Chapter 63: Gunshots

Bang!

Bancroft stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The old doorframe shuddered with a shriek, and a picture frame hanging on the wall tilted precariously.

His hulking men followed after him like shadows, and the factory once again sank into a heavy silence.

No one could say a word.

The shock was too much.

Even the sound of breathing was cautious.

In the air lingered the scent of Bancroft’s whiskey and tobacco, and the chilling remnants of his murderous fury.

The calm after a storm.

But everyone knew.

This wasn’t the end, but merely the prologue to the real tempest.

“What… what just happened…”

Yu Ilhan stammered as he entered the office.

His face was deathly pale, and beads of cold sweat had gathered on his brow. The collar of his shirt

was damp with perspiration.

Lee Jun-hyuk slumped heavily into his chair.

The strength in his legs, which had stood so firmly in front of Bancroft just moments ago, now drained away completely. He tried to reach for the glass of water on the desk, but his hand shook uncontrollably, trembling like a leaf, and he couldn’t get a proper grip.

“Give my regards to Petrucci.”

That line spun in his mind like poison.

A terrible premonition was turning into the worst kind of reality.

Bancroft had declared open revenge against Petrucci, and he had done it publicly, in his own factory, in front of all his employees.

This was no longer just Lee Jun-hyuk’s personal fight.

With trembling hands, he picked up the phone again.

His fingers, rigid as if frozen, struggled to turn the black dial.

Petrucci’s number. Only the mechanical, endless ringing tone responded. He tried again, but still, on the other end of the line, there was only silence.

“Boss, are you all right?”

Thomas offered him a fresh glass of water, his voice full of concern.

He saw the cold droplets beading on the surface of the glass.

Lee Jun-hyuk nodded, but to anyone watching, he looked anything but all right.

“I can’t… get through to Petrucci.”

His voice came out cracked, like sand.

He took a sip of water, but his burning throat remained parched.

“Could it be… something’s already happened…”

Before Yu Ilhan could finish his sentence, the sound of several cars came from outside.

Engines rumbled, drawing closer and closer until they screeched to a halt in front of the factory. The sharp, grating squeal of brakes set everyone’s nerves on edge.

Everyone reflexively rushed to the window.

From the black Ford, Robert tumbled out, nearly falling over himself.

His expression was grave.

His tie was loose, and his usually neat hair was plastered to his forehead.

“Boss!”

Robert burst into the office, breathless.

“I just heard on the street. The O’Donnell Family has started moving! They’re attacking Petrucci’s turf all over, indiscriminately!”

Lee Jun-hyuk’s heart dropped to his stomach.

The worst-case scenario was unfolding before his eyes.

Bancroft had paid off the O’Donnell Family, letting that pack of rabid dogs loose for sure.

Rrrring!

Just then, the office phone rang out shrilly, pounding like a heart in his ears.

Lee Jun-hyuk snatched up the receiver like lightning.

“Hello?”

“Mister Lee?”

It was Petrucci’s voice.

But the usual composure and intimidating tone were gone. It was urgent, rough, his breath heavy. In the background, he could hear things crashing and faint, unintelligible shouting.

“Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I’m at one of my safehouses. But even here, it’s no longer safe. I just got word from one of my men…”

His words trailed off.

He spoke hurriedly to someone in Italian.

“The O’Donnell bastards have completely overturned our territory. Three of my loyal men are already dead, and the rest are scattered, out of contact.”

“This is Bancroft’s doing.”

“I know! That son of a bitch must’ve given the O’Donnell dogs an unimaginable sum!”

Petrucci’s voice was thick with suppressed anger. He let out a ragged breath.

“Mister Lee, you’re in danger too. They might have already sent people to your factory.”

“I’m all right. But you…”

“I have to get out of here. This line is no longer secure. I’m heading for Kim Young-soo’s shop. It’s the only place that might still be safe.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“It’s too dangerous! There’s no need for you to get dragged into this mess…”

“I’m the one who provoked Bancroft. Now we’re in the same boat, like it or not. I won’t let you go alone.”

The call ended. Lee Jun-hyuk grabbed his jacket and looked to Yu Ilhan.

