Chapter 415 - 415: Be My Friend. [FIXED!][21/06!]

The food arrived.

Two plates piled high with eggs, sausage, bacon, black pudding, grilled tomatoes, beans, and toast. Steam rose from the plates, carrying the smell of grease and salt and something that might have been nostalgia.

Kyle picked up his fork, ready to eat.

Then he paused.

Viktor had already grabbed his fork in a massive fist and plunged it into the eggs like he was spearing a fish. The food disappeared into his mouth with alarming speed. He chewed twice—twice—and swallowed. Then he shoved a sausage in after it. Then half a slice of bacon.

He ate like he had been in a cave for most of his life. Like food was something to be conquered, not enjoyed. His metal teeth gleamed as they tore through the meat. Grease dripped down his chin. He didn't wipe it away.

Kyle watched, fascinated.

"It's fitting, honestly. His appearance matches his table manners."

He had seen people eat like this before. Street kids and men who had gone so long without food that they forgot what it felt like to savor anything. But Viktor wasn't desperate. He was just... unkempt, uncaring and a savage.

The kind of man who had never learned to slow down because slowing down meant thinking, and thinking meant feeling, and feeling was something he had buried a long time ago.

"He's emotionally stunted. I need to speak to him like I would someone on the spectrum. Direct, clear with no subtext."

"You know," Kyle said, cutting into his own eggs, "Marcello wouldn't like it if he found out you were here."

Viktor paused mid-chew. His eyes flicked up, but he didn't stop eating. He swallowed, then took a bite of toast before answering.

"Marcello does not need know," Viktor responded in a disconnected tone that didn't sound like he was scared.

"He'll find out. He always does."

"Da." Viktor shrugged. "But he vill not do anyting. As long as Viktor does not kill you."

Kyle noticed the body language. The casualness. Viktor wasn't worried. He had already calculated Marcello's response and found it acceptable. He knew his value—the loyalty, the violence, the fear he inspired. Marcello wouldn't risk losing that over a minor disobedience.

"So I'm safe," Kyle said.

"You are safe from Viktor. For now."

"Good to know."

Kyle took another bite, chewing slowly. Viktor had returned to his food, shoveling it in like a man possessed. The plate was half-empty already.

"He hasn't even tasted it."

Kyle set his fork down.

"Viktor."

The Russian looked up.

"Everything could change for you. If you wanted it to."

Viktor's brow furrowed. "Vat do you mean?"

"I mean the violence. The killing. The way people look at you like you're a monster." Kyle leaned forward. "It doesn't have to be that way."

Viktor stared at him. His metal teeth glinted. "You are one of us. You cannot change vat you are."

"I'm not one of you."

"You are. You kill, you scheme. You have blood on your hands."

Kyle shook his head. "I'm not one of you. I do what I do because I have to. Because the people I care about need me to. But I don't enjoy it. And I don't define myself by it."

"You are naive," Viktor pointed out with a mouthful of food.

"Maybe." Kyle smiled. "But I'm also rich. And money changes everything."

Viktor scoffed. "Money not stop bullets."

"It stops the people firing them. If you pay them enough."

Viktor was quiet. His fork hovered over his plate, suspended in mid-air.

Kyle reached for his phone.

"Here's a thought," Kyle said, scrolling through his contacts. "What if there was a way to end it? All of it. The Mafia. The families. The violence."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. "You cannot end the Mafia."

"Watch me."

Kyle pressed a number. The phone rang. Once, twice, three times.

Viktor watched him. His massive hands had stopped moving. His entire body was still.

"He's waiting to see if I'm bluffing."

"Marcello," Kyle said into the phone. "It's Kyle."

Viktor's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expected Kyle to actually call.

"How about the Mafia family comes to an end?"

Viktor's mouth opened but absolutely no words came out of it. He looked like a man who had just watched someone walk off a cliff and start flying.

