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!WARNING!

scenes moving forward will contain a truckload of profanity, sprinkled mentions of sex slavery, and a few dashes of graphic violence.

Brace yourselves.

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EPISODE TWENTY FIVE

'past truths are still truths'

THE ROOM WAS somberly lit and heavy; the walls a lacquered black wood adjusted by a brief, chameleon-like colour of deep velvet green curtains. Gold inlays in every detail possible— on the centre pieces, a horse mid-tilt of its front hooves and a n elaborately fine carving of a fan, on each side-table towering the east and west like pillars made of the same dark wood.

Three chandeliers gave balanced light to the sixteen-person table filled with gold-rimmed glass flutes and wineglasses, of glossy black plates and gleaming utensils. Exotic flowers seemingly sprang and poured from the table's very heart— vivid purple orchids, stark naked lilies, and vigorously colourful birds of paradises outstretched and curled, bunched up with pomegranates sliced in half so you could see the beads of seeds spilling out, stocks of fat grapes, and twirls of cherries.

After a somber, silent welcome from the guests, Leon led us to the top head of the table where it was left vacant for him and the chair on the very left of him for me. The procession was quiet, their eyes following, as he pulled the chair for me while I said a quiet thank you, before he sat on his own chair, smiled that very wrong smile of his— it twirled right but it didn't match his eyes; there was no kindness, no earlier sweetness — and addressed them all.

On the left flank of the table, my side, there was Quinn who was bouncing her knee in nerves or anticipation, I didn't ask, but she grasped my hand as soon as I sat down and gave it a reassuring squeeze; Faris who was stoic and rigged, not at all liking anything that was happening; Milo in a deep, bruising violet three-piece suit and his hair brushed backward, eyes hooded on Cordelia, twirling a wineglass around two fingers; Dr. Westley in white, fidgeting and sweating; and Genevieve Rothschild in a shimmering aquamarine with her mouth flat and her eyes resolute on the plate in front of her.

On Leon's right flank was his sister with her pinched, blood-red smile and careful eyes; James who kept watch of everyone's little movements, fingers twitching over the cutlery he was rearranging; Cassandra in a mellow orange suit in shorts instead of pants, who looked on edge and queasy, eyes darting everywhere but the woman beside her; Cassandra's mother— Mathilde with her strong cheekbones and flared eyes roaming the faces around her, familiar ones and unfamiliar ones; Aoi with a soft, smug smile on her face, no imprint left on her cheek; and Enzo in a brown-suit with a scowl and clenched jaw.

Matteo Moretti sat on the other end of the table with not a twitch of expression on his face. It wasn't like Aoi's blank expression where it was a bottomless pit; where feelings and emotion came to die. His was calculative— a poker face. His eyes were cautious and patient and he saw through everything.

Aoi's Black Knight, Kei, stood behind her with his hands over another in front of himself like a proper schoolboy. But his jaw was clenched and when he met my eye, the intensity burned. I looked away, sitting straighter in my chair.

Leon leaned forward, all eyes on him at the movement.

"I'm sure you all know why you're here. This dinner is for a dear departed friend. Dominic Tobias Prince. He was the very definition of larger than life itself. To give him a proper send off, we've gathered those all he was close to. Those he wanted to be here."

"That's a very confusing statement, Mr. Song," Mathilde Bernault spoke up. Her voice had a strong London accent, it was strong with its enunciation and clear tone. "I don't see how I'm ought to be here. I was never close to the man. Maybe dear Cassie—"

She touched her daughter's arm, briefly, but Cassie flinched away, jumping at her chair. When everyone turned to her, she burned, hanged her head low and grabbed the water-filled glass.

"Sorry," she finally said after exhaling.

"It's okay." Leon smiled gently, turning to her mother with a twitching corner lip. "Dominic would've wanted you here. You were here from the last one, no?"

Cordelia closed her eyes and exhaled. "Subtle."

The room exploded in a roar. Enzo rapidly spoke something in Italian to his grandfather, Matteo answering it with a calm but sharper intensity. Enzo stood.

"You know nothing," Enzo spat at Leon. Then actually spat on the floor by Kei's feet.

"Charming." Enzo shot him a deadly look, but Kei stared back at this, impassive.

