Global Film Emperor

Chapter 536 Atonement (Part 1)
"Mr. Bonnie W. Rossi?"

"Yes, sir."

At the airport visa interview, the staff picked up his passport and compared the photo with the elderly man in front of him. Compared to the photo, he looked much older, with black hair mixed with silver strands, neatly tucked under his hat. His face was crisscrossed with wrinkles, and age spots appeared in various corners of his face. He was wearing a suit, which looked quite old, and even though it was permed and dyed to be wrinkle-free, it still looked slightly shabby due to the passage of time. His loose-skinned hands were clasped together, clenched into fists and placed in front of his navel. When his somewhat cloudy eyes met the staff's gaze, he tried his best to show goodwill.

"You've lived in the US for over thirty years, why do you want to come back?"

"I miss home..."

After a moment's thought, the elderly Asian man, who was already in his sixties, gave his answer after making a sharp eye contact with the staff.

The stamp was applied to his passport, and after a series of clanging sounds, his passport was handed out through the window by the staff. He could go home, the home he hadn't been back to for over thirty years.

"Welcome home, Mr. Rossi."

……

Like humans, cities have a lifespan. The difference is that when people die, they are buried, but when cities die, they bury the people.

As new neighborhoods replace traditional urban development, numerous traces of human habitation have turned once bustling streets into synonyms of dirt and disorder. Only a few lucky neighborhoods remain indelible symbols of traditional style, but his home is clearly not in the kind of neighborhood that can become a tourist attraction.

As he walked through the commercial street occupied by a large number of refugees, he would always miss the beautiful scenery of the street whenever he passed by these old shops. However, nowadays, the scraps that were not cleaned up during the day have become garbage at night, and the remnants left after the night's indulgence are difficult to clean up. Over time, it has become like a garbage dump. Every now and then, he can see refugees and homeless people sleeping soundly in the corner.

This place has become a slum despised by locals and a dangerous area that tour guides forbid tourists from visiting at night. Violence is common, and human trafficking occurs frequently. Even the people who live here have little sense of security. Naturally, it has become a breeding ground for criminals.

How dangerous it would be for an old man on his deathbed to pass by here is evident from the fierce eyes of the homeless people who are still awake. If it weren't for the fact that it was broad daylight and inconvenient to act on the main road, and that Bonnie didn't look like a rich man, he would probably be lying on the ground being robbed right now.

Fortunately, away from the old town center, a secluded corner catches the eye. It's already autumn, and the edges of the streets are covered with bright yellow ginkgo leaves, hiding the dilapidated corners of the old town. Against the backdrop of the bleak atmosphere, the old streets have a kind of quiet and decaying beauty.

He walked slowly, as if time was constantly dragging his feet. Holding a bouquet of flowers in his arms, he walked straight to the cemetery, chatted with the cemetery manager for a few words, quickly determined his location, and headed towards his destination.

The tombstone in front of him must have been unattended for some time. The black marble was battered by wind and rain, and there were obvious traces of dust on its surface. He gently squatted down, took out a towel from his pocket, and wiped the tombstone clean. He looked at the photo of the woman embedded in the tombstone. She looked a little older than when he left, but she was still the same familiar face.

Flowers were placed before the monument, the kraft paper wrapping the bouquet rustling slightly in the wind. He opened and closed his saliva-stained lips, but ultimately said nothing. He could only reach out and gently stroke the cold stone monument, closing his eyes to reminisce about the way she used to stroke his hair.

The ginkgo tree, being mischievous again, generously offered its only gift to the autumn wind after being teased by the wind: leaves slowly drifted down, gently covering the woman's photograph, as if unwilling to see the man's aging face, or perhaps unwilling for the man to see that she was no longer as beautiful as she had been.

The wind was cold, just like the water, penetrating everywhere and easily seeping through Bonnie's clothes. He felt the chill and didn't linger. As he stood up, he shook off the leaves from his clothes and noticed several young men standing silently to one side. Some of them didn't want to make eye contact with Bonnie, their eyes darting around when they did, feeling inexplicably awkward. Only one middle-aged man had a cold gaze, not the indifference one would show towards a stranger, but rather a faint hostility directed at him.

None of the men looked like good people. They all had similar tattoos on their exposed body parts, and their clothes were not formal, or rather, inappropriate. They seemed out of place in the solemn setting of the cemetery, and standing in front of Bonnie, they looked like street thugs who were about to commit a crime.

Bonnie stared at a somewhat overweight man with a full beard standing in the crowd for a moment. The man walked towards Bonnie, but he didn't seem to want to talk to her. Instead, Bonnie's eyes flickered, and she seemed a little nervous. As the man was about to pass by her, she couldn't help but feel excited and softly called out the man's name.

"Andrew."

"Ah."

"Is this your friend? Would you mind introducing him to me?"

Bonnie raised her hands to her chest, crossed them, and smiled and nodded to Andrew and his companions with a friendly expression. This gesture was met with a response from them, and the group returned the greeting with awkward smiles, but remained silent, looking at Andrew with a somewhat uneasy feeling, hoping that he would introduce them.

"They don't need to know you."