“Take care of the factory. Lock the doors immediately. Until the police arrive, let no one in.”

“Boss, it’s too dangerous!”

“If Petrucci falls, we’re next. I have to go.”

Lee Jun-hyuk slipped out the back door.

The alley was dark, the stench of rotting food waste stinging his nose.

He walked faster than usual—no, he was nearly running.

The way to Chinatown was a maze of tangled alleys.

Taking the main road would make him an easy target, so he deliberately chose the narrow backstreets. He squeezed between brick buildings, darted through dim alleys hung with laundry.

The sun was setting.

Red dusk stained the sky like a spilled drink, but unlike usual, the streets were eerily silent.

It was usually a busy time as people prepared for evening business, but most of the shops had already closed early out of fear.

When he arrived at the Chinatown gate, the street was deserted.

Chinese signboards glowed red in the setting sun, but the usual energy was gone, replaced only by an oppressive silence.

Kim Young-soo’s Oriental Trading Company was dark as well.

Lee Jun-hyuk circled around to the back door and knocked in the agreed pattern. Knock, knock-knock, knock. The signal Kim Young-soo had taught him, just in case.

After a moment, the door creaked open just a crack. Kim Young-soo’s face appeared in the gap.

“Hurry, come inside.”

The inside of the shop was pitch black.

All the windows were covered with heavy cloth, and only a single small candle flickered weakly on the table.

The air was thick with the scent of spices and tea.

Cinnamon, dried tea leaves, and other unknown Eastern aromas mingled together.

“Where’s Petrucci?”

“He’s inside, with two men. The situation is very bad.”

Kim Young-soo led Lee Jun-hyuk to the back storage room.

After passing a short hallway, he entered the storeroom piled high with goods, where Petrucci sat precariously on a wooden crate.

There was no trace of his usual neat appearance.

His fine silk shirt was wrinkled, and sweat shone on his brow.

“Mister Lee, why are you here? I told you it was too dangerous.”

“I couldn’t leave you behind.”

Petrucci gave a bitter laugh.

Beside him, his two men stood with drawn pistols, faces tense and alert.

One had a bandaged arm, with blood slowly seeping through.

“The O’Donnell bastards have gone mad. I don’t know how much Bancroft gave them, but this is all-out war.”

“Isn’t there any other way?”

Petrucci hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

“To be honest… I reached out to an old friend in Chicago. Johnny Torrio. There’s a real tough guy under him, goes by Al Capone. Back when we were in Brooklyn together, he was just a kid…”

A faint glimmer of hope colored his voice.

“But if they come by train… it’ll take at least two days, even if they hurry. The question is, can we last that long…”

Al Capone.

Lee Jun-hyuk’s eyes widened.

The moment he heard that name, memories from his past life flashed through his mind like lightning.

The underground emperor of Chicago, a living legend of the Prohibition Era. To think he’d get tangled up with his younger days like this…

No, this was no time for such thoughts.

What mattered was how to survive the crisis right in front of them.

“Two days…”

Lee Jun-hyuk muttered.

Two days was more than enough time for everything to be over.

Just then.

The sound of cars came from outside.

It wasn’t just one.

Several cars stopped in front of the shop, engines shutting off, car doors slamming shut with harsh bangs in quick succession.

Damn it…

Petrucci drew his pistol.

A heavy Colt .45 Automatic.

His men immediately prepared for battle.

One moved beside the window, the other hid behind the door.

Kim Young-soo quickly blew out the candle.

The storeroom was plunged into total darkness.

Even breathing was done with caution.

“Petrucci!”

A harsh voice called from outside.

It was beastly, laced with an Irish accent.

“Are you gonna hide like a rat? If you don’t crawl out right now, I’ll turn this damned apothecary into a beehive!”

It was Patrick O’Donnell, the enforcer of the O’Donnell Family—the red-headed hound now working for Bancroft, finally come.

Tang!

A warning shot—one bullet punched through the wooden door and lodged in the medicine cabinet on the far wall.

With a dull thud, licorice powder puffed out like dust. The bitter scent of herbs spread through the air.

Damn it…

Petrucci cursed in a low voice.

His face was drawn with anxiety.