Leon calmly looked up at him, fingers knitted over each other with his elbows propped on the table like he was a particularly nosy little insect that needed fixing. "James."

James said nothing as he pulled out his gun and placed it on his plate.

"You can't threaten me." Enzo pulled his own from the deep pocket of his pants, cocking it.

Aoi rolled his eyes. "Stop it, Enzo."

"Aoi—"

"Kei."

Kei produced his gun, took off the safety, and aimed it at him. Enzo's eyes widened, turning the aim at him. Barrel to barrel.

"Aoi!"

"They're really Italian, aren't they?" Quinn whispered. "I'm so glad we're onto guns first. Bloody hell." I fought back a smile, but I was all tensed up. I caught Matteo's eye as I scanned everyone's face, everyone's new twitch and difference. His face was somber, still calculative. Calm but attentive— a soldiered predator who's seen this a hundred times. He turned away, to his grandson.

"Put it down, Lorenzo."

"Nonno—"

"Now."

Enzo gritted his teeth, vein popping on his forehead. His brown suit was dark and had small lines of green and tawny taupe. Most held their breath. At what seemed like forever, he finally lowered it, cursing under his breath.

"Let us be civil," Matteo said calmly, turning his eye to Leon. "All of us. Weapons should never be drawn over the table. It is very rude to do so." He eyed his grandson with a loaded look. "Dovresti saperlo meglio. Tua nonna ti ha schiaffeggiato." Enzo gritted his teeth but said pressed his lips together. "All guns on the table," his grandfather continued, addressing everyone with a booming voice. "Take the bullets out. Even you, officer."

"Detective Inspector," James corrected, reluctantly going for his gun. "Your grandson first though. I don't trust trigger happy fuckers."

"The fuck—"

"Lorenzo. Basta."

Everyone shuffled reluctantly, eyeing each other up. They popped out their casings and settled their guns over their plates. Kei put his on Aoi's. Aoi compiled all the bullets and put it on Mathilde's plate much to her upturned nose.

"This is idiotic," Mathilde declared once everyone went back to their positions, pushing her plate of bullets far away from her as possible. Everyone had gone stiff— Milo more exhaustedly annoyed and the doctor— Dr. Westley — perfunctory dabbing bullets of sweat from his face. Then tipped all the contents of his water down his throat. Enzo sat down and had wrapped his hand around the knife from his set. The ring from his pinky glinted.

"You have no proof of our involvement," she continued smartly, turning to Leon. "That was nothing but a simple dinner that became a senseless tragedy."

Faris steeled his eyes to her, disgusted. "A bullet to the head is not a senseless tragedy."

"He was delirious," she countered. "He'd snorted something and came here rakish and out of his mind. He drugged us with a tea he offered before dinner. Then he started foaming in the mouth, wailing like a sad, crazy man, and begged us to kill him. Someone did. Not one of us remembered anything of that night or who shot. That bullet to the head was a mercy whoever did it."

Throughout this speech, I watched as Cassandra closed her eyes. A visible, tiny tremor racked her body like the aftermath of earthquakes. Mathilde frowned at her daughter.

"Cassie—"

"No!" She stood up before she was touched. She was pale and green. "I'm going to be sick," she gasped out before she ran out of the room, the doors swinging a slow shut behind her.

Quinn turned to Cordelia. "Should I?"

She shook her head with a delicate balance. "No, sit down. She won't go anywhere besides the bathroom."

"Locked us in, have you?" Enzo mocked.

Cordelia smiled thinly at him. "Like caged animals."

Enzo leaned forward. "Oh, puttana, you don't know anything about caged—"

"Poor Cassie," Aoi said loudly, breaking Enzo's threat. A shift in her demeanour; something I was familiar with. I winced, half expecting her to turn to me. She swivelled her neck to Mathilde and dipped her head to the side. "How long have you been drugging her, dear?"

Mathilde turned purple. Aghast, she drew a breath. "Excuse me?"

But Aoi smiled charmingly at Faris who turned to Leon in confirmation. With a silent nod, Faris dug through his clothes and plopped several bottles; some with rattling white pills— most half empty, and some small glass ones the size of a pinky, that need a use of syringe. Then three used syringes with yellowed bodies thrown from his robes pocket. Aoi swiped them all close to her, pulling out the contents of one pill bottle and throwing them at Mathilde's face like a child.

