Chapter 121
Frand wasn't afraid of anything or anyone.
He enjoyed the feeling of a blade slicing through flesh, gets lost in the terrified moans of his enemies, and even had a sick kind of closeness to death itself.
But in this world, there's one person who could make him feel a chilling shiver deep in his bones.
That person was Vitale.
It's not just simple fear; it's something more complicated.
It's understanding, it's wariness, it's knowing that the other person was just like him, a monster who crawled out of the mud and blood.
When Vitale's fist smashed into Frand's face, he could clearly hear the sound of his nasal cartilage cracking.
Frand let out a laugh, "Yes, that's it!"
He mumbled, his right hand slipping into his boot to pull out a serrated short knife. With a flash of the blade, he stabbed straight at Vitale's shoulder.
This wasn't a lethal attack; it was more like a test, a provocation, a bite between wild beasts marking their territory.
Vitale didn't dodge.
In a split second, his left hand shot out, grabbing the incoming blade with precision.
The sharp serrated edge instantly cut through the skin of his palm, blood gushing out between his fingers and dripping onto the dusty concrete floor.
But Vitale's hand didn't budge, gripping like an iron clamp.
Using the momentum of Frand's forward lunge, Vitale's right foot snapped up in a flash, delivering a heavy side kick right into Frand's stomach.
Frand was sent flying backward, crashing hard into a pile of abandoned wooden crates. The crates shattered, sending dust flying everywhere.
He curled up, letting out pained, dry heaves.
Only then did Vitale release his grip on the blade, the short knife clattering to the ground.
He didn't even glance at his bleeding palm, just stared at Frand with a warning, "Stay away from my personal life."
Frand coughed, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, struggling to sit up amidst the wood splinters.
That disgusting smile still hung on his face, but his eyes shone with excitement, "Your personal life? You mean that little bird named Isabella, right?"
"Honestly, I can go through a whole box of condoms in one night. How about you, Vitale? When you're with your little darling, do you use those things? Or do you prefer the raw feeling?"
Vitale's pupils contracted sharply.
He yanked the tie from around his neck, wrapping it around his bleeding left palm. The next second, he charged straight at Frand.
Another heavy impact.
Vitale used his shoulder to slam Frand, who had just gotten up, back into the wall. This time, even the wall seemed to shake.
"Do you know what you've done?" Vitale growled, his right hand clamping around Frand's throat, pinning him hard against the wall.
His voice wasn't loud, but the rage in it made the air feel like it had frozen.
Frand's face turned red from lack of air, but the crazy laughter in his eyes only grew stronger.
He struggled, clawing at Vitale's arm with his nails, finally gaining a tiny bit of space to breathe.
"What did I do?" he rasped with a laugh, pushing Vitale away. But due to exhaustion, he slid down to the ground, leaning against the wall and gasping for air, "I just shared some interesting photos online. You know, your little bird has a pretty good figure. Even though she dresses conservatively, my guys staked her out for a few days and managed to snap some decent shots."
He saw the muscles in Vitale's jaw twitch violently.
"I know you already had someone delete them. Pretty quick on the draw," Frand said, licking his split lip and tasting the blood, "But I thought the effect was nice, so I posted them again somewhere else."
"What, these past few days, has someone been harassing your little darling? Getting anonymous letters? Or weird gifts at her doorstep?"
Vitale didn't answer.
He stepped back a few paces, pulled over a crooked wooden chair, and sat down.
The wound on his hand was roughly bandaged with the tie, pain throbbing through it, but that pain somehow made his mind incredibly clear.
He crossed his fingers on his knee, a pose that made him look more like a business tycoon at a negotiation table than a gang leader who'd just been in a bloody fight.
But the coldness in his eyes was more threatening than any weapon.
"Frand," Vitale started, his voice returning to that icy calm, "listen up. Take my territory, and I can deal with it. I'll take it back. Business challenges, I can see as a game. But there are some lines you don't cross."
"You don't touch her family."
"Of course, Sonia is fair game. That's between the sisters."
"But Isabella's father, and her brother who's in college—you don't lay a finger on them. Not even one."
Vitale stared straight into Frand's eyes, leaving no room for negotiation, "If you harm Isabella, or any of her family, in any way, shape, or form..."
