Chapter 26

He pushed up the glasses on his nose, the metal frames cold to the touch. "I understand."

He turned to the guard, trying to restore his usual smoothness to his voice. "This time, I owe it to your-no, your company's timely intervention.

"I can't thank you enough."

Had he not happened to hire these bodyguards of mysterious origin, he would probably have been dragged beneath that manor by now.

Would he have come out in one piece? He dared not dwell on it.

"I'll add a special bonus shortly,"

Wesker continued, each word seeming to squeeze through his teeth, "and I'd like to renew a long-term security agreement with your company.

"Can that be arranged?"

"Of course."

The man designated Codename 8674 nodded.

To the organization behind him, the so-called Family entrenched here was no more than insects in the dust.

As long as the money was there, safety was guaranteed.

The network woven through these "protection"

assignments would one day become the steps to the Family's revival-as for the price, the employer's twitching mouth made its considerable weight clear.

Those two boys...

The names Rossi and Doflamingo flashed through his mind, and Wesker felt his temples throb.

He had thought they were merely two promising seeds worth investing in. Who could have expected them to whip up a raging storm in the blink of an eye?

In just a few days, they had turned all of Spandamruze upside down, leaving that Family raging like a trapped beast.

If people like them truly came into their own, even the world might tremble.

It was precisely because he had crossed paths with them that he had nearly become a sacrifice to misdirected anger, a hunk of meat thrown to a vicious dog.

No, he suddenly remembered, that "Man-Eating Dog,"

Toru, was already gone.

The merchant shook his head with a bitter smile, his leather shoes echoing hollowly against the stone pavement.

From now on, that Family's enemies would probably have to feed the fish at the docks instead.

By now, the brothers had long since sailed far away.

With nowhere to vent their anger, they would inevitably keep their eyes fixed on him.

Germa 66's name might be impressive, but it burned through money every second.

What a headache...

When he pushed open his front door, Wesker was still lost in that tangled mess.

The entryway was dimly lit. A maid stood in the shadows, her lips moving as though she wanted to say something.

But he walked straight past, failing to notice the hesitation that flashed through her eyes.

An arm blocked the doorway.

Its owner had a build resembling a certain governor. The Germa member designated "8674"

silently took half a step forward, cutting off Wesker's path.

"There's a guest inside."

The low voice came from behind the sunglasses. "Quite strong."

Wesker stopped short.

A blond-haired boy sat on the living room sofa.

Hearing the movement, the boy looked up and waved the porcelain cup in his hand toward the doorway.

Dark brown liquid gently swayed against its rim.

"I came uninvited. I hope the host won't mind."

Wesker's breath caught for an instant.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Wesker rushed to the sofa in a few strides and all but collapsed into it.

The usually composed merchant's fingertips were trembling slightly now, fine beads of sweat seeping from his temples.

"Do you have any idea what's going on out there?"

He kept his voice low, each word seeming to squeeze through his teeth. "The Jiedi Family's men are searching the whole city like mad dogs! Anyone with any connection to you will get dragged into this!"

He owed the fact that he could sit here talking, rather than lie in some dungeon being sliced into thin pieces, to the figure standing by the window, toying with **-silver light flowed between Vergo's fingers, the blade reflecting his cold profile.

And behind him stood the sunglasses-wearing man like an iron tower, the support that still gave Wesker the courage to demand answers.

"I'm sorry we dragged you into this."

The boy opposite him set down his cup. Its porcelain base met the glass coffee table with a crisp "tap"

of sound.

"I'd originally planned to do everything we could to help if you ran into danger because of this, Mr. Wesker."

Rossi's tone was steady, even carrying just the right touch of apology. "Now it seems I worried needlessly."

Wesker paused.

He had seen far too many madmen of the sea who valued their pride above their lives, and often dealt with reckless brutes.

But someone like the boy before him, so young, so ruthless, yet so diplomatic with his words... was rare indeed.

An old saying circulated in the Flower Country: unsolicited favors meant either treachery or theft.

"Get to the point, Mr. Rossi."

Wesker pushed up the glasses on his nose, the metal frames cold to the touch.

He calmed himself and reassessed the other party-an opponent who had to be treated with caution. "Surely you didn't come all this way just to check whether I was safe?"

"What if I said that really was my only reason for coming?"

The boy raised his eyes and looked at him frankly.

Wesker did not answer, merely returning his gaze in silence.

"All right,"

Rossi said with a smile, leaning back into the sofa. "Then let me offer another proposal-"

"We join forces and wipe out the Jiedi Family.

"Once it's done, you get thirty percent of their wealth, and I get seventy."

Seventy percent would go to Rossi and his companions; thirty percent was the olive branch extended to Wesker.

Even for this merchant, who had already amassed considerable wealth, that thirty percent was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

It far exceeded his entire fortune.

His Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.

Wesker closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

When he opened them again, clarity had returned to his gaze.

"I'm sorry,"

he said, shaking his head. "I can't accept that proposal."

No matter how much money there was, he had to be alive to spend it.

"Don't be so quick to refuse."

Rossi was not surprised.

He raised a hand and lightly tapped his own chest with his fingertips.

Rossi's gaze passed over Wesker and settled on the man behind him to one side, his eyes hidden by sunglasses and his body seemingly cast from iron.

The bitter smell of a burned-out cigar lingered in the air, mingling with the cold, hard scents of leather and metal.