"By god!" she exclaimed, screeching her chair back.

Cordelia sighed. "Aoi."

"You're both taking too long," Aoi snapped back, dripping with annoyance. Her eyes had gone feral— mad. Quinn's fingers tensed on my hand. "If you're not going to use the game I set out, then fine. Fine. Let's do all of this now. I can be patient later on."

"Aoi..." Enzo trailed, confused. It was odd to see how his voice still changed for her; there was genuine adoration there. A type of love that was not gasping, nor star-crossed, but present.

Aoi smiled, sweet and syrupy. A manic one. "Not yet, sweetie."

"This is private property!" Mathilde screeched. "These are from my house!"

"— heavily guarded house, yes," Quinn interjected. "But not impossible to break into by anonymous individuals who are all very fired up because their friend is kidnapped and someone is monoploying them into rushing their investigation." She turned to me with a wink. "Another recon mission while you were kidnapped by crazy over there." She eyed Aoi as if she could behead her with a look. "No offence."

Aoi smiled. It was the creepy doll-like one. Quinn shivered. "None taken."

"That is illegal!" Mathilde shouted, turning red.

Cordelia sighed. "So is drugging your daughter, Mathilde, let's not be a hypocrite." Milo's jaw twitched. Cordelia saw this and subtly shook her head.

"You know nothing of what she's been through! She's sick!"

"And why is that?" I countered. "Why not a rehab?"

"She has been to one, it doesn't help," Mathilde snapped. "And who are you?"

"Someone who knows the truth." I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and began. "Dominic gave us your names. He called the seven of you for that dinner, and only the seven of you knew what really happened that night. Drugged or not. He called you his most likely suspects or people he knew had a good reason to have him dead. But it's never as direct as that, isn't it? It was never a straight connection, a line of suspects, but an intricate web that also told us why you were the people he needed to tell his story. And Aoi... Aoi gave me the most straightforward clue. A Cavendish, a wicked mother, a Rothschild, a grandfather and a grandson. Four suspects, seven people to lead to those suspects. You're the wicked mother."

"I beg your—"

"— Quit it, ya old bag." Quinn finally lost her patience as she glared at her. "Cassie's file looked normal until you correlate the days she had serious problems— ones where she had cancelled on bookings or events on a mysterious 'illness' or a sudden drug overdose, with no mention of going to a hospital or an ER by the way, really. Mother of the bloody Year — to the days you had transactions."

The last word was like a blow to her stomach. She shut her mouth.

"A socialite's file is very interesting," Leon picked at that obvious wound— that line that exhibited from her body not to dare cross. "From the outside, the flow of cash seemed bottomless but that's not really true, isn't it? Your records of money was a very eye-opening read. Despite trying your damn hardest to hide it— you were dirt poor a few years before your husband's death."

She inhaled sharply. Husband. Another trigger word. Another correct answer. Leon smiled. The smile was sharp and sleek; a gun.

"So we checked on him because the sudden deplete of money was really a most curious little question— why would someone who had enough money for his grandkids to stay unbothered by the problems of the poor, be suddenly so quickly out of money? And what do you know? Unlike your file that we could only get breadcrumbs for— a point of irritation to my Friendly Hacking Colleague — you weren't so cautious of your dead husband's at all. Like you didn't think anyone would question. No one knew you were poor. And it was a gold mine."

I watched him and the spurn in my stomach when he met eye confirmed my calculations. The math added up. I exhaled a rough breath. "He liked girls. Young girls. He was a customer." I never wanted to be wrong so bad in my life, in my understanding of the human twitches and expressions, but when I watched Mathilde's expression righted itself, I nearly hurled. It was guilt.

Guilt and hate and a deep-seated agony from suffering from her husband's preferences. The truth was stark naked and bleeding; her old wound is poked and open, bare for all of us to see.

But I couldn't stop, the realisation hurling out of my mouth in a growing pit of fire from my stomach up.

"And you... You saw fast money in the business, didn't you? You turned to the very reason you became poor and saw an idea." I was standing and shaking in anger and have never wanted to hurt another human being so much as I did. Quinn tugged at my dress, alarmed. "You sold humans because you saw an opportunity."

