Chapter 40 - Parallel Lines

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Chapter 40

 

 

A sharp slap landed on his face, the sting spreading hot and raw. His glasses fell onto the blanket. The person behind him stirred, and when the second slap came, he caught her wrist mid-air.

 

When words failed, she turned to violence? The cigarette clamped between his lips had caused a small cut, and it now lay crushed on the floor, Sara's heel grinding it into ashes.

 

"She! Don't get in my way!" Her slender shoulders were taut, her usually soft voice now a piercing shriek. Sara's wrist was tightly gripped, and no amount of struggling could break her free.

 

"Sara, that's enough." The newly awakened voice was rough, edged with a nasal undertone. It lacked Tengshe's usual playful tone, and the sudden shift made Sara's lithe body shudder.

 

"Not enough! She, why are you always like this? Let me help you! I'm willing—I'm willing to do anything! If you want Fitch dead, I'll have Lilith kill him. If you don't want to become the head of the family, I'll cover for you while you escape!" Despite Shuai Zhaomin standing between them, Sara continued to cry out, her empty hand beating against Tengshe's broad shoulder in a fit of frustration.

 

Damn it! Was he just a mattress to them now? And hell, she crushed his glasses too!

 

Shuai Zhaomin had no inclination to be gentle. He could play the gentleman—soft-spoken and considerate—but when his patience ran dry, his rough edges would come out.

 

While Sara wept over the silent Tengshe, Shuai Zhaomin simply reached out, wrapped his arm around her waist, and unceremoniously tossed her off the bed.

 

"Shuai Zhaomin!" Never in her life had she been treated this way. Sara lay sprawled on the floor, her long hair a tangled mess across her face, but nothing could hide the fury blazing in her scream.

 

"I was being polite." He retrieved his glasses and slid them back on. Tengshe's arm still draped over his waist, preventing him from leaving the bed. With no choice but to stay put, he figured sacrificing the woman pressed against him was a fair trade.

 

What a ridiculous scene! Damn it! He looked like a home-wrecking vixen right now. Shit! If he'd known this would happen, he'd have kicked Tengshe out of bed right after they'd finished—kicked him out no matter how exhausted he was!

 

"How can you say it has nothing to do with you!" Sara sprang to her feet, swiftly tying her disheveled hair into a neat ponytail. Her violet eyes burned under the light, like flames.

 

"Why would it have anything to do with me? This is your Brelini family problem." He shifted slightly, and Tengshe's arm obligingly released him. Shuai Zhaomin shot him a glare, expecting a smug grin, but was met with nothing but a blank expression.

 

"Since She has chosen you, you are now part of the Brelini family!" Sara lunged forward, her hand raised to strike again.

 

Now that he was free, Shuai Zhaomin easily dodged. As he slipped out of the blanket, a shiver ran through him from the cold air. But in that brief pause, Sara's slap skimmed past his cheek, leaving a burning sting at his ear.

 

Despite her delicate appearance, Sara's movements were sharp and practiced—a true member of the mafia.

 

Damn it! And he was still stark naked! Shit! He wasn't like that damn Snake with his exhibitionist tendencies!

 

Sara moved quickly, and with his glasses askew in the dim room, everything was a blur. Another slap struck him, and his mind buzzed with the impact.

 

Damn! If he lost to a woman, he'd gladly take Tengshe's surname!

 

Amidst the chaos, he pressed himself against the nightstand by Tengshe's side, turning on the other lamp. Light flooded the room, and Sara, now facing the brightness, squinted hard. Her movements faltered, giving Shuai Zhaomin the opening to seize her wrists and pull her down.

 

People had only two hands—he hadn't forgotten that. Once their distance closed, her ability to swing was limited. He caught her other hand too, showing no mercy as he tightened his grip around her slender wrists.

 

"Let go! You scoundrel!"

 

He let out a cold snort. He'd rather be a scoundrel than a punching bag. His hold tightened, forcing Sara to her knees beside the bed, her expression twisted with pain.

 

Tengshe said nothing. Silently, he retrieved a cigarette from the nightstand, holding it between his lips. His reddish-brown eyes never once glanced at Sara, whose breathing was labored and low.

 

"Mr. Brelini, we need to resolve this," Shuai Zhaomin said. His cheek still stung from the slap. Sara's strength exceeded that of an ordinary woman, and his earlobe throbbed painfully—possibly a minor cut.

 

"Does it hurt?" Tengshe naturally cupped Shuai Zhaomin's cheek with his broad hand, his long fingers brushing gently over the swollen skin.

 

The pain made him squint. Shuai Zhaomin sighed and released Sara. "Tengshe Brelini, I really don't get you. Why force yourself to follow through with something that makes no sense? And why push your own suffering onto others? Why make life so hard for yourself?"

 

"Talking to you is always so easy, Attorney Shuai." Tengshe's reddish-brown eyes shimmered with a smile, and for the first time, Shuai Zhaomin saw an exhaustion he hadn't noticed before. Those full lips twisted into a crooked grin. "Tell me, Attorney Shuai, if someone has been suppressing themselves for over twenty years, how exactly should they release all the darkness inside?"

 

"Trust me, picking someone to bully isn't the answer. And if you must, at least choose the right person." In the silence, Sara's soft sobs reached his ears, but the man before him, though not shedding a tear, appeared even more broken.