After they had parted ways, the man walked to the tombstone, gently brushed away the leaves covering his mother's photograph, knelt on one knee, placed his hands on the tombstone, and gently kissed the woman in the photograph. He then picked up the flowers Bonnie had brought and tossed them aside before answering Bonnie's question.

"I just want to talk to you. I'm curious to know how you're doing these days."

"No need. I'm living a good life. I'm just happy as long as you don't show up in front of me. I don't want to argue with you in front of my mother's grave. Go away."

"No, I just... I just..."

The father and son, who had not seen each other for a long time, swallowed their words and said nothing. Now that Andrew was hostile to him, any words of comfort or admonition would only arouse Andrew's resentment and anger. In the past thirty years, he had never played the role of a father in Andrew's life, and now he had no right to interfere in Andrew's life. Bonnie just felt indebted, so indebted that he dared not say a word in the face of his son's misguided path.

If he were here, would Andrew be like other kids, going to college and sitting in an office drinking coffee and playing computer games? Even if he didn't do well in school, he could still live a stable life in a repair shop or factory? Just thinking about this made Bonnie feel a pang of pain. His appearance clearly showed that he was living in poverty, and his tattoos clearly showed that he was involved in gangs. His son had become a low-level member of the Mafia. When they met again after thirty years, Bonnie felt really guilty.

However, he still dared not say a word. Facing a father who abandoned his wife and children when he was still a child, Andrew had the right to be rebellious towards Bonnie like a child. Perhaps not interfering was the best way for the father and son to get along now.

"I just... hope you're safe."

Andrew didn't answer, or even turn around. He just waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away disgusting flies buzzing around him. Bonnie saw this and didn't say anything. Before leaving, she took off her top hat, gave a slight bow to her friends, and turned to leave.

"Andrew, I'm leaving him in your care."

……

(Thirty-five years ago)

"Bonnie, I don't want to see Torres come home the day after tomorrow."

"I assure you, boss."

"Camora owes you a favor."

The elderly man stood up, walked around the desk, gently approached Bonnie, patted her shoulder affectionately, waved to the person who was about to get up to see her off, and personally escorted Bonnie away.

The door closed, blocking out the bright sunlight, and the narrow corridor became dark again. Bonnie stood at the door of the reception room for a few seconds before turning to leave. Occasionally, she would encounter family members of key figures, and she would occasionally take off her top hat to greet them. She walked out of the villa, onto the cobblestone pavement, got into her old Cadillac, drove away from the estate, parked by the roadside, reclined the seat, put her hands behind her head, and stared blankly at the roof of the car, lost in thought.

He's going to be famous if he really does kill Torres the day after tomorrow, but that's not something to be happy about. Ten years ago, when he was just a kid, he might have been excited to give his nemesis a good beating. Killing the old godfather's son would have been enough to make him a big name in the city, or even a new underworld icon.

But now, after being in the gang for so long, he has gradually come to understand that a gang member who does dirty work for the gang cannot live too high-profilely. If you live high-profilely, you will die high-profilely.

But once a task is assigned to you, you have to complete it. If you do it, there will be a glimmer of hope. If you refuse, you will truly face certain death. After thinking for a while, he straightened his seat back, rolled up the car window, stepped on the gas, and drove away.

……

Shortly after sunset, large dark clouds arrived, and soon raindrops began to fall. In a very short time, a torrential downpour occurred, which relieved the summer heat, but the rainwater, upon contact with the still-warm ground, caused a thick fog to rise, forming a high wall that obscured the view.

Outside the bar, some men were cooling off in the rain at the entrance, chatting and laughing with beautiful women while taking the opportunity to grope them. Suddenly, a loud crash was heard, a sound that even the downpour couldn't mask. Instinctively, they looked towards the distance following the sound. Several seconds later, a pair of car headlights shone through the thick fog. A few more seconds passed before they could make out the shape of a car. A boxy, old-model blue Cadillac slowly drove up to the door, allowing the man who had been observing the vehicle to breathe a sigh of relief.

The halogen bulbs are heated when lit, and rainwater evaporates as it runs across the lampshade. A light mist lingers around the beam of light. The car is turned off, the door opens, and a black umbrella pops open. A black-haired, black-eyed Asian man gets out of the car, straightens his suit, and waves at the man at the door as the cigarette between his lips glows.

"Hey Bonnie, what was that sound just now?" the man standing in the doorway asked.

"I didn't see the puddle ahead and drove into it, so I must have scraped the bottom of the car."

"Okay, that startled me."

Bonnie didn't reply. She quickly went up the steps, folded up her umbrella, shook off the rain, handed it to the woman next to the man, and went straight into the tavern.

The heavy rain had been falling for hours without any sign of stopping, which naturally affected the tavern's business. Only a few roguish men were drinking with their female companions. When Bonnie came in, they stood up and greeted her politely.

He waved to them as well, then walked behind the bar, casually opened a bottle of anise liqueur and took a big gulp. The bartender handed him a key, which he took and went into the wine cellar. Inside, there was an iron door. Pushing it open, a wave of heat rushed out, a mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke, both sour and pungent.

