Alexander Hawthorne's arm came down one last time.
'CRACK!'
The whip sliced through the air and landed hard.
Then—nothing.
He stopped.
His chest rose and fell heavily, breath coming out in rough huffs as he steadied himself against the edge of the table behind him. His fingers dug into the wood, knuckles pale from the strain.
Azrael let out a low scoff, his fist clenching as he pushed himself up without staggering.
"Just fifty?" he drawled, rolling his shoulder slightly despite the sting. "Years catching up to you?"
His grandfather's eyes darkened at the mockery.
For the smallest mistakes—missing a single mark on a test, answering a second too slow—this same whip had come down on him until he passed out.
"Count your blessings, boy."
Azrael didn't bother replying.
He peeled off his bloodied shirt like it was nothing, tossing it aside before dropping onto the sofa. He leaned back, completely at ease, and reached for a cigar from the nearby case.
A flick.
The flame caught.
He inhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded.
Alexander frowned at the sight before turning sharply. "Send somebody in."
The door opened almost immediately.
Mr. Salvatore stepped in, followed by Katerina, who carried a first-aid and a spare shirt box in both hands. She took a careful step forward and her eyes fixed on his body.
Her eyes widened, face flushing instantly as her gaze landed on Azrael's bare torso. The blood, the muscle, the sheer presence of him sitting there like nothing had happened—it caught her off guard.
Salvatore noticed.
A grin tugged at his lips as he nudged her forward.
"Treat Young Master's wounds."
"Y-Yes…"
She stepped closer, hands trembling slightly as she opened the box. Azrael didn't even look at her. He kept smoking, eyes closed, like she didn't exist.
She reached out hesitantly with gauze—
Her wrist was caught mid-air.
Firm.
Cold.
"Sulivan."
Mr. Sulivan jolted and rushed forward immediately. "Y-Yes, Young Master!"
He quickly pulled Katerina back, putting himself in front of her.
Alexander scoffed from across the room, already turning away. "Useless."
He walked out without another glance.
Katerina blinked, finally snapping out of it, and hurried after him. "Chairman—!"
The door shut behind them.
Silence settled.
Azrael exhaled a thin stream of smoke, then snorted.
"They get younger every time I see them."
Sulivan let out a polite, strained chuckle. "Chairman has always had… particular tastes."
Azrael didn't respond, just tilted his head slightly as Sulivan began cleaning the wound on his arm.
The sting should have hurt.
It didn't.
Not really.
He didn't even flinch.
Sulivan worked carefully, focused, until Azrael shifted slightly to give him better access.
Then—
His foot came down right on Sulivan's hard
"…Yo-Young Master—" Sulivan choked, his voice tightening as he forced himself not to react.
Azrael leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his knee, cigar still between his fingers.
"You have seen me grow up, Sulivan."
"Yes, Young Master."
"You should know I can be petty," Azrael calmly took a swig.
The ringing cut through the silence sharply. He was about to cut the call.
"Pick up."
Sulivan felt dread at where this was going.
"Hello?"
A woman's shaken voice came "S-Sulivan? The boys are kidnapped from the club. Their phones are off—there's blood all over the floor in their reserved room—"
He cut the call, looking up at the ruthless man. The air was suffocating.
Azrael exhaled a thin stream of smoke, watching him with a pleased smirk.
Sulivan said hoarsely "…Young Master the twins are just 18—"
Azrael leaned back, the faintest hint of amusement touching his lips—not a smile, not quite. "You had twins?"
Sulivan hands trembled. He had gotten sons in his old age. To make sure they were hidden from his enemies, they weren't even registered in his family.
"Young Master, I was wrong!" His voice broke cracking under desperation. "They are innocent-"
"You say it like," Azrael tapped ash from his cigar, eyes dark, tilted his head slightly. "You think I would send them on a vacation?
A chill ran down Sulivan's spine. He sprung up.
"Yo-Young Master!"
"You should hurry," Azreal added lazily, "lest they sail away."
Sullivan knees nearly gave out as he ran out.
Azrael closed his eyes again, taking another slow drag of his cigar.
Valerie's flushed, furious face flickered briefly in his mind.
Then Roe's laughter.
His grip tightened slightly as he smirked.