He crouched behind the medicine cabinet, peeking through the broken door for any sign of what was happening outside.

By the light of the streetlamp, the silhouettes of the men were menacing shadows.

“Mister Lee, because of me…”

“Now’s not the time for that,” Lee Jun-hyuk cut him off.

His mind was sharper and colder than ever. He had to find a way to survive, a single move to break through this hopeless situation.

“Mr. Kim, is there any other exit besides the back door?”

“No,”

Came Kim Bong-seok’s desperate voice from the darkness.

“This building is over a hundred years old… the door we came in through is the only way out.”

They were truly trapped like rats.

Lee Jun-hyuk pulled out his pistol—a Colt Revolver, a gift from James Morgan. The cold, heavy metal steeled his resolve.

“Do you know how to use that?”

Petrucci stared at him in surprise.

“Only the basics.”

Lee Jun-hyuk released the safety.

The faint click of metal sounded loud in the silence.

“Looks like they’re not in the mood for talking.”

Outside, Patrick’s voice rang out again.

“I’ll give you ten seconds! Ten, nine, eight…”

The Countdown of Death had begun.

“Seven, six, five…!”

Petrucci looked at Lee Jun-hyuk. In his eyes were both apology and resolve.

“Four, three…!”

“We’re in this together, to the end.”

Lee Jun-hyuk declared firmly.

He gripped the pistol in both hands. His palms were slick with sweat, but strangely, it was not fear, but cold determination that burned stronger.

“Two, one…!”

“Fire!”

With Patrick’s order, the gates of hell opened.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—!

The Thompson Submachine Gun blazed.

Bullets tore through the wooden door and walls like paper, pouring into the apothecary. The medicine cabinet was shattered, glass jars exploded with sharp crashes.

Herb powders filled the air with a bitter, choking scent.

Lee Jun-hyuk and Petrucci dropped flat to the floor, covering their heads. The bullets whizzed overhead, slicing through the air.

Wooden splinters rained down like hail.

This was not a fight.

It was a massacre.

The gunfire paused for a brief moment.

A short lull for reloading. The shop was a scene of Asura—an inferno of confusion. The air was thick with acrid gunpowder and bitter herbal dust, making it hard to breathe.

“Surrender, Petrucci! Then I’ll spare that Oriental!”

Patrick’s vile attempt at sowing discord.

Petrucci’s eyes flickered with conflict.

“Don’t even think about it!”

Lee Jun-hyuk shouted back instead.

“We live or die together!”

No sooner had his words left his mouth, bullets stormed in again. Footsteps drew closer.

Petrucci fired back through a crack in the cabinet, but it was hopeless.

“I’m almost out of ammo,”

One of Petrucci’s men said desperately.

Lee Jun-hyuk racked his brain, searching for any way to survive.

But no matter how he thought, there was no answer.

At this rate, it was only a matter of time before they were all dead.

“Even Chicago… will take two days…”

Hope felt far too distant.

Just then.

Screeeeech!

From the darkness, another car approached.

Not just one.

Several vehicles barreled toward them at breakneck speed. Their engines cut the silence of the night with piercing shrieks.

“What the—?”

Outside, the O’Donnell men shouted in confusion.

Screech—Crash!

With a thunderous bang, one of the O’Donnell Family’s cars was struck from the side.

The sound of metal crumpling and glass shattering echoed down the street.

Then, gunfire erupted anew on the street.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

But this time, it wasn’t the O’Donnell Family firing. There was much more, far more overwhelming firepower.

Multiple Thompson Submachine Guns blazed at once.

“Ambush!”

“Damn it! Who the hell are these guys?!”

The O’Donnell Family, who moments before were predators, became prey in an instant, screaming in terror.

Lee Jun-hyuk and Petrucci stared at each other in shock.

“Are they your men?”

“No. All my men are already…”

Even Petrucci couldn’t grasp what was happening.

Outside, gunfire and screams blended into utter chaos—a scene of Asura.

“Boss! They’re from Chicago!”

Someone shouted frantically outside.

Chicago.

At those words, Petrucci’s face twisted with both horror and relief.

“No way… they’re here already?”