However, Bonnie was already used to this smell. She listened to the shouts and commotion coming from inside the house with a blank expression. In front of her were gambling tables with chips spread out on green tablecloths. Young girls in form-fitting clothes were serving tea and water and wandering around the gambling tables. When they saw an acquaintance win money, they would enthusiastically hug the man from behind and happily accept the tips that the man handed over.

The blushing gamblers didn't notice his arrival, and the girls and dealers who did notice Bonnie didn't say hello to distract these already obsessed gamblers. They simply nodded in acknowledgment before he went into the side room, a room that would never be open to the gamblers.

Inside, a male lion was fast asleep in its cage. It was startled awake by the sound of the door opening, but upon seeing Bonnie, it returned to its original position and lay down again. Clearly, the lion was already used to Bonnie's presence, lying quietly with only its eyes following Bonnie's movements.

On the other side, there was another iron cage, in which a naked man covered in blood was curled up. His hands were hanging from the cage, and his head was buried between his hands. He looked like he was dozing off. When Bonnie saw this, she kicked the iron cage, waking the man up. He looked at Bonnie with fear on his face.

"Did I send you here to sleep? If you don't come up with the money by the last day, I really will feed you to the lions."

“Bonnie, I…”

Bonnie kicked the cage again, silencing the man's pleas for mercy. She sat in her boss's chair, took a sip of her drink, threw the cigarette butt into the man's iron cage, and exhaled a thin cloud of blue smoke into the dim light bulb before slowly saying, "I need some peace and quiet. You also need some peace and quiet to consider whether money or life is more important."

The man obediently shut up, while Bonnie finished the last bit of anise liqueur, took a revolver from the drawer, loaded it, stuffed it into her waistband, and left the room drunk, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

Outside, the rain stopped intermittently, and after the dark clouds dispersed, a larger moon would appear. The rainwater accumulated on the bumpy, muddy road reflected the moonlight. He walked unsteadily, stepping through several puddles before finally managing to climb into the car. He stepped on the gas, splashing water, and the large-displacement engine roared, speeding away in the blink of an eye.

……

Time flies, the sun is high in the sky, and the city, with its rapidly developing economy, is bustling with activity. Everyone is dressed very fashionably. After all, this is Italy, the country that experienced a post-war economic miracle and whose clothing and bags are sought after all over the world.

A man with yellow skin and black hair walked against the flow of people toward the residential area. His steps were unsteady, and he was carrying a black coat in his hand. There were still wine stains on his shirt. Although he was dressed decently, people who were drunk like this early in the morning would always avoid him. Without anyone to help him, he staggered forward and entered an apartment building.

He took out the key, tried a few times, opened the mailbox, casually pulled out a pistol from his coat, threw it into the mailbox, locked it, took the elevator to the fifth floor, room 503, which was his home.

"Knock knock knock... Open the door, open the door!"

He pressed his head against the door to maintain his balance, pounded on the door a few times with his right fist, and shouted loudly at the people inside. Soon, the door was opened, and a blonde woman wearing an apron and holding a spatula in her hand also got angry when she saw the drunk man outside.

"Bonnie, why do you always come home drunk so early in the morning! Other people's husbands leave for work energetic every morning, but my husband goes out partying every night and doesn't come home until the morning! I've had enough!"

"Bullshit, you can't stand it, you can't live without me."

Ignoring the woman's screams, he lifted her up while holding her body. The woman picked up a rice paddle and lightly tapped Bonnie's head as a threat, but it had no effect whatsoever. Bonnie easily tossed her onto the sofa.

“Andrew is still sleeping, and I’m still making pancakes…”

These words reminded Bonnie, who cautiously raised his head and crept up to the stroller like a thief. Looking at Andrew, who was still fast asleep, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. He was no good at soothing the baby, and thankfully he hadn't woken up the little darling, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to do anything else all morning.

He pulled back, leaving the woman pinned beneath him, arms crossed, glaring angrily at Bonnie. Seeing this, Bonnie put her index finger to her lips and shushed her before lowering her voice to a whisper in the woman's ear.

"Then we'll come quietly."

"Get out of here, the pot's going to burn! If you don't behave, I'll wake Andrew up."

Bonnie immediately raised his hands in surrender, sat obediently to the side, took off his shirt, revealing a white vest that showed off his strong shoulders, and when he saw the woman slowly getting up, he couldn't help but give her a light kick in the butt.

"Isn't the pot about to burn? Hurry up and go!"

"You bastard, you might as well drink yourself to death so I can remarry a good man. I don't know how many mistakes I made by marrying you."

"What should I eat for breakfast? I'm starving."

"You eat whatever I make. You have no right to be picky! It would be best if you starved to death."

Even so, breakfast was quickly served by the woman: a cup of coffee and freshly made tortillas. Bonnie came to the table with her hands on her hips, frowned when she saw that it was this again, pinched the tortilla with her fingers, flipped it over, looked at it again, and then threw it aside.

"Eating this kind of thing every day, am I a mule? Or a cow? It's already burnt..."