"Frand, I'll take your life. This isn't a threat; it's a notice. You'll die, and everything you hold dear will turn to ashes. I guarantee it."
Frand rolled his sore shoulders and neck, checking to make sure no critical joints or bones were damaged in the earlier fight.
He had to admit, Vitale was a real expert in combat.
Or rather, an expert in inflicting pain.
His attacks deliberately avoided any vital spots that could kill or cripple quickly, instead targeting the most painful areas.
Vitale stood up, looking down at Frand, who was still sitting on the ground.
Frand, panting, wiped the blood from his face with a relatively clean sleeve.
The tense, hostile atmosphere between them was temporarily replaced by an eerie calm.
Then, their eyes simultaneously landed on the monitor.
On the screen, the footage was switching between different surveillance areas.
Those images showed an illegal fighting club.
The screen displayed an octagonal iron cage ring, brightly lit, surrounded by a crowded, frenzied audience waving cash and shouting at the top of their lungs.
Inside the cage, two burly men in nothing but shorts were engaged in a brutal, bloody fight. The sound of fists hitting flesh could faintly be heard through the cheap speakers.
While Vitale and Frand were fighting in the warehouse upstairs, the betting and matches downstairs had already reached a fever pitch.
This place was one of Vitale's most important underground businesses in Eldoria, with huge profits and a complex network of connections.
Frand had taken advantage of Vitale's long stay in Thalassia, where he was managing the legitimate business of Tyson Group and seemed distracted by the woman named Isabella. He brought his crew to stir up trouble, aiming to seize this territory through the most direct and brutal means—force.
As soon as Vitale received an urgent report from his trusted subordinate, he dropped everything in Thalassia and flew over overnight.
What fueled his rage even more was the report mentioning that Frand's people seemed to be targeting Isabella's father.
From the moment Vitale realized he loved Isabella, he had secretly arranged reliable people to protect her family long-term.
He had never mentioned this to Isabella.
Frand knew he couldn't gain the upper hand in pure physical strength tonight.
Vitale had arrived too quickly and was too well-prepared.
He staggered to his feet, forcing a twisted smile.
"Alright, Vitale, you win this round," he spread his hands in a gesture of compromise, "I can't beat you in a fight right now. But your hungry customers and fighters downstairs can't wait. How about we settle this another way?"
Frand walked over to the iron table, pointing at the bloody ring on the monitor screen, "A bet. Let's wager on tonight's main event. You pick someone you like, and I'll pick someone of mine. If the person you choose wins..."
Frand raised his left pinky finger, waving it in the air, "I'll leave this behind. And I'll never step foot in any of your venues again."
Vitale looked at him coldly, not responding.
Frand's smile turned sinister, "But if the person you pick loses, then this venue is mine. And..."
He deliberately dragged out his words, his gaze locking onto Vitale, "Isabella will be mine too. Of course, I'll take good care of her, like a precious little canary."
The air instantly turned ice-cold.
Vitale couldn't afford to lose.
And he wouldn't lose.
Hearing Isabella's name come out of Frand's filthy mouth was already an unforgivable insult.
Making her a part of the bet?
That crossed a line he would never allow to be touched.
A violent urge to kill surged in his chest, but his expression remained ice-cold.
Facing Frand's blatant provocation and vile wager, Vitale didn't roar or lash out immediately.
He just stayed silent, walking over to the monitor, his sharp gaze scanning the faces and builds of the fighters on the screen.
His only goal now was to win.
To crush Frand's delusions in the most absolute way, make him pay a heavy price, and ensure he remembered this lesson forever.
Frand enjoyed watching Vitale suppress his anger; it brought him pleasure.
He pulled out the serrated short knife that Vitale had knocked away earlier and which he had later picked up and placed on the table.
With a sudden thrust, he stabbed it into the thick wooden tabletop.
The blade vibrated, emitting a low hum.
The sound successfully pulled Vitale's attention from the screen back to him.
Frand shrugged, the movement tugging at the injury in his abdomen, making him grimace, though his smile didn't fade, "Vitale, you know, sometimes I think you're a bit ungrateful."
Vitale narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint flashing in them.
"What do you mean?"