-like skin and pale pinkish lips with a bruise on the corner of her mouth.

A grin suddenly emerges on his face.

"Remove your hands or else," the woman threatens. Her eyes were a blazed flame, it was full of life as though despite her state, she remained full of life.

Most people who stared at him would have cowered in their state, but this woman was different. She is fierce.

It is even unknown to him why she was being chased earlier and how she ended up getting beat up.

Israel tilts his head a little and squeezes his chin quite roughly. "Or else what?" he taunts before staring at her with the same cold stare he gives most of his enemies.

A shiver runs down her spine. Truth to be told, the man has a striking feature. He looked like a model or an actor from movies produced on national televisions but at that moment, it felt like she was staring right through death. An endless void of nothingness that will rip her apart if she shows any sign of weakness.

Her body began to tremble, her hands slowly turning cold. She almost stopped breathing when the man suddenly leaned forward.

Those sharp brown orbs were like knives that will slice her into two. She doesn't know how to escape.

"Cat got your tongue?" A baritone voice said close to her ear. The man leaned forward, enough for her to hear his words loud and clear. After a few seconds, she hears a sneer from the man followed by his body moving away.

When she finally opened her eyes, the man was already walking away from her until he reached his car; a black Lamborghini Veneno whose door opens sideways and a sliding rooftop.

She was stunned.

Before the man entered his car, he glanced at her for a second. Honestly, she couldn't tell what the man was thinking. He only stared at her blankly.

After a few passing minutes, the man finally leaves with his vehicle. She was left perplexed with why the man approached her in the first place, and only a stained handkerchief remained on the ground with her.

Who was that man?

ISRAEL on the other hand maneuvered his car to the dark road past the establishment where his fellow brothers were at. The smooth trail of the road brought him to a long unending path and within minutes of travel, he could feel the presence following from behind.

His eyes shifted on the side mirror, his eyes vaguely noticing black cars from behind. In an instance, he roughly shifted the car to the left, screeching the vehicle in the middle of the road, quickly pulling down the lever and pressing forward with his foot. He speeds up toward the incoming cars and pulls out a gun from within his car tray.

The moment he slid down his window, the place was engulfed with rain bullets. At every shot he did, he made sure to blow their tires and shot the front of the car to make them unable to chase further. Afterwards, he finds himself maneuvering from the opposite direction, an explosion from behind engulfing his side view mirror and raining shards from the pieces of the junk cars.

An evil smirk flashed through his lips. He could hear the sound of constant explosions, howling, screaming and the cursing of the people from behind his vehicle.

Suddenly, he stops the car from a mile away. He opened the door and slowly walked towards the accident he created. A sneer escaped his lips, staring at the burning vehicles and corpses.

The smell of roasting meat with burning rubber. He couldn't help but become mesmerized at the view of red-orange flames eating each and every inch of the people.

A blaze of fire that sparkles at the darkness of the night sky, creating dark grayish-black clouds as though it was part of the cottons above.

It was a beautiful disaster.

Suddenly, his rejoice was stopped by the sound of ringing. It was coming from his phone. The moment he answered the call, a voice from the other line spoke.

"Jefe, los enemigos han sido eliminados." [Boss, the enemies have been eliminated.]

"Good," he responded, still staring at the majestic view of burning corpses in front of him. The flames in front of him remind him of the warmth he has felt before. It was surreal. "Clear the place because. . ." He stops for a second before he lifts his gaze up onto the void.

"Tenemos otra agenda que atender." [We have another agenda to attend to.]

Men such as himself are not allowed to lower their guards down. Each and every second matters, knowing that your life is constantly on the line.

He enters his vehicle once again and drives in the opposite direction of the accident. In a matter of a few hours, this will probably be announced on national television.

He stared right through the rear-view mirror, his eyes still fixated on the burning flames.

It suddenly reminded him of the woman earlier who was slumped down on the ground; those eyes full of life.

It was amusing.

Israel Sibal, thirty-one years old, a bachelor with no ties with any woman. He is known as a man of disinterest and lacks any remorse towards his victims. An established multi-billionaire businessman who comes down to dirty organization and ruling; the man known as one of the most notorious mafia bosses in El Salvador.

An evil grin flashes through his lips.

He knows, he'll meet that same woman, no matter how many times he refuses to do so; like a fly attracted to its death.

"Embrace your death, Amor."