Before he could finish speaking, the woman retorted, "Isn't this all your doing? If you don't want to eat, you don't have to. The money you left for the family is only enough for this. Do you still want to eat croissants and German hot dogs? If you do, then earn more money!"

"Can't I even complain a little?"

"Even if I stew shit for you, you still have to eat it."

"I'm not eating it! Let's see what you can do about it."

Having said that, he lunged forward, lifting his wife up in the same motion as before, only this time his target was not the sofa, but the room. The cursing and shouting gradually subsided until, after a long while, the sound of the baby crying rang out. She went out to breastfeed, her clothes disheveled, while Bonnie lay naked on the bed eating a cold cornbread. After the baby fell asleep again, neither of them was angry anymore. They stared at each other for a while, and the drowsiness from the alcohol washed over him. He closed his eyes and took the opportunity to fall asleep in the bright midday sun.

……

As the new day dawned, he was awakened by a nightmare as usual. His wife was still fast asleep beside him. He gently leaned down, not daring to kiss her forehead, afraid that his movements would wake her. He simply sniffed his wife's scent like a wolf, then tiptoed out of the house. It was the coldest time of day, the wind was strong, and it was slightly chilly. He wrapped his coat tighter, took a pistol from the mailbox, tucked it into his pocket, and set the car on fire.

While waiting, he lit a cigarette, his gaze occasionally drifting through the car window to the unlit window upstairs. This was the gentle haven he had been searching for, the place where he could fall asleep beside the woman who loved him. But clearly, he wasn't worthy of such a life. Once you're in this line of work, you have to understand that many things are destined to go wrong. For someone who does dirty work for the gang, finding a place for his soul to rest is nothing but a pipe dream. Even though he hid his mother and child very well, so well that no one had discovered their existence for so long, this man who lived a life of bloodshed and danger was not destined to enjoy such a peaceful life.

He was also the destroyer of the beautiful Eden he longed for.

Killing someone else's entire family, then turning around and going home to enjoy family bliss with your own child? Obviously, that's unrealistic.

So I unconsciously feel afraid—afraid of the night, afraid that one day my mortal enemy will find this hidden paradise and shatter it all with gunfire.

Wanting to get away, yet reluctant to part; wanting to embrace, yet increasingly unable to control this volatile heart under the influence of blood and alcohol.

He threw the cigarette butt out the window, rolled up the window, and took one last look at the home he cherished so much. As dawn broke and the sun rose, his gaze turned fierce, like a wild beast ready to devour its prey. Today, he was about to unleash his bloodthirsty maw, step on the gas, and drive off into the distance.

The very next second after he left, a warm yellow light shone on, and his wife, standing on the balcony, gently wiped her eyes as she watched him depart.

Having lived with him for so long, it would be a lie to say she knew nothing. Her nocturnal lifestyle, the fake mustache and glue in the drawer, the scattered bloodstains on her cuffs, the pistol occasionally found in the mailbox—all these clues connect to reveal the silent truth she knew but dared not utter a word about.

She was the wife of a Mafia member. After discovering this terrifying truth, her lover also relaxed his efforts to keep his identity a secret. The two knew each other inside and out, yet pretended to be completely unaware and maintained their marriage. However, every time her husband went out in the early morning like today, she would stand by the window and pray for his safe return.

After all, Bonnie was the father of her child, the pillar of the family, and the lover she had entered into marriage with without any regrets, even though he was a member of the Mafia.

I'll accept that.

……

At midday, on a crowded street, he made a phone call to a mysterious person from a phone booth, his eyes darting around, trying to find other assassins hiding nearby. After all, he couldn't do such a big job alone. When the Godfather's son went out, he would be accompanied by at least seven or eight skilled bodyguards, especially in the current dire situation, the number of people accompanying him would naturally be even greater.

With such a lineup, he naturally needed helpers. The manpower was arranged by the boss. Although they had the same task, they might not know each other. This was also what Bonnie needed, to avoid being caught and dragging others into the mess. Currently, the search for accomplices was just a precaution. If there were any acquaintances, he would need to disguise himself again to avoid being recognized and to minimize the risk.

After a fruitless search, he glanced at his watch, stepped out of the phone booth, coffee cup in hand, and hid behind a barbershop's lightbox, pretending to flip through the fashion magazine he had just read. The informant's information was accurate; Torres' arrival time was not far off from Bonnie's calculated arrival time.

According to intelligence, he was to have lunch with a member of parliament. The boss emphasized that if the member of parliament arrived first, they would have to temporarily abandon the assassination and instead split up their forces to intercept Torres on the three roads that he could take home. This was an outcome Bonnie did not want to see. If they made their move on Torres's way home, their forces would have to split up, which would greatly increase the risk. It would be easy for a one-sided shooting to turn into a large-scale shootout. In that situation, it would be extremely difficult to kill someone who was heavily protected and might even be wearing a bulletproof vest.

Bonnie didn't want to take the risk, but the course of events was not up to him; everything depended on fate. He could only silently watch as the restaurant, which had just been full, refused new customers and gradually emptied its staff. Then he quickly began cleaning to prepare for the arrival of the prince and politicians.

