BIA Ch. 24

“Okay, then shall we see our special hitman’s skills?”

Chester, who had been excitedly chatting for a while, suddenly rolled up his sleeves and pointed to a beech tree in the distance.

“Try hitting that tree.”

“Oh, I left the bullets behind.”

“Sorry.” Isaiah apologized in a tone that conveyed no regret.

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m scared.”

Chester blinked, as if thinking, What kind of bullshit is this?, and then began to rage like a madman.

“Is this bastard crazy again? Hey, where in the world is there a hitman who goes around without bullets! What? Scared? Scary as you are, you crazy lunatic, the state of your head is even scarier! How far gone do you have to be to do something so stupid? Huh?”

Chester, who had genuinely anticipated the rise of “Isaiah Bourne,” tore into Isaiah all the more ferociously. Hurling every curse imaginable and cornering him like a rat, he eventually spat out the venomous prediction that someone like Isaiah would be the first to die on the battlefield.

By this point, Isaiah couldn’t help but feel wronged. He wished he could drag Chester back to his apartment. He longed to show him the box under his bed and yell in his ear, ‘Look here, you idiot. There aren’t any bullets here either! See? The magazines for the rifles and pistols are all empty? I only had seven bullets anyway and once I used them all, I had no choice but to come back with an empty gun, right? I don’t even know where the bullets are, so what do you want me to do?’

Of course, that was all hypothetical. He had no intention of actually doing that. He couldn’t, either.

Still, watching Chester go beyond personal attacks and unleash a torrent of insults over something like this inevitably made him think of Bran. Bran, concerned about the danger, had removed the bullets from the magazine before giving it to him. He hadn’t even pressed him about the lack of bullets in the box. Instead, he had simply nodded as if he had expected it…

Yes, one way or another, Bran was better than Chester. No matter how overbearing Bran acted and how much he concealed, he was still better than Chester, who spewed curses and acted on his whims whenever he opened his mouth.

Besides, when he thought about it, Bran hadn’t acted that overbearingly very often. While he verbally insisted on unquestioning obedience, he usually explained his reasons, which were perfectly understandable. It was unfair to Bran to compare him to the likes of Chester just because of this incident.

And come to think of it… it wasn’t even something to get so worked up about. If it had been something he needed to know immediately, Bran would have told him. He probably withheld the information because it wasn’t urgent, wanting him to focus on the important gun practice. After all, he did need to stall Chester. Frankly, judging by Chester’s current behavior, if he hadn’t mentioned the gun practice, his funeral would have preceded Aunt Angelina’s.

After enduring Chester’s personal attacks for over ten minutes, his anger toward Bran finally dissipated completely, replaced by guilt. The more he thought about it, the less he understood what Bran had done wrong.

When I get home, I absolutely must apologize. I was wrong, so please don’t abandon me. I’ll tell him we have to join forces and crush Chester. Isaiah was making this promise to himself for the umpteenth time when—

Crash! The mansion’s front door burst open, and men in black suits poured down the steps. They surrounded the newly arrived car, and as soon as the back door opened, they offered respectful greetings almost in unison.

“You all came early.”

Bran looked at his subordinates with a benevolent gaze before finally acknowledging Chester, who was glaring at him from a distance.

“Chester, you’ve been through a lot.”

“Well, not really.”

Chester was being childishly defiant. Unfazed, Bran continued in his usual elegant tone.

“You look quite haggard after two days. Are you alright?”

“Ah, that’s from comforting my father.”

“I see. Just endure a little longer.”

Bran stated only what he needed to say and then calmly entered the mansion. Samuel and his men followed one after another. Among them was Gilman, who maintained his look of disdain fixed on Isaiah, who was with Chester, until they entered the building.

However…

“Why does that bastard Gilman look at me like that?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Is he high on something, that crazy bastard? Why is he rolling his eyes at me? Anyone would think Bran had already become the boss.”

Oddly, Chester flew into a rage. Observing Chester, insulted and looked down upon, even though the direction of Gilman’s gaze was clearly not at him, Isaiah thought he understood why a sense of inferiority could eat away at one’s soul.

Letting it continue to fester wouldn’t be a bad thing but if he wasn’t careful, Gilman, after being confronted by Chester, might start spouting nonsense. Isaiah feigned distress, deliberately trying to divert Chester’s attention.

“Hey, more importantly, what should we do with the body? I’m scared witless. I can’t even go to the bathroom because of it.”

Even Isaiah himself was impressed by his quick thinking. He had just said anything that came to mind to escape the immediate situation, but upon reflection, this would also serve as an alibi, making it seem like he had been at home all along. Killing two birds with one stone.

“Just bear with it until the funeral is over. I can’t do anything about it until then.”

“What? Were you that close to your aunt?”

Isaiah was genuinely surprised. Honestly, it was unexpected. As soon as he had heard about her death, Chester had dropped to his knees and cried out “Hallelujah!” Isaiah had naturally assumed they weren’t close.

“I told you. She was like a mother to my father. Naturally, she cherished me like a grandson. You have no idea how much she prayed for me.”

“Oh, really? Then, perhaps… do I have to join the overnight vigil, too?”

His aunt had cared so much for her nephew, yet he had come home and asked about disposing of the body instead of participating in the vigil. Feeling a pang of guilt, Isaiah decided to ask out of courtesy.

“A grandchild’s lover is practically family—”

“No, that won’t do.”

Chester shook his head before Isaiah could even finish.

“Why?”

“She was a devout Protestant. She believed homosexuals would end up in the fiery pits of hell.”

“… I see.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not.

“Anyway, aside from my aunt, this family event is important. It’s practically my last chance. It’s no exaggeration to say my fate hangs on these three days leading up to the funeral.”

Chester finally revealed his insidious true intentions. Mourning for his aunt was merely a pretext; he planned to use the time until the funeral to somehow sway his father and overturn the decision regarding his successor.

Chester went inside first, and Isaiah continued talking with Manny in the garden.

“What do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know.”

Manny mumbled with slurred speech, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He puffed away for a while, then finally took the cigarette in his hand.

“Chester has been doing well these past couple of days. The boss seems to be doing a lot of thinking, too. After all, it’s hard to ignore the, uh, thing of blood ties.”

“Right… ”

Isaiah felt quite disturbed. In reality, this funeral was a consequence of Bran forcing Aunt Angelina into eternal rest to buy Isaiah time to recover his memories. Unexpectedly, this had become a golden opportunity for Chester.

“Grace is the wild card.”

Manny dropped his cigarette butt on the ground, his expression serious.

“Why? Is she pressuring the boss to make Chester the successor?”

“No, she keeps saying how could an innocent and good boy like Chester possibly run the mafia.”

“…”

Had the meaning of “innocent and good” changed without his knowledge? Had everyone collectively decided to use the phrase “innocent and good boy” instead of “idiot”?

As Isaiah pondered the profound nature of parenthood, the front door opened and one of Chester’s men poked his head out, calling to Manny.

“The boss will be down soon!”

“Alright!”

Manny shouted, putting the cigarette he was about to light back into the pack.

“Let’s go.”

Isaiah smoothed the wrinkles from his jacket and followed Manny.