 

"Did I choose wrong?" Tengshe chuckled, the fingers that had been tenderly touching Shuai Zhaomin's face suddenly pressed down hard, drawing a pained grunt.

 

"Fuck! Do that again, and I swear I'll crush your damn schlong!"

 

Tengshe shrugged and withdrew his hand, reaching for a lighter to ignite his cigarette. "Attorney Shuai, did I pick wrong?"

 

"Of course." Shuai Zhaomin had always been someone who put himself first. Even if he felt the slightest stir within his heart, logic should always govern emotion.

 

Tengshe arched a brow and exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his laughter mingling with it.

 

***

 

It was a kiss—a deep one.

 

Serg blinked in surprise, an awkward tension rising within him as though he had stumbled upon a secret. By the time he thought to look away, it was already too late. Across the way, Vito's blue eyes met his, curving ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

 

The one being kissed had golden hair that gleamed brilliantly even in the dim light. Even from a distance, his slender figure was visibly tense, seemingly frozen in shock at the unexpected kiss. Five or six seconds passed before he finally began to struggle violently.

 

Serg quickly lowered the blinds, shutting out the figures outside. He had long noticed that Fitch had been coming to see Vito frequently these past few days. Their conversations never seemed to progress—more than once, Fitch had lashed out in frustration, only to be easily subdued.

 

They always met in that small courtyard paved with cobblestones, and Serg found himself unconsciously paying attention to their interactions.

 

Taotie had spoken about it offhandedly, but clearly, things weren't as simple as he made them seem. Fitch still hadn't gotten what he wanted, and every time Vito returned from their meetings, his mood would be increasingly unsettled.

 

Serg wasn't immune to the tension either. It was hard not to wonder what was really going on. Why wouldn't Vito simply hand over the weapon to Fitch? Wasn't that the deal he had made with Taotie? And yet, every time he saw the shadow of sorrow flicker through Vito's blue eyes, he would find himself unable to ask.

 

Of course, he never even considered asking Taotie about it. In truth, whenever he was around Taotie, he was either too nervous or too flustered to form a coherent thought.

 

Nowadays, Taotie didn't seem to care whether Serg had traces of food on his hands or not. He would often approach with a pastry between his teeth, and as soon as he swallowed the last bite, he would pull Serg's hand close, nibbling gently at the inside of his palm as if savoring the lingering taste.

 

The worst part? Serg had gone from panicking so much that he could barely breathe, his entire body rigid with embarrassment, to simply accepting it. Now, whenever Taotie's snack time rolled around, he would pour himself some tea and sit with him—better that than fumbling through his tasks one-handed.

 

"What's wrong?" Right on cue, as if he were a living clock, Taotie's deep voice resonated just as the timer on the counter let out a sharp beep.

 

After a brief hesitation, Serg shook his head and turned to remove the freshly baked cookies from the oven. Ever since Taotie had tried his cinnamon milk tea, he had developed a habit of adding all sorts of things to his drinks. Naturally, Serg had adjusted his pastries accordingly.

 

"Vito… um…" Despite himself, he was still uneasy about the whole situation. This kind of ambiguous uncertainty always left him unsettled.

 

He trusted both Taotie and Vito. But the way he had been raised had ingrained in him a habit of cautious skepticism. He wasn't particularly concerned about Vito and Fitch's personal relationship, but he was worried that if things dragged on too long, and Shuai Zhaomin arrived, something unexpected might happen.

 

"Hmm?" Taotie tilted his head slightly and, without hesitation, reached out to lift the blinds. His gray eyes flickered as he took in the two figures outside.

 

"Today…" Serg's words stuck in his throat, turning to silence as he watched Taotie move with startling swiftness, yanking the back door open.

 

"Vito Giovanni." Taotie's voice was steady, bordering on empty. Low and commanding, it wasn't particularly loud, yet it filled the air with a suffocating pressure.

 

"Master." Vito's reply was laced with both panic and defiance. Concerned, Serg peered out through the window.

 

In the clearing, Vito's grip on Fitch's hand was unyielding. The normally vibrant, ever-smiling face was now clouded with darkness. Fitch's expression was unclear, but his struggles were evident, though ultimately futile.

 

"You gave me your word." With a sharp crack, Taotie's fist struck the wooden doorframe. Splinters burst forth, and Serg bit his lip to stifle a gasp.

 

Blood trickled from where wood met flesh. Vito's tall frame shuddered, and he finally released Fitch.

 

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me, Master." After a long silence, Vito's voice came out hoarse. His sky-blue eyes remained fixed on Fitch, yet the boy had already retreated several steps.

 

"You promised me. That was our agreement." Taotie's voice remained as calm as ever, but Serg could feel the faint ache beneath it.

 

The cookies had just come out of the oven, their sweet aroma filling the kitchen, yet Taotie remained unresponsive. He stood rigidly by the door, then suddenly slammed his fist into the frame again.

 

"Mr. Taotie." More splinters dug into Taotie's hand. Serg's chest tightened, and he couldn't help but speak up.

 

The man turned slowly, his gray eyes empty and still. His deep gaze met Serg's, and he exhaled a long, slow breath. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"

 

"Can I take a look at your hand?" Serg didn't understand why this master and his usually close servant had suddenly grown so tense. But he knew that offering a gentle reprieve might help.

 

It was as if Taotie couldn't even feel the pain. He glanced at his own hand with a blank expression before extending it toward Serg.

 

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