About five minutes later, a black convoy slowly drove from the east. It was indeed Torres. This was excellent news for the assassins lying in ambush. The sound of the convoy's horns was, for these assassins, the death knell for Torres.

The restaurant owner had already come out from the door, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his distinguished guest. He rubbed his hands together with a beaming smile. Only after the convoy stopped and a burly man got out of the car to search the guest and confirm that everything was in order did he dare to approach the Lancia sandwiched in the middle of the convoy and gently open the door for the guest.

A thick, strong thigh stepped onto the ground, and in an instant, fine beads of sweat appeared on Bonnie's forehead. His heart pounded faster. The tall, burly man finally stepped forward, and as he shook hands with the restaurant owner with a smile, Bonnie immediately noticed several people on the street moving towards the restaurant. He followed closely behind, gripping the gun in his coat, and strode forward with his head down.

The gunshot wasn't fired by Bonnie; it came from her right front. An accomplice ran straight across the street and shot Torres in the back of the head.

The shot was fired too hastily and was not accurate enough, only hitting Torres' right shoulder. After a scream, the bodyguards immediately reacted, grabbing Torres in their arms and running towards a nearby vehicle to escape the scene with him. The other bodyguards immediately returned fire, and a shootout was inevitable. A large number of passersby screamed and scattered in all directions, while the two sides continued to draw their guns and fire at each other.

Just as Torres gritted his teeth and opened the car door, a rush of heat washed over his head. He looked up and saw the bodyguard who had been holding him close, shielding him from the bullet with his body. He had been shot in the forehead; the bullet's intense spin had created a gaping hole in the back of his head as it passed through, and copious amounts of blood mixed with brain debris washed over his face. He involuntarily looked in the direction the bullet had come from. An Asian man wearing a top hat held a revolver, its dark muzzle pointed directly at him. He instinctively prepared to draw his gun and return fire, but he wasn't a rapid-fire shooter. The weapon in the other man's hand spat fire first, and a sharp pain shot through his chest. The scorching bullet had pierced his sternum; the heat was enough to cook muscle instantly before reaching his chest. The bullet pierced his heart, then drilled a hole in his left collarbone, followed by his face. He could clearly feel his eyeballs being blasted apart; the bullet entered at an angle through his eye socket, a hundred times more powerful than a drill, bursting through his skull in the blink of an eye and exiting about three centimeters above his ear. Then another shot rang out, piercing his Adam's apple. Through bone conduction, he could clearly feel the bullet piercing his cervical vertebrae, causing his head to tilt backward involuntarily. A large amount of blood gushed from his nostrils. The last thing he saw was the man wearing sheepskin gloves who had shot him, calmly walking into the alley, and then… nothing more. He fell heavily to the ground, landing on top of the bodyguard who had died first, his eyes vacant and unclosed.

Bonnie circled around to the bodyguard's back at a tricky angle and successfully attacked Torres. He clearly realized that Torres was dead, dead at his hands. He put the gun back in his pocket, tightened his trench coat, pulled his hat down, and hurried through the alley. The gunfire behind him grew more intense, the whistling of the Kalashnikov machine gun echoing incessantly. Steel, concrete, glass, and even human flesh became its targets, but this had nothing to do with him anymore.

He sped away, tearing off the mustache glued to his lips, and alternately stepping on his heels to take off his shoes, pulling out newspapers stuffed in the shoe soles as he did so. He rolled down the window and threw the shoes, three sizes too big, at a homeless man napping on the street. The hard sole hit the homeless man on the head, waking him up. But by the time the man looked up to see who had thrown things away, Bonnie had already turned right into another block.

The old neighborhood, this is Camorra's territory. The dilapidated factory that Bonnie has taken over, no one but him has the key to this place. It was originally Bonnie's execution ground for torturing others, but now it serves no purpose. All the clothes he was wearing today were thrown into a fire barrel made of oil cans, and gasoline was poured on them and burned to ashes.

He removed the license plate and threw it into the sewer. He then transferred to his old Cadillac and left, heading straight for the port. The passenger ship was checking tickets, and he boarded smoothly with the fake official document. Standing on the deck, he was surrounded by laughter and joy. On this sunny day, seagulls circled overhead, and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He turned his head, looked at the azure sea, and then glanced back in the direction he had come from.

Thirty minutes is only a few kilometers from hell to heaven, but for the Mafia, getting to heaven requires a ticket earned with hands stained with blood.

No, it's not a ticket, just a trial card. Paradise is only a short vacation; he will eventually land on another continent, where blood and death still await him. His destination is Chicago, a place controlled by the five great families...

The ship's horn roared, the sails were hoisted, and the wind picked up. With his back to the sea, he found a bench to sit on, looked in the direction of home, lit a cigarette, pinched the butt between his thumb and middle finger, and took a deep drag. The sea breeze hit his face, and the smoke lingered on his face for a few seconds, obscuring his brow furrowed with worry. He smoothed his hair, which was flying in the wind, with his left hand. In the bright afternoon sun, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes to rest.