"I had no choice!" she screamed, hot tears streaming down her face. "Did you think I had a choice?! I was in debt! I had a daughter, a reputation and my husband left us nothing but swimming— drowning in debt! He bought girls! Wasted them away until they were lifeless and useless! I had to hide them away— I had to clean up after him when they were dead or drugged or both! I had to bury the bodies myself because no one could know! He bought and bought and killed himself with it! I saw just how much he paid for them. The money was good— no, it was great! I HAD NO CHOICE!"

"YOU HAD A CHOICE!" I roared back. "You drugged your daughter because she found out! Because Cassandra was clever wasn't she? Wasn't she? Daddy was drying out the bank, hanging around with girls nearly her age, and suddenly mommy wasn't so angry anymore, mommy wasn't drinking, throwing back pills anymore. She wasn't so depress anymore, and money— there was money again. Lots of it. But daddy was gone wasn't he? Children are clever. They find these things. They understand. And you drugged her so she could forget. You plied her with so much substance over the years just to keep your secret. You fucked up your own daughter because that was the easiest choice. Because you are selfish and inhumane."

Enzo stood up, glaring at me, but whatever he was about to say died because Mathilde was going to hurt me, I could see it on her face and bloodshot eyes, her arms held straight like claws itching to scratch my eyes out. But Aoi was faster, crueler; she took a syringe and stabbed it on her neck. Mathilde fell against Enzo with a scream.

Everyone stood, shocked. Kei was the quickest— he pulled Aoi closer to him in protection. "バック！あとずさりする!" He muttered something under his breath while Aoi screeched with laughter.

"OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD—"

"Oh stop moaning, you old hag, you're not going to die!"

"Aoi!" Enzo shouted, keeping a hand over her throat as it bled out like a leak. "What is wrong with you?!"

"Shh, honey, not yet." Syrup-dripping, mocking. Aoi was crying, I realised. But she was smiling— no, not really smiling. The corners of her mouth was up and she was flashing teeth, but she wasn't smiling. It was an expression of relief.

Aoi bent down to their level, held securely by Kei's arm around her stomach like a leash. Mathilde inched back, gurgling out a strangled scream. "I should've gone for your bloody mouth but the throat works too. Press on her throat, honey, or she'll bleed out."

"Jesus Christ." Faris pulled out his silvery robe and walked around, raising his hands in surrender at Enzo's snapping glare. He tossed it at him. "Press it in. I'll call a bleeding ambulance."

"Do tell them it was a 'sensless tragedy'," Quinn quipped, face ashen despite her joke. Faris shot her a look. She shrugged. He left the room, the door clicking shut.

Everyone else heaved back. Once the lot of us were standing, half horrified and silent as the plague except for the bouts of sobs escaping Aoi, did I realise that only Genevieve and Milo remained sitting throughout it all. Genevieve's face was resolutely stoic and blank as if she was part of a different scene. Then Milo rose.

"I'm done playing."

Mathilde's face at that statement was priceless. Enzo swore again. "The fuck are you saying, stupido?"

"I'm saying 'enough'. Enough of this. I tire of all of you— you the most, you sick, twisted bastard." He turned to Leon. To Cordelia. It was like a plea. The shadows in his face had deepened since the last time I saw him. "It's true. Whatever conclusion you've built on, it's true. I can testify. The Cavendish suspect? That's my uncle. He liked little boys. He's a sick fuck. If it wasn't for the fact that he's my uncle and of my blood, I would've killed him." His gaze became longing when he stared into Cordelia's eyes. His fingers twitched— then them clenched to fists. "I would've done so if you asked."

Cordelia inhaled and exhaled softly, eyes pained. "You should've done something else, Milo. Not for me or to assuage your guilt, but for those boys. You should've gone to the police. You should've done something."

Milo's smile was bitter when it rose. "I should've."

Enzo stood, pushing Mathilde off of him with a yelp. She scrambled to right herself, groaning in pain as James rushed to help her keep the pressure on her bleeding throat.

"Shut the fuck up, Cavendish," he warned, shoulders hunching like a beast. Aoi stopped crying, staring at her fiancé with wide doe eyes. There was no fear in her face; only glass. "You know nothing."

