CHAPTER TWO

2 Weeks Before

Seoul

 

Zico stepped from the elevator as soon as the doors opened.  Staring at the floor, he took long, exaggerated steps with his arms outstretched to balance himself.  The hallway was so small that his hands brushed both walls as he walked. 

He was so sick of this life.  He was just another minion; leader of one of the four gangster groups of Seoul; slave to his responsibilities.  He wanted a change.  He wanted out.

But there was no ‘out’ for this life. 

He finally stopped in front of his door.  His head fell back and he stared at the ceiling while he dug in his pocket for his keys.  He looked back down and swept his gaze around the door and the handle briefly looking for signs of forced entry.  Finding none, but not completely caring whether or not they were there to begin with, he turned the key and unlocked the door.

Halfway in, he knew something was wrong. 

The shoes; the shoe rack in the entryway was organized.  Each shoe was lined up perfectly on the rack right next to its match.

The TV was on in the living room; he could hear the news reporter talking about some kind of boat event happening that week in Busan.  A clang of metal on metal in the kitchen told him someone was in his kitchen.  

Lifting his gaze, he peered into the living room.  He could see half of it from his position in the door.  He did not see anyone but he knew he had left bottles of beer and soju on the coffee table when he had left late last night.  The coffee table was now clean.  Not even a crumb marred its surface.  There was absolutely no clutter in the room at all. 

Even the floor looked clean.  The wooden boards were old and stained, but they were definitely cleaner now then they had been when he left. 

The door straight ahead to the bathroom was shut; as was the door to the right of it which led to his bedroom, though he hardly ever slept there.

Zico stepped fully into the entryway and let the door shut behind him.  Only one person would break into his apartment and clean.  He in a huge breath to fight his raising anger only to pull in the scent of samgyeopsal. 

His anger disappeared in a flash as his stomach rumbled.  He groaned and convinced himself not to slam his forehead into the wall in frustration. 

He was the Leader of Block B, the most notorious leader of the Blocks.  And she just could not understand that it was not safe for her to waltz right into his apartment, clean, and cook.  It wasn’t that kind of place. 

He stood still, one hand on his hip, one covering his eyes, and fought to keep his anger and his hunger in check.  It had been a long time since he had tasted her samgyeopsal, but he needed to convince her how serious the situation was. 

“JiJi!” 

Zico peered through split fingers to see the woman of his distress poking her head out from around the corner to the living room.  She was older than Ji, in her late twenties.  She wore her long black hair tied up in a messy bun on the top of her head, an apron to protect her clothes and held meat scissors in one hand.  She was waving that hand at him with a big smile on her face. 

His heart immediately softened and he knew he wouldn’t be able to reprimand her as he should. 

“Myunghee,” he said while kicking off his shoes.  “What did I say about coming here?”

Smile still in place, she stepped into the entryway and held her hands behind her back.  “You said that it’s dangerous to come here alone, because you have no idea who may come looking for you here.”

“Exactly,” Zico said.  He picked up his shoes and placed them on the rack because he knew she expected him to.  “So, why are you here?”

“I came to see you because I missed you,” she answered honestly.  She visibly deflated and her smile slipped into a frown. 

“Nuna, it hasn’t even been two months since you last snuck in,” Zico said on a sigh.  That was nothing compared to the years he had spent away in Japan. 

Zico only had one person like her in his life.  She was the only person he ever called nuna; the only person he had enough affection for to call ‘sister’.  She was the only person in the world that could make him feel this guilty. 

They had been children living on streets when they met.  When Myunghee had fallen ill and they had no money for a doctor, Zico had given his allegiance to the city’s biggest gang, The Block, in exchange for saving Myunghee.  That desperate action on Zico’s part had shaped the rest of their lives.  The Block had become their home and their family.  It had been a place of security, until it had all gone wrong. 

Myunghee stuck her tongue out at him.  “I didn’t completely ignore you,” she told him.  “I didn’t come alone. And it wasn’t me who broke in; what’s the point in bringing a bodyguard along if I have to do all the work myself.”  She smiled and then disappeared into the living room on her way to the kitchen.  “Come eat, JiJi.”

Bodyguard?  There was only one man she could be talking about and Zico did not want to see him.

Zico’s face lost the small amount of softness he reserved only for Myunghee and it hardened as he stepped to and turned into the doorway that led into the living room. 

A man sat at his small dining table just outside the open kitchen area.  He had taken the strategic seat against the far wall so he had full view of both the kitchen and the living room.  He had premature streaks of gray in his short black hair, a hard jaw, and a nose that that had been broken once or twice.  Zico knew this man was tall, well-muscled, dangerous, and capable of being cold, cruel, and calculating.  Yet, he looked anything but as he sat in the small room munching on shrimp crackers from a bowl on the table. 

Zico looked at him knowing that the man was responsible for giving him a reason to live, saving his life, giving him everything his has ever had, taking it all away, destroying his life, and making Zico everything his was, the good and the bad. 

Zico had so much to be thankful to him for.  He had so much reason to hate him.

Zico went with the hate; the emotion was fresher. 

