Dark Romance: A Cruel Obsession

Los Angeles, bar back alley.

A man angrily kicked over the beer crates piled in the corner of the bar, the glass bottles clattering to the ground.

“Jay!” Jay’s companion ran out from the bar, stepping on broken glass to catch Jay. “You’re too impulsive. You shouldn’t be confronting Dniel.”

“Dniel is an arrogant man. His foolishness led him to trust Bryson, but Bryson led his armed forces to burn down our warehouse and kill my men!” Jay shouted with bloodshot eyes, forcefully breaking free from his companion’s grasp. “I’m going to kill Bryson!”

“Andre personally negotiated the deal with Bryson. If you go and kill Bryson now, are you telling Andre that you’ve betrayed him?”

“Andre is clouded by hatred. He has lost his composure and wisdom.” Jay’s chest heaved with anger, fists clenched. “He is no longer worthy of our loyalty!”

“Jay!” Barron shouted in fear, looking around the bar back alley, deserted and separated from the wild revelry of the bar by an iron door. No one would notice them, and no one would hear what Jay had just said.

Barron breathed a sigh of relief, his face pale with shock. “I understand your anger. You’ve lost a loyal lieutenant, and the warehouse, worth a billion dollars, has been destroyed. But you can’t challenge Andre’s position and authority within the Bratva. He will kill you.”This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

“Andre is like a lion with its teeth pulled, its claws clipped. He has lost his ability to hunt and the right to lead the pride!” Jay, unafraid of his own outburst, felt a release of pent-up frustration, more convinced that his thoughts were right.

“We should recommend a new leader to replace Andre, overturn all his unreasonable commands, cut ties with Los Angeles, kill Bryson, and recover our losses.”

“Enough, Jay!” The more Jay spoke, the more intense Barron’s trembling became. He wanted to grab Jay’s shoulders, shake him vigorously, wake him up. “You shouldn’t lose your loyalty! Andre is an excellent leader; he has led the Bratva to greatness. We all swore to be loyal to him forever.”

Barron wiped his face, trembling. “Your thoughts are dangerous. You are betraying Andre, betraying your oath to God.”

“You don’t understand me at all, Barron!” Jay roared, pushing Barron aside. “Don’t follow me anymore.”

Barron indeed did not follow. Perhaps Jay’s words had been too much for him. He looked at Jay with red eyes, hesitating, not knowing what to do.

As Jay walked deeper into the alley, he did not notice the changes around him. He had been drinking, feeling a bit woozy, everything he looked at seemed to sway and spin, circling in front of his eyes, until it made him dizzy.

After vomiting, Jay stumbled, treading upon the vomit. He stared with bleary eyes at the road at the end of the alley. The dim light cast a long shadow of a person at the alley’s entrance, the gun’s dark barrel gleaming coldly, pointed at his head. The thunderous gunshot was muffled by a silencer.

Jay’s eyes remained wide open, lying in the dirty alley, unable to close them. The first rays of dawn pierced through the heavy clouds and narrow gaps between buildings, falling on the bullet hole in his forehead.

Jay died, in the back alley of the bar street, just three feet from the intersection, only to be discovered the next day by a bartender heading home after closing.

When Barron arrived at the scene from home, Jay’s body had already been taken away by his family. Dniel, with a hangover still evident on his face, wiped his face and squatted in a corner, easing the burning in his stomach.

“Although I dislike Jay’s arrogance, I didn’t expect him to die,” Dniel sighed heavily, finding it difficult to stand, and sat on the ground, staring blankly at where Jay had fallen.

“Jay was Andre’s capable assistant. Many wished for his death, but in Los Angeles, few dared to act against him,” Barron said, his gaze coldly fixed on Dniel.

“Bryson wouldn’t do something so foolish,” Dniel said. “You’re saying he’s behind our alliance’s deaths? That’s absurd.”

“I shouldn’t have stopped Jay,” Barron reprimanded Jay for his lack of reason the night before, now filled with regret.

Perhaps Jay was right after all. Cooperating with Bryson wasn’t a wise decision. Bryson wanted control of Houston, while Andre only wanted to kill Alajos Hargrave. They paid a painful price, and the victory ended up in the hands of their former enemy, temporary ally Bryson.

If that was the case, their fallen brothers meant nothing?

…

The news of Jay’s death quickly reached Houston. Alajos hung up the phone. “Where is Joseph now?”

“He’s aboard Vilem’s ship.” Simpson had just received an email from Festus, opened it and read, “The reason is to see Vilem’s working environment, to ensure that we assign tasks to Vilem beyond his capabilities. Tasks that are too dangerous will cost him his life.”

Simpson sneered, “But what is his real purpose? To scout our routes, find a way to breach them, and take them over.”

“I’m fond of Joseph’s arrogance,” Alajos didn’t mind. He hoped Joseph would stay on the ship a little longer, preferably until news of Bryson’s death arrived, then return. “When is the Bratva ready to make a move?”

“Dniel is close to Bryson’s faction, he insists Bryson wouldn’t break their alliance,” Simpson said. “But Jay is dead, that’s a fact. Barron has suspicions aimed at Dniel and Bryson.”

“Dniel was in the bar all night, he has witnesses,” Alajos said.

“Bryson does not, and he has ample reason to kill Jay,” Simpson shared his intelligence with Alajos. “Jay was a staunch opponent of Bryson, and Jay had caused trouble last week, leading to the FBI raiding a drug factory in the outskirts of Los Angeles.”

“Bryson was furious and demanded an explanation from Dniel. But you know, Jay sat in the same position as Dniel; Dniel couldn’t discipline Jay, he couldn’t explain to Bryson,” Simpson said. “So, to retaliate against Jay, Bryson undoubtedly killed him. It’s a perfect motive.”

“You’re right. But they didn’t realize that, whether it’s Jay’s death or Bryson’s betrayal, it was all orchestrated by us, Hargrave,” Alajos rarely laughed heartily, taking out a bottle and ice from the office’s mini-fridge. “We should celebrate.”

“It’s necessary,” Simpson accepted the drink from Alajos. “Cheers!”

The amber liquid swirled in the glass, the ice clinking against the sides, making a pleasant sound. Simpson enjoyed the brief happiness that came from the preliminary success of their plan and asked Alajos a question, “Will you tell Vivian?”

Alajos finished his drink and poured himself another. “No,” Alajos said.