Before his injuries had even healed, Charloes was thrown out by Maroni.
His mother, Pola, personally saw him into the car, piling packages onto the back seat one by one.
His destination was a belt factory in the old industrial district, a fringe business belonging to the Maroni Family. It brought in little money and would never offer him any standing in the gang again.
The upside was that he would be far from the fighting. If he could keep the business running, its income would be enough to support his fine habit of visiting casinos every few days.
"Call me when you get there, and remember to drink milk before bed. Mommy will always love you!"
"Come on, it's not like I'm going off to fight on the front lines. We'll be less than eighty kilometers apart."
Charloes wiped the lipstick mark off his face and reached through the car window to wave goodbye.
He sounded carefree, but when he watched his mother disappear into the rainy night, still waving her silk scarf, hot tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.
There was the pain of leaving his family, hatred for his father, and humiliation he refused to acknowledge.
In less than two months, William had stripped him of all the standing and influence that had rightfully belonged to him.
Until then, he had always thought getting a hard kick in the ass from a pointed leather shoe was just a mocking figure of speech.
"William... William... don't think you've won the war. A mercenary's gun is already aimed at your forehead, and you don't even know it."
"You mean like this?"
An unfamiliar yet familiar accent sounded beside him. Charloes turned his eyes and discovered that a strangely dressed man had appeared next to him without his