“Hello, Jiho,” the man said.  He voice was a low rumble in his chest.  Zico had been jealous of that voice once.

“You’re not welcome here,” Zico said.  His own voice would never be deep, but Zico had spent a lot of time working on developing that icy tone.  His hands fisted in the pockets of his trench coat but he forced the rest of his body to relax.

“Jiho!” Myunghee exclaimed.  She always used his real name when she reprimanded him.  Zico didn’t shift his gaze. 

“It’s okay, Myunghee,” the man at the table said.  “I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome.  But is a civilized tone too much to ask?”

Zico said nothing.  He didn’t move.  The man at the table didn’t either.  Myunghee threw her hands up into the air and ignored both of them.  She began setting side dishes on the table.

Once upon a time, Zico would have been happy to have this man pay a visit.  They would have sat at that table all night, talked about past jobs, successes and screw-ups.  Zico would have asked for his guidance and his advice and would have been happy to follow his every word.

He wasn’t that kid anymore.  And that was the fault of the man before him.

“I have a job for you,” the man said after a long stretch of silence.

“I don’t take orders from you anymore,” Zico spat back. 

Thick black eyebrows rose.  “It wasn’t an order.  It’s an offer.”

“What makes you think I’d be interested in anything coming from you?”

With a loud bang, Myunghee hit a spoon a little too hard against the edge of the pot.

“Vietnam.”

With effort, Zico kept his face free of any emotion.  “You know me and my team are no longer welcome in Vietnam.”

The man at the table grinned.  “That’s why I came to you first.”

Zico almost grinned back. 

“You almost screwed up the job last time,” the man said without mercy, getting serious.  “You came really close to screwing everything up.  You know that if you hadn’t come back with what I asked for you wouldn’t be leader of Block B.  I would have given this section of The Block to someone else.  I wasn’t going to leave a section of my empire to anyone who wasn’t worthy of it.” 

“Worthy,” Zico repeated with a scoff.  “You really think those other punks you gave sections to are worthy?”

“Those punks have managed to do more with their Blocks then you have with yours,” he said.  “Block B hasn’t been involved in any outside jobs since The Block split.  The only reason it’s running right is because Jaehyo is acting as the face and reminding people that it’s here running day to day operations with P.O, B-Bomb and U-Kwon.  Kyung is out gathering info and Taeil’s got investments going that are saving your from going bankrupt.  But you are acting like a moody child throwing a tantrum.  What?  You didn’t think I’d be checking up?  I may no longer be the Boss of The Block, but I still consider the people that live here to be mine.  Of course I’m going to make sure they’re being taken care of.” 

Zico said nothing.  He stared blankly at the TV screen. 

The man began talking again, calmer this time.  “Word is you’re just throwing a fit because you only got a fourth of The Block.  But I know you better than that.  If you wanted the whole of it, you would have gone after it.  I don’t care what happened in Japan, JiHo.  You came back with the same kick , I’m going to take you down attitude.  But that changed after Vietnam.  It was something there that made you change.  That made you think twice about the life we live and about risking everything to take back control of The Block.  And I don’t care what it was.  I just want you to get over it.”

“Don’t even mention Japan to me,” Zico said with a snarl.  The eyes he the man at the table were eyes that he’d never seen on Jiho before Japan. 

The man sighed.  “Like I said, Jiho, I don’t care what happened in Japan.  I don’t care what happened in Vietnam last time,” he said.  “But I have a job that needs to be done and yours is the only crew I can trust to handle it correctly.  Now sit down, eat, and we’ll talk about the job after.” 

Zico stared at the seat across from the man.  Another job in Vietnam.  A chance to fix what went wrong last time.  A job would make his bored crew happy.  He wanted nothing to do with the man sitting at his table.

Myunghee came around the counter with a large plate of steaming food in her hands.  Zico reminded himself that pushing away the man meant pushing away her, too.  He sighed.  Going to the chair he jerked it out and slouched in it, hands in his pockets. 

“What’s the prize?”

“Tran recently got his hands on a pair of diamonds,” the man started.  “You don’t need to know any more about where they came from.”

“You want me to steal two diamonds from under the nose Southeast Asia’s biggest crime lord who, if you’ve forgotten, already wants me and my crew dead.” 

The man grinned again.  “Good to know we’re on the same page.  But there’s more,” the man continued.  “I’ll give you two weeks to plan and get over there and two weeks to get back with the prize.  You and your crew have one month to bring me the diamonds.  In return, I’ll give you some inside information.”

“What kind of inside information?”

“Inside information to help you take over the other sections of The Block.”

Zico froze.  Not a muscle twitched.  “Where are the diamonds now?” He asked. 

Once his visitors had left and Zico was once again alone in his now clean apartment, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.

“Yobahseoh?” The voice on the other end of the line was slurred with sleep.

“Yo, Kyung,” Zico greeted his unofficial second-in-command and best friend for most of his life.  “Gather the guys for a meeting tonight.  We’ve got a job.”

The oath Kyung responded with had Zico smiling. 

He never thought it would happen again, but Zico was headed back to Vietnam.