pairing: kaisoo, kray, baekyeol [ot12]
genre: romance, action, angst
part: prologue / 3
summary: you can't decipher the bottom line from here.
the code of silence
A million other worlds exists inside our little planet. The Cosa Nostras however, are in a different league of their own. A home for the wrong truths and the right lies. Thousands and thousands of relationships are getting tangled in grounds brimming with suspicion, treachery, and blood spilled over concrete. History of the Mafiosos are written down in brown aging paper, but just because they’re finalized in ink doesn’t make them factual.
Right now, in the midst of the rapidly advancing technology, in the corners of places where people gather, in the creases of a stranger’s memory—who have no idea who they were behind glib speeches and deep-set eyes that seemed too enchanting too decipher, there hides a group of individuals competing for a certain rank. Elusive beings who camouflage their crimson sins and dark deeds with secretive smiles.
They’re still here.
Yes, the mafiosos.
Having been born to a family with an intimidating history, it’s second nature for a man like Kim Jongin to witness life fade out of his victim’s eyes after shooting them unmercifully once, twice, thrice, a hundred times too many. Underlings, business partners, connections, and friends meant nothing to him but his current allies and future enemies.
Heavy rain falls fast; unmerciful towards pedestrians scampering about the streets with their bright umbrellas in contrast with the dark and gloomy skies. Raindrops create their own melody as they meet gravel, concrete, fabric and skin; letting nothing remain dry. Jongin wanted to believe he was like rain in a way. But that childlike fantasy only remained in his head for a very short while. His two years in an asylum shattered all positive notions he had about the world, leaving bitterness to poison the walls of his mind.
People are rushing to go under sheltered places. Jongin remains rooted to where he is, allowing liquid to soak through his clothes and flesh. He smiles. The odd feeling in his cheeks reminding him how long it's been since they've expressed bliss. But then again, it wasn't like he had much to be happy about.
The tires of a black Mercedes Sedan screeches to a halt in front of him. He gets inside and makes himself comfortable, all within two seconds. He knows that Sehun doesn’t like waiting. And he doesn’t want to wait for Sehun, too. The car smells like citrus and upholstery overpowered by something like rusted metal. Jongin suspects it’s got something to do with guns and blood.
The chauffeur, wearing a proper tuxedo, fixes the rear view mirror until it’s in the right angle for Jongin’s gaze to meet his. “Welcome back.”
Leaning his head against the seat, Jongin groans. “Wipe that stupid smile off your face.”
“Nice to see you, too.” Jongdae replies, hands gripping the steering wheel as he maneuvers the car smoothly down the busy road. Once again, Jongin wonders how his friend Jongdae could do that effortlessly while they’re driving in the speed of light—that’s what he thinks, anyway. “I could see that you haven’t changed at all. Still the grumpy and burnt Jongin.”
“You changed,” Tanned fingers point to Jongdae’s reflection. The laugh lines that were once prevalent near Jongdae’s mouth are now fading. There are dark rings underneath dull, dark brown eyes that used to be blazing as if there was fire behind his pupils. His friend looks like he’s thirty-two instead of twenty-two.
Jongin doesn’t miss Jongdae’s hands as they tighten around the wheel, his jaw as it turns taut, and the anguish in his voice as he speaks, “They killed him. They killed Minseok. Two months ago. Shot him nine times, dragged him to the middle of the street, and then ran over his body with a car back and forth. Back and forth. With witnesses, of course. You know that the familia mannoia likes putting on sick shows.”
Lips pressed tight against each other, neither of them bothering to utter words out. Jongin lets the low rumble of the engine beneath him break the silence. Muttering sorry won’t cut it. After all, this is what they signed up for: heaps and heaps of dirty cash stained with violence, respect earned through intimidation, losing the ones you love, and having to constantly look over your back to make sure there aren't any knives digging in there. When Jongin asks his next question, he’s looking out of the window as the street lights blur past them. “And Sehun? What did he say about it?”
Jongdae chuckles, the kind of chuckle you’d most likely hear from a cartoon villain.
“An eye for eye, Jongdae. An eye for eye.”