……

As time passed and the crescent moon rose, the bright sunlight was replaced by darkness. At the dining table, the woman's smile remained radiant and captivating. Her wrinkled hands supported her against the sofa cushions, giving her body a sense of stability. The man slowly rose, breathing heavily, and staggered to the dining table. The moonlight made his white hair shine silver, but also plunged his face, which was turned away from it, into darkness.

An elderly man, whose face was obscured, was drinking a glass of water when suddenly his movements faltered...

"Dingling bell~Dingling bell~"

Since returning to Italy, he has always been afraid of receiving calls from unknown numbers in the middle of the night, just as he was afraid of doors he couldn't open when he was young. Looking at the buzzing of the old-fashioned landline, the sharp ringing of the phone strained his nerves, making him extremely tense. He gently placed the cup on the table, staggered towards the phone, rubbed his chest vigorously with both hands to wipe away the cold sweat that had broken out the moment the phone rang, slowly reached for the receiver, gently lifted the receiver but didn't put it to his ear. He paused in mid-air for a few seconds before gradually moving it to his ear. His mouth opened and closed several times before he nervously uttered, "Who is this?"

……

After returning home, he only saw Andrew once, at the cemetery, where his wife was buried. This time, he will meet Andrew again, also at the cemetery, but this time, it will be Andrew himself who is buried.

His son died in a gangland feud.

He was shot three times, all three wounds fatal—two to the chest and one to the cheekbone. So much so that he couldn't show his face to say goodbye to his family and friends before his burial. He was simply covered with a white sheet and lay down next to his beloved mother. Bonnie stood by and watched, without crying or breaking down, only her face ashen with grief and despair.

There were few guests at the funeral, and none of his friends who had been to the cemetery with him came. This was gang life; they wouldn't mourn for a henchman. Once he died, he lost his value, and the gang only needed to take his body back and give his family a certain amount of money for his funeral.

The visitors were all Andrew's neighbors. They didn't cry; they just went through the motions. Amid the pastor's exaggerated praise of his character, they offered flowers in twos and threes and left. Only one girl wailed as the first handful of soil was poured on the coffin.

Sarah, Andrew's daughter and granddaughter, is only thirteen years old. It is clear that she has a very close relationship with her father, so much so that she has been preventing others from giving Andrew a proper burial.

Funerals in real life are not as calm as they are portrayed in TV dramas. People still break down in grief and do irrational things. Even years later, they still shed tears and find it hard to let go when they talk about the deceased. Sarah is probably one of those people.

Fortunately, Andrew's wife pulled her away, allowing Andrew to be buried. Sarah, however, couldn't stop crying and sat on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. This made Bonnie feel a pang of sorrow. If he hadn't killed Torres back then, perhaps he would have died in the ensuing gang war. But even if he had died then, Andrew might have cried for him like Sarah is now. For Bonnie, death didn't frighten him. The only conscience of a man with blood on his hands was that he deserved to die. He just needed someone, someone for his child to cry for him, someone to remember him after his death. That kind of ending would have been enough for Bonnie, not like this, where he had to watch his child die.

He couldn't control his steps and unconsciously walked towards Sarah. He gently bent down, took out a handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to Sarah. But just when Bonnie thought she was going to take it, Sarah slapped his hand, knocking the handkerchief off and getting it stained with wet mud.

"I know who you are! Get away from me! If it weren't for you, my dad wouldn't have joined the Mafia, and he wouldn't be dead! I hate you! I don't need your pity, get out!"

She wasn't a well-behaved girl; a street thug couldn't raise a well-behaved child. Her hair was dyed in all sorts of colors, and she kept verbally attacking Bonnie with a string of foul language. Even without Andrew's wife's intervention, she was about to get up and beat Bonnie, a woman in her seventies. She was so aggressive, her eyes sharp as a little tiger's. Bonnie just stared blankly into her eyes, feeling like a child who couldn't lift his head, and kept backing away with his head down.

The farce in the cemetery only ended when she was pulled away by Andrew's wife, and the other guests, unaware of Bonnie's identity, persuaded him to leave.

He was driven away at his son's funeral.

Sarah's words kept echoing in his mind, and the pain in his heart began to ripple like waves on a sponge, reaching the deepest part of his soul. He could only walk to the police car that was assisting with the burial of the body not far away, hunch over, gently place his hand on the window of the police car, and ask in a weak and sorrowful voice.

"Sir, has the murderer who killed my son been found?"

"Um...we will definitely catch the murderer as soon as possible and get justice for you. Please rest assured, sir."

The police responded with a guilty conscience and pity: gang-related killings are very difficult to solve. Even if they manage to identify the killer, by the time they find him, he may have already been killed by someone else. It is this kind of chaos that makes the criminal activities of the Mafia the most troublesome cases for the police.

But for an elderly person in their twilight years, especially one who has lost their child, words that are too far off might be an even greater blow to someone who doesn't have much time left. He could only make a tactful promise, and he probably felt ashamed even as he said them.

That was the end of it. He simply took off his hat, bowed slightly to the officer, and walked away. The police paid no more attention to the old man, and his presence was not needed at the funeral. His visit, like autumn leaves falling on water, only caused a slight ripple for a moment.