His fingertips unconsciously rubbed his trouser seam. He could feel his muscles tightening slightly beneath the fabric-his body's instinctive reaction to some invisible pressure.

"As for what the two of us brothers are capable of,"

he began, keeping his voice steady, "you should have an assessment at hand, Mr. Wesker."

Wesker nodded, his knuckles tapping a short, dull note against the mahogany tabletop. "I did receive a report."

The security agency named after numbers behind him had once assigned the two young men before him a particular threat rating.

But that was ultimately only an assessment on paper. Between that and "overturning the situation"

lay a gulf that numbers could not fill.

Rossi tilted his head toward his companion.

Vergo, who had kept his head lowered over the short blade in his palm, finally looked up, his jawline taut as a blade. "You're surely familiar with this man."

"A Four Suits member."

Wesker's gaze lingered briefly on the cold gleam turning between Vergo's fingers. "Rumor has it you weren't on good terms."

The fragments of intelligence never quite formed a complete picture.

From the pieces Wesker had gathered, these two young outsiders had first clashed with the gang entrenched in the east of the city, then turned around and angered the Family that had held sway here for over a decade.

Like two stones thrown into stagnant water, their ripples collided.

"It was a complicated process."

Rossi leaned back into the seat, its leather surface giving a faint hiss.

Their original plan upon setting foot in this port city had been simple: get a ship, slowly expand their routes, and build their strength through daily training.

But a chance stop to intervene had brought them face-to-face with four figures as greasy as oil; then they had stumbled into the other side's lair and earned the enmity of the Family that used playing cards as its emblem; later, for the promise of a Devil Fruit, they had followed the man now sitting beside him, with whom they had once crossed blades, into the manor to rescue someone.

And now they sat here, discussing how to uproot that long-established behemoth.

Fate turned so quickly that there was no time to catch one's breath.

"In short,"

he said, cutting off his recollections, "we've had friction with the Four Suits, but now we share the same target."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Given what you know of the Jedi Family, Mr. Wesker, they won't be your friends either."

Before their visit, Vergo had shared scattered information: Wesker had never been close to that Family.

And given that Family's usual methods, they would never spare anyone who had crossed paths with them without submitting.

Rossi had originally intended to win over Wesker's wife-he had not expected the man to escape that attack.

This was better still.

A shared predicament might bind them together.

Whose fault do you think this mess of mine is? Wesker nearly ground the words to pieces between his teeth.

But in the end, he merely swallowed, forcing all his surging thoughts back behind his eyes.

The abacus beads in his mind began to clatter, benefits and drawbacks swaying on opposite ends of the scales.

Rossi was right.

His name was already on that Family's list of people to eliminate.

Once the money in his pockets could no longer pay for the sunglasses-wearing bodyguards behind him, death would come knocking.

If I pretend to agree first, keep these two placated for now, then send word to that Family...

"If you're considering pretending to cooperate, Mr. Wesker,"

the voice opposite him pierced his thoughts like an icicle, "then contacting the Jedi Family to close the net once we let our guard down-"

Wesker's back instantly stiffened, cold sweat almost soaking through his shirt.

"-that would be an understandable plan."

Rossi finished the sentence, but his gaze never shifted.

Rossi spread his hands, an inscrutable curve on his lips.

Wesker removed his glasses, his gaze drifting elsewhere from behind the lenses.

He slowly polished the lenses with a velvet cloth, the fabric absorbing the moisture on his fingertips. "That speculation... is quite surprising, Mr. Rossi."

"Having doubts is only human."

Rossi's voice was as calm as a winter lake. "But as far as I know, the Jedi Family has always had little patience for its collaborators.

"I'm afraid gratitude won't be what your assistance ultimately earns you."

These words were not groundless.

From the scattered accounts of Vergo and the others, he had pieced together many past events-those so-called allies swallowed by the Jedi Family had not even left remains behind.

Otherwise, how could it have secured the highest seat in Spandamruze?

Through gentleness, kindness, courtesy, restraint, and deference, or some game of dividing the spoils by seniority?

No, that tower's foundations were soaked in the blood of traitors and companions alike.

"Besides,"

Rossi leaned forward, his words sinking deep into the ears yet striking the chest like a hammer. "If my companion and I meet with misfortune here, my elder brother and the remaining Four Suits members will never let the matter rest.

"You certainly wouldn't want your wife caught up in **, would you, Mr. Wesker?"

The color abruptly drained from the merchant's face.

Rossi leaned back into his seat and exhaled. "Please forgive me. I didn't want it to come to this."

Whether through coercion or **, to contend with the Jedi Family, he had to plant eyes here.

Wesker happened to be the right pawn.

"Once the Jedi Family is history,"

he added, "we'll have plenty of time to mend the rift."

"I agree."

At last, Wesker settled his glasses back onto his nose and extended his right hand.

"I'll stake my entire fortune on this one gamble. Hopefully, I won't lose everything."

"Rest easy."

Rossi rose and clasped that hand. "You're gambling your future, while what we're staking-"

Was their lives.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

"No mistake.

The information that merchant provided said the target came here for lunch every day at noon."

Hidden in the cramped attic on the villa's top floor, Rossi and Vergo gazed through the dusty windowpane at the building across the street.

The Gilded Rose-

Upper Town's most luxurious restaurant, the most particular about "respectability"

, and also the most expensive.

Behind the heavy ** doors and the wall of floor-to-ceiling glass, velvet seats and a gleaming bar were faintly visible.