Milo didn't even flinch. "I know enough."

The Cavendish is the uncle, the wicked mother is Mathilde, the Rothschild... I turned to Genevieve. My mind rushed— the answer revealing itself. I inched closer to Leon, each step cautious as Milo and Enzo snapped at each other. Once I was close enough, I grabbed his hand and squeezed in caution, moving behind him as if to appear scared. "Her husband. Genevieve's husband."

"I know," he whispered back.

Her husband who died. The man Aoi referred to as the one Dominic got to before his death. The one he fed to dogs. It all made sense.

The grandfather and the grandson.

"I know he paid you to protect him," Milo said bitingly. "I know you hid him and posted guards on him because he's your best fucking customer."

"I said shut the fuck up, Milo, shut the fuck up!" Enzo was seething, twitching all over like an alarm from a bomb.

"What is he doing?" I hissed at Leon. "Why is he riling him up?"

"Milo has never learned to shut the fuck up. His best quality is riling people up." Leon squeezed my hand and moved to Milo. "Cavendish, stop it. It's over."

"The fuck do you mean over?!" Enzo took out another gun from his pants, cocked it and aimed. He was a man made of bloodlust. The room gasped and backed away; Mathilde crawled with a yelp and James swore. "You have nothing! These are allegations— you have no proof!"

"Oh— Good god, man!" Quinn screeched, backing up to huddle closer to me. "Where are you hiding the guns?! Are you shitting them out?! Are you Houdini?"

"Shut up! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he screeched, aiming at us then back to Milo again.

"Quinn," I shushed her, gripping her arm until she fell silent. She was scared; trembling by the shoulders.

This was bad. The hold on his gun was shaky, his eyes were quivering, saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth as he spat out his words and heaved like a true nightmarish monster. Kei tensed and pulled back Aoi behind him. Leon and Milo retreated to protect Cordelia.

"Enough, Lorenzo." A woman's voice.

Genevieve Rothschild stood up, gown a moving lake, with a gun on her hand. Aimed at the shaky, unstable Italian. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek. "Enough."

"No!" He roared, raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Bang! as it hit the ceiling. Screams erupted— people scattered. "You're protected by our people!" Bang! another random hit, everyone ducked. "YOUR HUSBAND WAS OUR FRIEND! HE WAS LOYAL TO YOU, YOU HEARTLESS WHORE—"

He fell to the ground, James tackling him by his legs. Another shot got off. Leon crawled toward us, toward me. Rolling us so I was under him. "It's okay, it's okay," but his voice was wavering. I couldn't see what was happening on the other side of the table, but there were grunts and fists hitting skin.

The scuffle turned to the sound of choking and I tapped Leon's shoulder. "Clear," James groaned out, exhaling roughly. We all collectively rose, shaky in our knees. The aftermath was James with his arms locked on Enzo's neck, choking him tighter when he attempted to speak through laboured breath.

"It is done," Genevieve murmured. She lowered her gun, throwing to on the ground, choking out a sob. "I'm done."

A gun cocked. Everyone turned. Matteo Moretti had somehow taken his grandson's gun in the middle of all the fighting. He aimed it at James, the same controlled poker face of a man who was ready to play his cards.

"NO!" Leon roared, but I held onto him.

"Quinn!" I shouted. She took it as cue to help me wrestle Leon back.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Fear shook Leon to the core. A gasp in his body. A change. He had lost a friend. He couldn't lose another one. James stared at the barrel of the gun with unmasked fear.

"Do it!" Enzo gasped as James' hold slackened. His wild eyes and manic grin. "Do it do it do it—"

Another shot rang, and I closed my eyes as screams tore through the room in unison— one of them from me.

Leon went limp in our arms.

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NEXT

EPILOGUE

01

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google translations-

italian -

Nonno - GRANDFATHER

Dovresti saperlo meglio. Tua nonna ti ha schiaffeggiato - YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER. YOUR GRANDMOTHER WOULD SLAP YOU

Basta - ENOUGH

Puttana - WHORE

Stupido - STUPID

japanese -

バック！あとずさりする！- BACK! STEP BACK!

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... Imagine if I actually just ended here, no words mentioned, and went ahead with the credits?

We're not done yet, kids. The epilogues are important.