Ryan calmly observed the cold tal barrels pointed directly at his head. John imdiately tried to push him back to shield him with his own body, to which Ryan only laughed softly, holding his shoulder and stopping him from stepping forward.
"Such hostility." Ryan said. "I may have committed an etiquette mistake, but I was certain that was how everyone here was ’greeting’ each other." He sighed lightly, closing his eyes then opening them again. "If I did sothing wrong then, I suppose I should apologize. I apologize to everyone for my attitude."
Everyone around the table exchanged glances, unable to understand how things had unfolded. But Ryan was not finished and soon said. "Now that I’ve apologized, how about everyone do the sa... let’s do it this way, why don’t we start with the Boss and Aron and then go in order."
The room froze. The cold pressure that settled after that sentence could crush a man to death.
The Boss at the far end of the room simply kept smiling gently. "What a kind idea, but I believe I have done nothing wrong. Nor has anyone in this room, right Aron?" He glanced to the side.
"Yes... yes, Boss..." Aron kept his focus on the trigger. "Displaying your strength through the Voice when eting a fellow mber is a common greeting." He then gritted his teeth. "Even so, it is a right reserved for experienced adults who have given their lives to the mafia as associate mbers on high-risk missions before being permitted to learn what is called the ’Voice’. That said. Refresh my mory, Ryan, how old are you?"
"Sixteen. My birthday was recent." The gun in Aron’s hand trembled. "I also joined the mafia recently as an affiliated mber, as administrator of the Manhattan Café, and have not completed a single mission." Ryan continued smiling gently. "So then, what is the problem with any of this?"
"What is the problem?" Aron raised his voice, nearly shouting, his teeth grinding against each other. "Every mber of the mafia prepares the next generation without the children themselves knowing, so that when they co of age they enter the organization, or in your case after the death of a parent. So that they are quickly ready and fill their parent’s role in its functions."
Aron pointed to the empty chair to the Boss’s right. "Your entire life you were prepared to be the right hand of the organization, even without knowing it. Your father had the duty of raising a successor... but there was a eting." He said grimly before continuing:
"We decided that: A child should not learn to kill. A child should not be completely apathetic toward life. In fact, they should love life and value their connections above all else. A child, no matter how intelligent, also could not be allowed to see the world as a bunch of puppets to play with however they wished, which happened frequently... We created so many rules, to avoid accidentally creating a psychopath, that you would be surprised... Even if the final result was always a single step away from being one." Aron then concluded with a heavy tone. "But in the end, the last rule was: a child should not suffer so greatly as to learn to use the ’Voice’ of intimidation."
He then raised his hand and began counting. "First: How much pain would they have to endure to awaken that power? Only soone sick would do that to their own child. Second: How would they use it at this age? I will give you the answer. To gain prominence, to intimidate the strong and the weak, to place themselves at the center of everything and obtain whatever they wanted. Not even the police would do anything. It would be absolute chaos. Third: If you know you are superior to others, everything I said before becos void. The lives of others are no longer precious, they are rely puppets to be used and discarded, and killing no longer seems so terrible after all."
He swallowed hard and then said. "I was very fond of your father. I dealt with him often, and that lasted many years. It is inevitable to grow attached. And I despise not knowing the truth about his disappearance... But now before stood you, his son, wielding powers that were forbidden to you for very good reasons. The rules were broken by your father, and the only reason that cos to my mind is that he was shaping you into a weapon of war and a new leader for a rebellion."
He took a deep breath and then said once more, with even greater force: "Justify yourself now, Ryan, or die."
"I see you are very agitated, Aron, and I understand you." Ryan said, scratching the back of his neck with a faint smile. "But first, how about all of us sit down and have so tea."
Ryan’s cup exploded into a thousand pieces, as one of the leaders at the table had fired his pistol. "Answer already, you damn child of the rebel..." However, before he could finish speaking the Boss rose like lightning, aid precisely and fired into his skull. Without warning and in less than an instant.
The fat, heavy body fell backward with a violent thud as brain matter spread across the room with unexpected brutality, while everyone in the room fell into silence and shock, cold sweat washing over them. Except for Ryan and Aron. Who studied each other in silence.
"Aron and Ryan are having a conversation here." The Boss said with a mild voice. "Please, at least raise your hand if you wish to say sothing and maintain so decorum. Also, please bring a new cup for the boy and remove that body from here. I hate that sll of iron, you all know how I am. But setting all of that aside... I personally liked his suggestion. Let us have so tea."
Ryan and Aron held each other’s gaze and then sat down. Shortly after, so lackeys entered and did as was asked, their eyes wide and their bodies trembling. One of the greatest leaders of the mafia had died like a stray dog, and this was only the beginning.
"We have every kind of tea. Which would you like this ti, Aron?" The Boss asked.
"Green tea." Aron said, to which the Boss replied.
"Are you sure?" He asked. "You never try the white or the yellow, let alone the Oolong that everyone says is so wonderful. You always repeat what you already know you like and never open yourself to new possibilities. Don’t you think it’s ti to try sothing different?"
Aron frowned and retorted: "You do the sa thing too..."
At that mont Ryan gave a dry cough. "Personally, I am curious about Oolong. I think it’s worth a try."
"You see?" The Boss looked at Ryan, beaming. "Now there is a young man open to new possibilities, very different from your childish palate." Aron frowned slightly at the last remark and then said:
"So be it, bring Oolong." The Boss nodded, to which both Ryan and Aron asked in unison:
"And you, what type of tea do you prefer?" The Boss laughed softly before answering.
"Over the ti, I have tried a little of everything. But I ended up growing very fond of the yellow." The Boss said with a nostalgic smile. "It is strange. I like it so much and it does so much good that it is even difficult to imagine living without it. It is my favorite by far... But do you know what is also very sad..." He said with a heavy tone. "Recently I heard there were so problems with the leaf cultivation, and I will be without it for a few months. So this will be the last ti I drink yellow tea in a long long ti. Next ti I drink tea, I will have to choose a new favorite."
He then leaned over the table and asked: "Which leaf should I choose? Which will be my new favorite? Can I even replace that one? I ask myself questions like that all the ti. And it bothers not having an answer."
Ryan listened in silence, waiting for the teas to be served.
When his cup was finally filled, he took a sip and said. "I awakened the Voice of Intimidation by accident." He said suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone except the Boss, who already knew.
"All of this is Alpha Helt’s fault." Ryan said. "He is the one who awakened ."
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