Mother's Milk took a deep breath, abruptly stood up, and slammed his broad palm onto the table with a smack.
"Let's find Butcher. If even he thinks we have no chance, if there's really no other way... I'll give up on revenge."
Two hours later, outside an extremely secluded detached villa on the outskirts of New York.
When Butcher opened the door with half a cigar between his lips and saw the group of "uninvited guests" outside, a flicker of astonishment crossed his stubbled face, but his roguish, defiant grin quickly returned.
"Oi, look who it is! What ill wind blew all you little bastards here?"
"Billy..."
Mother's Milk opened his mouth, about to get straight to the point.
"Shh."
Butcher blew out a smoke ring and stopped him with a look.
Just then, Becca came out of the kitchen wearing an apron. Her belly was already prominently swollen; she was clearly several months pregnant.
Seeing Mother's Milk and the others at the door, she smiled in delighted surprise.
"Billy, are your friends here? Come on in. I just baked some apple pie."
"Thanks, Becca."
Hughie greeted her a little stiffly.
They sat down in the living room, and Becca warmly served them black tea and snacks.
Mother's Milk and Frenchie exchanged a few words about everyday life. Though the atmosphere was warm, a heavy weight pressed on everyone's heart.
Watching his brothers fidget in their seats, Butcher tipped his head back, took a swig of beer, then stood up and clapped his hands.
"All right, love, I'm taking these little bastards to the garage for a smoke and some boring man talk."
The moment they entered the dim garage, out of Becca's sight, the smile vanished from Butcher's face, and his eyes turned as sharp as a hungry wolf's.