Kyle continued, his voice calm. "I'll give each family head a revenue of three hundred million dollars a month. Monthly. But one condition. They stop all illegal activities. No drugs. No extortion. No violence. They change their primary function from distributing to containing criminal syndicates."

He paused, listening to silence.

Viktor's face was unreadable, but his body language screamed shock. His knuckles were white around his fork.

"The Mafia doesn't need to exist as a criminal enterprise," Kyle said into the phone. "It can exist as a... holding company. A network. Something legitimate. With enough money, anything is possible."

Viktor leaned forward, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Vat did he say?"

Kyle smiled and lowered the phone.

"Nothing," he said. "I didn't call him."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. "Vat?"

"I didn't call Marcello. I just wanted to see your reaction." Kyle pocketed the phone. "You believed I did. Which means you know what I'm capable of."

Viktor stared at him. His face was a storm—anger, confusion, something that might have been respect.

"T-that vas insane," Viktor said.

"Maybe. But I meant every word."

Kyle reached across the table and extended his hand.

"I want us to be friends, Viktor. Not the other you. Not the one who thinks all the time. I mean the Butcher."

Viktor looked at the hand like it was a snake.

"Why vould you vant that?" he asked. "I am not good man."

"Neither am I. But I'm trying to be better." Kyle didn't lower his hand. "And having the Butcher as a friend is more useful than having him as an enemy."

Viktor was silent for a long moment. His eyes flicked from Kyle's face to his hand and back again.

Then he reached out and shook it.

His grip was crushing, but Kyle didn't flinch.

"You are insane," Viktor said.

"Insanely rich. That's what matters."

Viktor's metal teeth caught the light. "Viktor likes you. You are strange. But Viktor likes you."

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

They released the handshake but unknown to Kyle, this was a death sentence to him.

Outside, London hummed on, unaware that the foundations of its criminal underworld had just been shaken.

They spoke for an hour.

Not about anything important. The weather, the city and the way the café's elderly owner kept glancing at Viktor like he might explode at any moment. Viktor didn't reveal anything—no secrets, no plans, no insight into Marcello's thinking. He was a vault.

But Kyle noticed things.

Viktor's body language was softer than before. His massive hands rested on the table instead of clenching into fists. His eyes, though still cold, lingered on Kyle's face with something that wasn't quite curiosity—it was evaluation. He was observing Kyle. Cataloging his movements. His speech patterns. The way he held himself.

"He's trying to figure me out."

Kyle didn't mind. He had learned long ago how to replicate a character people wanted to see. For Viktor, that meant confidence without arrogance. Directness without aggression. The kind of man who could sit across from a killer and not flinch.

"You don't need to watch me anymore," Kyle said, breaking the comfortable silence. "When I get back to America, I'll see Marcello and make what I said a reality."

Viktor's metal teeth glinted. "You truly believe he vill agree?"

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse."

The irony wasn't lost on either of them.

Viktor leaned back, his chair groaning under his weight. "And vat about Viktor? Vhere does Viktor fit in your new vorld?"

Kyle studied him. Viktor thrived on violence. It was the only thing that made sense to him. Taking that away would be like taking a piece of his soul.

"You'll have a choice," Kyle said. "You can stay with the old way. Or you can build something new."

"Something new?"

"A private military force. Something beyond Mafia activities. With enough money, you could build a mini militia. Mercenary or you could even find a pretty girl you could settle down with."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. His fingers drummed on the table.

"He's actually thinking about it."

Kyle watched the calculation play out across Viktor's scarred face. The Butcher wasn't just a killer. He was a strategist, at least his other personality. He knew that three hundred million dollars a month could buy more than just loyalty. It could buy power. Real power. The kind that didn't answer to anyone.

Viktor smirked. It was a slow, and the way it crept up on his face was creepy as hell. His metal teeth caught the light as he processed the implications.

This new reality—this insane proposal—would work in his favor. Viktor knew that in that moment.

"Viktor likes this reality," he said.

Kyle smiled back. "I thought you might."