Chapter 8 - Parallel Lines

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

Serg didn't want to leave, but Shuai Zhaomin simply couldn't manage the chaos of dealing with both of them at once. Serg was gentle and attentive, always considerate, but under certain circumstances—like now—his unyielding nature surfaced.

 

Perhaps it had to do with his lineage. Despite his low profile, his royal blood had its way of asserting itself, a quiet yet undeniable authority born from his self-assuredness and a touch of imperiousness.

 

Who tolerated whom more? Shuai Zhaomin massaged his temples, unwilling to delve deeper into the thought. Right now, his only goal was to send Serg away, because convincing Tengshe to leave was out of the question.

 

Say what you will, Serg was a friend. If things went south, an apology later would suffice. But Tengshe? Tengshe was his client—his livelihood. Mishandling this could shatter his professional reputation.

 

"Zhaomin, are you being rational or just..." Serg's soft anger showed on his face as he trailed off. Shuai Zhaomin merely responded with a smile and a shrug.

 

"Anyway, you should head back for now. We'll meet again at dinner." Damn it. Even he felt bitter about his own decision.

 

Tengshe lounged on a single-seater across from Miranda, a cigarette idly hanging from his lips. His long legs sprawled out carelessly, one hand rested casually on his thigh while the other flipped through his case notes.

 

His profile was striking. Though his hair color and eye shape hinted at his Eastern heritage, the rest of him exuded a distinctly Italian flair. There was an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at his lips, one that seemed laced with malice.

 

In this rare moment of silence, Shuai Zhaomin had to admit that, even with a beard covering his face, Tengshe was a magnetic figure. Not in the stunning, flawless way that Serg was, but with a raw, sexy charm that drew all the attention.

 

Fuck! Sexy charm, my ass! No matter how attractive he is, he still beat me into a hospital and left me playing human shields for his reckless antics! Damn it, there goes my vacation!

 

And why, why, does an Italian mafioso understand Taiwanese? Damn it, why?!

 

"Alright then..." Serg sighed in resignation, gathering the neatly stacked plates. He cast a glance at Tengshe, who sat there as if he owned the place. "Mr. Brelini, I hope you'll remember that Zhaomin is a patient. He needs rest."

 

"I'll remember," Tengshe replied, casting a lazy glance in their direction. His grin was so infuriating that Shuai Zhaomin nearly leapt out of bed to pummel him. "I caused the injuries. Believe me, I'm very aware."

 

Damn it! I'll kill you! Why am I a lawyer and not a doctor?! Damn it, I need methods to commit murder without leaving any evidence!

 

Shuai Zhaomin's body jerked involuntarily, sending a fresh wave of pain through his chest, wrist, and head. His handsome face twisted in agony as he mentally recited pi decimals to calm himself.

 

It's not worth it. It's just not worth it! Survive this ordeal, and I'll hand in my resignation, head back to Taiwan, set up an office close to my sister, and stay far, far away from sleep deprivation, pig-headed bosses, sexual harassment, and these goddamn mafia brats!

 

"Mr. Brelini, I hope you understand that people's patience has its limits," Serg said, his voice still calm, though his furrowed brows betrayed his displeasure.

 

"Oh?" Tengshe's reddish-brown eyes gleamed with malice as he glanced at Shuai Zhaomin, the corners of his mouth curling in amusement.

 

Damn it! A fresh wave of rage boiled within Shuai Zhaomin. In the past hour, he had internally cursed more than he had in the past week.

 

He needed to move, do something—anything—to distract himself. If he didn't, he might not be able to resist the urge to grab a fruit knife and end this man's life right then and there.

 

Why? Why did his vacation devolve into this infernal rage fest on only the second day?!

 

"And that's why I'm here to apologize," Tengshe said with a nonchalant shrug, tossing his case notes onto the small table with a loud thwack. "Relax. I'm not about to anger my favorite lawyer to death."

 

Half-dead from rage still counts, right?! Shuai Zhaomin's lips twitched in frustration, his fingers restlessly skimming across the frame of the bedside table.

 

"I'll come back to check on you later tonight," Serg said, his tone soft yet laced with worry. He brushed a gentle hand through Shuai Zhaomin's dark, soft hair before reluctantly leaving with a trace of unease.

 

Finally, Shuai Zhaomin managed to exhale a partial sigh of relief. At least he had regained some control of the situation.

 

"Mr. Brelini, I believe we agreed to meet the day after tomorrow," he said, his tone clipped but professional. No matter how much he disliked this client, his professionalism wouldn't falter.

 

"Did we? I quite enjoy seeing that smile of yours," Tengshe replied with a sly grin, scratching his bearded jaw as he pulled out a lighter. "Mind if I smoke? Just holding the cigarette makes me want a puff."

 

"I mind very much," Shuai Zhaomin said, biting off each word as if forcing it through gritted teeth, his stiff smile barely masking his fury.

 

Smoke? Smoke my ass! If his hand wasn't broken and his ribs weren't bruised, he would've stuffed the entire pack into that damn mouth.

 

Shrugging, Tengshe struck the lighter with a sharp click and took a deep drag, exhaling a plume of smoke directly into Shuai Zhaomin's flushed face. "Sorry. Can't help it. Nicotine cravings hit hard, especially when it's already in my mouth."