……

Summer rain, dark clouds briefly obscuring the scorching sun, a warm breeze blowing through the drizzle, drifting into the room through the half-open wooden window, making the light gauze curtains flutter in the air. The room is very quiet, with only the long, drawn-out breathing of the old man as he dozes off. But occasionally, a few coughs are mixed in with these breathing, disrupting the tranquil atmosphere of the evening and the languid feeling brought on by the white noise of the rain.

He doesn't really like sleeping in the bedroom; he usually falls asleep on this old sofa. The sounds from the TV or radio make him sleepy without making him feel oppressed by excessive quiet.

Soon after, he woke up, picked up his old watch from the table, and used it to judge the sunrise and sunset. His old brain needed more time to clear up. He sat blankly on the sofa for a long time, lost in thought, before slowly getting up. He clenched his right fist and put it in front of his mouth to cover the droplets from his cough. He picked up a thin sweater and draped it over his already hunched back. Unable to lift his feet, he walked to the kitchen in his slippers and poured a glass of water.

A year and a half has passed since Andrew's funeral. He goes to the police station every week to ask if there are any leads in the case, but he is always told that the case is still under investigation.

Even if he uses his own methods to find the murderer, for an old man who is frail and has been cut off from the local gangs for thirty years, the result is basically the same as that of the police. He is old and really useless.

Perhaps this is the will of Heaven. He didn't die a violent death in the streets, but his child became his compensation, bearing the consequences of his many crimes. This is what they call retribution.

In just over a year, he began to age at a visible rate. The collapse of his spiritual pillar caused him to lose his last hope for life. He failed to protect his wife and his son, and he could no longer find any purpose in life.

Recently, he has started experiencing symptoms such as chest tightness, weight loss, and general weakness, which has made him realize that he may be ill. After all, the elderly can perceive their own weakness more quickly than young people. However, he has accepted the fact that he is about to die and has made full preparations to welcome his death.

When the rain stopped, the dark clouds took away the last ray of sunlight hiding behind the mountains. He changed his clothes, took the laundry and trash downstairs, threw the clothes into the public washing machine in the laundry room, and while waiting for them to be washed, he flipped through the so-called medical newspapers provided by the laundry room that sold fake medicines and promoted leech blood-sucking therapy as a cure for all diseases. Occasionally, he would tear out the pages in the newspapers where other people had written the contact information of drug dealers and throw them into the trash can. Gradually, his vision began to double, and the words were constantly being copied in his vision. He began to lose control of his body and started to tremble as if he were drunk. Finally, his vision went black and he collapsed to the ground.

……

In the hospital, the night was as bright as day. He was wearing a hospital gown, leaning against the hospital bed, flipping through a fashion magazine. Not bad, this year's retro trend was very similar to the styles he liked when he was young. It was much better than the fashion of a few years ago, where the more skin you showed, the more fashionable you were. He could easily accept this style, just as he could easily accept the fact that he was seriously ill.

"The surgery is already scheduled for the second half of the year. I don't recommend you wait. Your illness can't be delayed that long, sir."

"Ok."

"As for the cost of the surgery, it will cost about 400,000, which is not a small amount. I hope you can prepare for it as soon as possible."

"Forget it, I don't have that much money, and I don't plan to get treatment."

"Well then, I wish you good health, Mr. Rossi."

He put the magazine away on the bedside table, turned over, and faced the window. He realized that the rain had started again, heavier than at dusk. Under the streetlights, he could roughly make out the street. His gaze wandered, trying to find some signs of life by looking down at the street. But in the dead of night, all he saw were homeless tents and piles of garbage on the street. Drug addicts wandered aimlessly in the rain, occasionally making actions that were incomprehensible to ordinary people.

He awaited death like these people, or accepted it calmly like him, or, like the group below, did not speculate on whether tomorrow or an accident would come first. In any case, he would die here, becoming one of the countless white bones beneath this decaying city, along with these strangers who, like these equally rotten souls.

……

"Hey Bonnie, how are you feeling?"

The ambulance's siren blared last night, causing quite a commotion. The neighbors, who had lived there for many years and were quite familiar with the area, greeted Bonnie, who was walking home alone. Of course, that was all. The old man hadn't been a good person in his youth. Although the neighbors didn't know exactly what he had done, people living peaceful lives could still sense the presence of a villain, just as a gentle deer is naturally sensitive to a wolf.

Over the years, no one has wanted to get close to him. If he had made a fortune in the United States and returned home in glory, perhaps some women would have tried to spend a night with him for the sake of his money. But he was just a poor old man who had fallen on hard times and returned to this run-down neighborhood to make a living, so he could only be alone. People would often see him sitting alone on the sofa in a daze from the window of the apartment across the street, but still no one would pity him. This was his own doing. The old neighbors had heard about his scumbag behavior of abandoning his wife and children, so when he felt the onslaught of loneliness, naturally no one would lend a helping hand.

