Chapter 62: Chapter 62: A Light in Life

A tingling sensation crept up from the soles of Kent's feet, raced through his spine, and surged all the way to his scalp. Wherever it passed, his skin erupted in goosebumps.

The instinct to survive—the most primal, raw, and overpowering human urge—kicked in.

Swallowing hard, he was about to speak when Lance pointed at the pile of untouched meat. “Don’t waste it. Eat.”

There were eight people in the room, including Kent and his men. The croupiers weren’t present—they only came around when the casino was open. These croupiers were skilled professionals who could find work anywhere. They had their own network and earned handsomely.

They wouldn’t dirty their hands with the likes of Kent’s business, which explained their absence.

Eight adults and six pork knuckles, each about two pounds, deboned. Initially, there hadn’t been this much food, but Kent’s men weren’t wealthy; their craving for meat wasn’t much different from the impoverished people on the streets.

If they bought too little, arguments would break out as they scrambled to grab what they could. To avoid the fuss, they always bought enough knuckles, along with four pounds of bread and some salad to cut through the grease.

Now, Kent was being forced to finish what typically required eight men to devour.

It was impossible.

“I can’t eat anymore,” Kent pleaded again, his voice strained.

Lance waved the McGray semi-automatic pistol in his hand. “Bullets or meat?”

Faced with such a choice, most people would pick meat. Kent was no exception. Lowering his head, he grabbed the meat chunks and squeezed the leaner parts, trying to shred them for easier swallowing.

The mixture of fat and meat against his fingers turned his stomach. The once appetizing aroma of the pork now triggered his gag reflex, but he had no choice.

Between bites, he said, “Lance, I give up. I won’t retaliate. Let’s end this here.”

“From now on, you can run your business, and I’ll run my casino. Nobody will know what happened, and no one will bother you…”

He looked up at Lance as he spoke, stuffing more meat into his mouth as if to prove his sincerity.

Lance remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, leaving Kent even more uncertain.

“This was a small matter to begin with. I apologize for everything I did yesterday,” Kent continued, glancing at Ennio standing behind Lance. “This young man—his name is Ennio, right? I’ll give him another three thousand and introduce you to a doctor, free of charge. That should be enough to fix his arm, with some left over.”

“This whole thing was my fault, all of it…”

Slowly straightening up, Kent tested the waters, gauging Lance’s reaction. But Lance casually angled the pistol toward his head and gestured for him to keep eating.

Their gazes locked briefly. Finding nothing in Lance’s eyes, Kent hesitated for a few seconds, then lowered his head and resumed eating.

The atmosphere in the basement grew suffocating, every eye focused on Kent.

As he ate, his body began rejecting the food. His stomach churned, and he retched, but he still had another half of the pile to finish.

Minutes passed. Kent’s pace slowed further. Someone who had always enjoyed a full belly now felt an overwhelming agony from overeating.

His stomach was stretched to the breaking point, each breath sending waves of pain through his bloated abdomen.

“I… I can’t do it anymore!” he gasped, releasing the meat and bracing himself against the table. “Call an ambulance! My stomach’s about to explode!”

Lance glanced at Ethan. “Kent doesn’t want to cooperate. Ethan, help him out.”

Ethan hesitated for a moment, gathering himself. Then, with an impassive expression, he approached Kent.

Panic filled Kent’s eyes as he tried to escape, but the moment he stood, Ethan’s hand forced him back into the chair. Ignoring Kent’s struggles and pleas, Ethan grabbed chunks of meat and shoved them into his mouth.   ṛ𝓪𝐍ộВË𝒮

Seated across from them, Lance lit a cigarette with a match provided by Elvin. Crossing his legs, he watched Ethan relentlessly feed Kent, pushing meat down his throat.

Kent’s flailing became less vigorous. First, he slapped Ethan’s arms and shoulders, then his movements grew feeble until he slumped backward.

Seven or eight minutes later, after one final, weak slap on Ethan’s arm, Kent went limp.

Ethan checked his breathing and softly said, “He’s dead.”

Lance clicked his tongue. The oppressive atmosphere in the room intensified as he stood and turned to Ennio. “I’ve dealt with your biggest problem. Now, about your arm—will you handle it, or should I?”

One of Kent’s men froze, his face drenched in sweat. He dropped to his knees and begged for mercy.

A dead body changed everything. As long as Kent had been alive, there was room for negotiation. But with him dead, there was no escaping the consequences.

Elvin approached Ennio, handing him a revolver. “Stick to your choice. No one will blame you—not even Lance. Just remember, we’re family. We’ll support you and avenge you if needed. That’s all that matters.”

Elvin’s words encouraged Ennio to make his own decision.

Ennio thought about his past: his missing mother, his abusive father who failed to achieve the Federation Dream, and his own childhood filled with poverty and misfortune. He also thought about the money that could change everything.

Staring at the revolver in his hand, he asked, “How does it work?”

“The safety’s off. Just aim and pull the trigger,” Elvin instructed.

Taking a few steps forward, Ennio aimed at the henchman, who sobbed uncontrollably, begging for his life. Ennio hesitated only briefly before pulling the trigger.

The bullet struck the man’s shoulder, sending him to the ground. Pretending to be dead, the man didn’t realize Ennio had made up his mind.

Ennio emptied the revolver into him. The final bullet struck his head, ending his resistance. When the hammer clicked on an empty chamber multiple times, Ennio finally lowered the gun, dazed.

Some of the remaining henchmen began to realize what was coming, but before they could react, Lance signaled his crew. A volley of gunfire echoed, and the room fell silent.

Looking at Kent’s lifeless eyes, Lance sighed in frustration. “Damn it, I said to leave him alive. But here we are. Does this make me a liar?”

Elvin smiled. “It was my call, not yours, Lance.”

Lance patted him on the shoulder before cleaning up and leaving with the group.

Emerging from the basement, they were greeted by the blazing sunlight, even reaching parts of the alley. Yet, some corners would forever remain in shadow.

If one day your life is shrouded in darkness, with no light reaching you, then light your own lamp.

Whether it’s the flame of a gun or something else—don’t let the darkness consume you.  

Everyone’s mindset shifted profoundly at that moment. Each of them felt a newfound hunger for strength, for everything.

Driving the group back to the company, Lance tallied the money taken from Kent’s safe: over 33,000 dollars.

He placed 30,000 in his company’s safe, grateful for Kent’s unintentional contribution to his budding enterprise. The rest he distributed among his crew.

Everyone received a share of over 100 dollars.

“Go home, take a bath, buy some new clothes and shoes, and treat yourself to a good meal. Then get back to work!”

Lance turned to Ennio and his friends. “If you’re interested, the company would be happy to have you.”