 

Already in your mouth? The vein at Shuai Zhaomin's temple pulsed violently as his vision darkened for a brief moment.

 

He was running out of energy to even curse internally. Damn it all!

 

"I thought we had an agreement!" he snapped, his normally gentle tone rising as he struggled to prop himself up, fixing Tengshe with a frosty smile. "Apologies, Mr. Brelini. I'm not very mobile at the moment—could you come closer?"

 

"Indeed, we agreed—day after tomorrow at 3 PM." Tengshe leaned forward slightly but didn't move any closer, his crimson-brown eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.

 

Damn it! Get over here! Wasn't accommodating an injured person a basic principle? Had this man's teachers never taught him that? No, they probably bled out from frustration dealing with him. Fuck! What kind of family would raiss such a bastard?

 

Oh, right. A Mafia family. Logic derailed by fury, Shuai Zhaomin pressed on, though hope had long since abandoned him. "May I ask, Mr. Brelini, if there's something particularly urgent that brought you here?"

 

He prayed it wasn't some insincere excuse like checking on his recovery or offering an apology. If so, he swore he'd muster every ounce of strength to kick this man where it hurt most.

 

"Not really. I just felt like coming to see you." Tengshe exhaled another plume of smoke, his bloodthirsty eyes narrowing as he smirked. He couldn't look more infuriating even if he tried.

 

Shuai Zhaomin's lip twitched, but he held his polite facade. "Mr. Brelini, as your attorney, I must insist on keeping business and personal matters separate."

 

"Oh?" Tengshe's expression barely shifted, but his tone was one of faint mockery. He retrieved a portable ashtray and extinguished his half-smoked cigarette with a deliberate flick. "Tch. American cigarettes are terrible. You know, Attorney Shuai, Italian ones are much classier."

 

Like hell I care! Shuai Zhaomin seethed internally.

 

"Mr. Brelini, I trust you understand my point." His inner monologue raged: Do I need to crack open your skull and stir your brain until it gains a shred of decency or shame?

 

"Business and personal, hmm?" Tengshe picked up a file, chuckling lowly. "I thought this counted as business. After all, we have a trial next week, don't we?"

 

The casual sway of the file in Tengshe's hand made Shuai Zhaomin's nerves scream. "If you have new information for me, please share it," he said through gritted teeth, his forced smile straining under the weight of his suppressed fury.

 

"Or what? Planning to scold me with that charming accent of yours?" Tengshe laughed, the sound grating against Shuai Zhaomin's frayed nerves. His face burned crimson, and his glare could have incinerated the scruffy man before him. "What's the phrase? Ah, Gan lin niang! Gei lin bei si chu qu*!"

 

[T/N: Same, I left the pinyin as is to emphasise that he is speaking another language, but he is basically repeating Zhaomin's insults. 'Gan lin niang!' literally translates to "Fuck your mother!" or "Motherfucker!" and 'Gei lin bei si chu qu' to "drag out your dead corpse" or "get the hell out".]

 

What the hell?! Why did this Italian thug speak Taiwanese so fluently? And why the hell did he have no accent?!

 

"You—!"

 

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Tengshe interrupted smoothly, lighting another cigarette despite the clear prohibition in Shuai Zhaomin's expression. "It's probably not in my files, but my mother was Taiwanese. My grandmother lived with us until I was ten, so I picked it up naturally."

 

"So what?" For the love of professionalism, could this mafia boss be less of a jackass? An Italian mobster fluent in Taiwanese, teaching Chinese literature at Columbia University, and cursing fluently in Taiwanese to boot—this was absurd!

 

Tengshe smiled, switching seamlessly to Taiwanese as he said, "Attorney Shuai, I think we could get along very well."

 

The eloquence of his words, spoken with the refinement of a traditional puppet play, left Shuai Zhaomin stunned. This bastard could probably even recite poetry in Taiwanese!

 

The indignity stung worse than his injuries. How could I, a native Taiwanese, lose even in my own dialect?! Damn it! If I had full use of my body, I'd fight him and settle this once and for all!

 

"What the hell do you want?!" Shuai Zhaomin's restraint finally snapped. Ignoring his pain, he slammed the small table off his bed, sending it flying.

 

The table hurtled toward Tengshe, who deflected it effortlessly. Miranda let out a sharp shriek and scrambled to hide behind a chair, narrowly avoiding the chaos.

 

"Oh, two days from now, I have a lecture. You'll need to come to Columbia Uni to find me." Tengshe, unbothered, blew a smoke ring with a casual elegance that made Shuai Zhaomin's blood boil.

 

"Why the hell didn't you just call me?!" Shuai Zhaomin roared, his frustration erupting.

 

"Gan! Ni bu hui ka dianhua ge lin bei gong jiu hao?!"*

 

[T/N: Fuck! You couldn't just call me?!]

 

"I just thought…" Tengshe's crimson-brown eyes glinted with mischief as he replied in flawless Taiwanese, "a personal visit would be more interesting, don't you agree?"

 

Fuck! So this is interesting to you?! What the hell! I'm the idiot to let myself be played like this!

Last Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter

 

❧ Join Bella Novels' Newsletter by clicking here ↫ and
receive an email for each New Update -͙✧˖*°࿐