After responding to each other, the two stopped talking and headed home. There was a bill for the TV service on the door. It wasn't expensive for an old apartment, but Bonnie, who wasn't well-off to begin with, had never paid it off completely. She tore off the bill, glanced at the name on it, and crumpled it up without even opening the envelope. She threw it into the trash can after opening the door. The window hadn't been closed last night, and the rainwater that had fallen in had dried in the sun, leaving a noticeable water stain on the carpet.

He sat blankly in front of the sofa, the window behind it, sunlight streaming in at an angle, casting shadows of dust, but cutting off the front half of the living room. He hid in the darkness, his back to the sunlight.

At times like these, the silence is so profound that even the rustling of dust particles seems audible. He closes his eyes to rest, as always, feeling utterly alone. This loneliness isn't because no one talks to him, no one shares dinner with him, or no one makes a comforting phone call. Rather, it comes from the sudden discovery upon returning home of the previously unnoticed mess.

He pulled the blanket that had been lying on the sofa over himself, intending to fall asleep as usual. But the thoughts in his mind gave his aging brain a rare burst of energy. He was thinking about his future life, whether or not to have a coffin made for himself, and... on the day his wife passed away, she must have been waiting for death alone, just like him.

He couldn't help but turn his head and look at the dining table under the window. The woman, who he had probably angered to death, was still smiling brightly in the sunlight. However, it had been a very long time since she had just been smiling and hadn't said a word.

With her mind in turmoil, Bonnie held her head in her hands and stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. Just then, the door, which hadn't been knocked on in a long time, suddenly made a sound. Instinctively, Bonnie sat up from the sofa, but didn't get up to open the door immediately, until the knocking sounded a second time.

"Dong dong dong."

The knocking was loud and arrhythmic, like the sound of a neighbor's annoying child deliberately disturbing his sleep. He didn't respond to the knocking. His years of vigilance led him to walk barefoot to the door, turning to look through the peephole until a head of multicolored hair came into view. To his surprise, he opened the door.

Why do you take so long to open the door when you're home?

"Sarah?"

The girl, who was less than 1.6 meters tall, looked dissatisfied. She pouted and pushed aside Bonnie, who was blocking the doorway, and barged into the quiet without any politeness. She threw the tattered nylon woven bag in her hand onto the sofa and went straight to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and rummaging through it for anything edible.

She looked starving. Bonnie only drank one cup of the liter of milk. She opened the lid and drank the milk straight from her mouth, burped, wiped her mouth with her sleeve in an unladylike manner, tossed the milk carton behind her, and then picked up a piece of toast and stuffed it into her mouth.

Bonnie stared blankly at her wolfing down her food. He couldn't help but walk over and get closer to watch her gulp down her food rations for the next few days. After a while, seeing that her eating speed had slowed down, he finally spoke.

How did you know I lived here?

"Your address is in my dad's notebook."

"Where's your mother?"

“She was gone when I woke up a few days ago. All the valuables in the house were gone, and she didn’t leave me a single penny.”

She was unusually calm, as if she had long foreseen this day. Her cold tone was as if she were telling a tragic story that had nothing to do with her and had never moved her in the slightest. After all, her mother was not a respectable woman either, and good women would not have anything to do with Mafia thugs.

Chewing on her bread, she stared blankly at the wide-open refrigerator, her face expressionless. After swallowing the bread, she reached into the refrigerator again to rummage for food, but unfortunately, there was very little left. She couldn't find anything that could still be eaten raw. She closed the refrigerator door, plopped back down on the sofa, pushed Bonnie's blanket aside, took out cosmetics from the bag she had brought, and touched up her makeup. She muttered to herself, "I'm going to stay here for a while. I'll move out once I've earned some money, and then I'll pay you the rent. For now, I'll just owe you."

"It's okay. If you have nowhere to go, just stay here. Don't mention rent."

"Oh, that's right. My dad said you owe him. Once I find a place to move, we'll be even."

Her nonchalant, nonchalant manner, the makeup on her youthful face that seemed out of place for her age, left Bonnie speechless as he watched her. He knew nothing about his granddaughter, and at that moment he didn't know whether to be glad that she was strong enough or to grieve for her excessive precocity and the composure that could only be cultivated through hardship.

Her makeup skills weren't great, but her outstanding looks were her greatest asset. Her Caucasian heritage gave her distinct features and a harmonious head-to-body ratio, while her Chinese heritage further softened her appearance and temperament, allowing her to exude beauty even with long, rainbow-colored hair. The classic combination of red lips and snow-white skin was enough to make any woman unconsciously reveal a touch of femininity, even though the child in front of her was only fourteen years old.

She closed the small mirror that came with her foundation box, tossed it into her bag, and poked her face in the mirror. Her chubby cheeks were squeezed around her mouth, and her round, plump appearance gave this heavily made-up girl a touch of cuteness and playfulness.

"Where is my room?"

Bonnie pointed to Andrew's former room. She understood and went in with her only belongings. Bonnie didn't go to help her, trying his best not to disturb her private space. He knew that the child hated him, and all he could do now was try to avoid being hated by his granddaughter so that she could stay here more peacefully, since she really had nowhere else to turn.

……

I'm sorry, this really made me numb. I wish everyone a prosperous New Year and a lucky Year of the Tiger.

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(End of this chapter)