Toby didn't wait for Kingpin's permission. He turned and walked toward the private bath attached to the office with the casual familiarity of a man entering his own home.
Kingpin didn't object. His expression remained masked behind that same polite, measured smile.
However, standing behind the desk, Bullseye's face darkened. He had watched Toby's arrogance with growing bile, and finally, he couldn't suppress a sharp, derisive huff.
"Hmph. Look at this piece of work, acting like he owns the place. So he took out those Sunrise Clan bottom-feeders? Big deal. I could have wiped those trash heaps out myself."
The genial warmth on Kingpin's face didn't fade—it evaporated. Without a word of warning, he pivoted. His massive hand swung in a blurred arc, backhanding Bullseye across the face.
The sheer force of the blow sent Bullseye airborne. He slammed into the far wall with a sickening thud, sliding down to the floor in a heap. He lay there for a long moment, gasping, unable to find his feet.
"Why...?" Bullseye groaned, clutching his throbbing head as his ears rang with a deafening hum. He looked up, eyes wide with betrayal.
He couldn't wrap his head around it. He was a loyal soldier who had just sworn his life to the Kingpin. Only an hour ago, Fisk had been praising his talent. Now, for the sake of a mere mercenary, his boss had turned on him in a heartbeat.
Kingpin stood over him, a mountain of shadow looming over the fallen hitman. His voice was ice. "Why? Consider that a lesson, Bullseye. Learn to muzzle that pathetic mouth of yours."
"You should be grateful it was my hand that corrected you," Kingpin continued. "If Toby had been the one to take offense, your head would be sitting on that desk next to the other one."
"I expect this to be the first—and last—time you speak out of turn without knowing who you are dealing with."
"If there is a next time, I will personally twist your head off and present it to him as an apology."
An apology?
Bullseye's eyes bulged. He never expected to hear the word "apology" come from the mouth of the man who ruled the city's underworld with an iron fist. Who the hell was this "Toby"?
Click.
The bathroom door opened. Toby stepped out, having washed away the copper scent of the night's work. He had shed his red-and-black tactical suit, now dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and tailored charcoal trousers—attire Kingpin had clearly prepared in advance.
The thin fabric of the shirt did little to hide the physique beneath. Unlike Kingpin's massive, overwhelming bulk, Toby's frame was lean and defined, possessing the lethal, aesthetic precision of a Renaissance masterpiece. Every line of muscle seemed carved with intent.
Without the mask, his face was finally visible. He possessed a sharp, striking handsomeness—deep blue eyes that held a cold depth, dark brown hair damp from the shower, and a jawline that looked like it had been sculpted from marble. He was the kind of man whose presence commanded the room without a single word, possessing a level of symmetry that felt almost otherworldly.
Kingpin turned away from Bullseye, the smile returning to his lips as he looked at Toby.
"I've always admired your efficiency, Toby. Whether you're ending a life or taking a shower."
"In all seriousness," Kingpin stepped forward, "won't you reconsider my offer? Join me permanently. I'll double your current rate as a starting salary."
Toby's expression remained a mask of indifference.
"No. I prefer the freedom of the contract. One job, one payment. You have my number if you need work done, but don't waste your breath on the recruitment pitch again."
He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. "Have my suit cleaned and sent to my place. And give me some walking around money."
Kingpin sighed, though he nodded in resignation. "A pity. Very well. I'll have an extra million wired to your account tonight—consider it a formal apology for my subordinate's idiocy."
"As for the suit, it will be at your door tomorrow morning."
Kingpin reached into his jacket, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled a figure with a heavy gold pen. He tore it off and handed it over. "For your pocket."
Toby glanced at the check. A one followed by five zeros. A hundred thousand dollars in "pocket change."
"Fine," Toby said, tucking the check away. He glanced down at Bullseye, who was still glaring at him with barely suppressed rage. Toby let out a short, cold laugh.
"I accept the apology. But I find his hair offensive. Next time I see him, if he isn't bald, I'm crushing his skull."
With that, ignoring the tremor of fury in Bullseye's limbs, Toby walked toward the exit.
He paused at the threshold, looking back over his shoulder at Kingpin. His voice was low, carrying a subtle edge. "By the way, I'm not efficient at everything. Watch your phrasing next time."
Then, he was gone.
The silence in the office grew heavy. Once the elevator chime signaled Toby's departure, Kingpin's smile vanished completely. He looked down at Bullseye.
"You see, Bullseye? He isn't just powerful enough to make me wary. He is incredibly, deeply petty."
"A man that dangerous who also holds a grudge... that is a terrifying combination."
"So, if you value that head of yours, go find a razor. I won't protect you, and I certainly won't cross a venomous spider like Toby just to save your skin."
Bullseye remained on his knees, head bowed. He didn't speak, but his knuckles were white, his nails digging so deeply into his palms that blood began to seep through his fingers.
The droplets hit the floor, mixing with the drying blood of the Sunrise Clan leader.
Kingpin didn't care about the hitman's bruised ego. He had business to attend to.
"Get that head out of here. Feed it to the dogs. Tomorrow, take your men and seize every scrap of territory the Sunrise Clan owned. By sunset, I don't want to see a single one of their survivors left in Hell's Kitchen."
"Now, I'm going to see my Vanessa. I have good news for her. She won't have to worry about those pests bothering her ever again."
To Kingpin, the Sunrise Clan's extinction was merely the price of a single disrespectful comment made toward his wife. He had spent millions to hire Toby for a personal vendetta, though it wasn't a total loss—the territory he would absorb was worth ten times that.
Bullseye pushed himself up from the floor. He watched Kingpin walk away, his eyes burning with a manic, violent light.
"I promise you, Boss," Bullseye hissed through gritted teeth. "By tomorrow night, there won't be a single one of them left standing in this city."
He needed someone to bleed for the humiliation he had suffered. If he couldn't touch Toby, he would take every ounce of his rage out on the remnants of the Sunrise Clan.
If Toby had known, he likely would have forgiven the man's earlier insolence and saved Kingpin the million-dollar apology fee. After all, if there was one thing he enjoyed, it was seeing the trash take itself out.