Pretending to Be an Untouchable Crime Boss

He looked at the phone, the caller ID showing it was Eric. He just looked at it, wondering what he could have done to make it better. What could he have done to say that he was in stable condition and would survive? What could he have done?

The answer was clear, he could have done nothing.

He didn't have the equipment, he didn't have the medicine on him that could do a miracle job… he wasn't prepared for it at all… guilt, more and more guilt, as the phone buzzed in his hands.

It was his fault, his only fault that he couldn't help Ferucci… but no, he couldn't help him at all. Even if he was prepared, even if he had the right equipment, there was no way of it, and deep down he knew that too. But man, Dilian is a selfish person, someone who can't accept facts.

He was always like this. The time his colleagues died in between his hands, the colleagues he could have saved, he always went deeper into sorrow and guilt, into despair and darkness. But none of it was his fault.

Ferucci did it on his own, he stood there, and in the past, his colleagues too. They were recklessly entering rooms, relentlessly taking action. That's why they died, that's why he couldn't help them, because their fate was already written, but every time it happened, Dilian just went deeper and deeper into self-hatred.

Why couldn't he save them? What could he have done better? Why him? Why was he the one that God gave the toughest battle to?

The answer was simple: because he was the best at it.

Dilian Laposi, retired combat medic of the 16th Ranger Regiment, the most awarded combat medic in his service period, saved 68 lives and lost 4.

This man was doubting himself, a man who lost 4 soldiers, soldiers that had no chance of survival, and was discharged after experiencing PTSD. He couldn't sleep at night, seeing their faces before him, seeing the zip-up black bags that their bodies were put in.

No medals, no praise, no therapy sessions could change the fact that, in his mind, he failed them, and he felt the same right now.

After joining James, his life turned for the best.

He reunited with his family, with his kids, he could pay for therapy that meant nothing to him, but he felt connected with the soldiers around him, but most importantly… he could give back to those who were in the same shoes as him.

"Dilian, pick it up." The man said again as he sat down beside him. "It'll be alright, just say what you need to say."

He looked down at the phone, still buzzing, and for a second, closed his eyes.

There is no failure, no guilt. You did what you could. Trust in God, and in His Son, for He shall judge your actions when the time comes.

"Eric." He picked up the phone.

Silence, there was silence as Eric just held out the phone while James and Hector, as everybody around just stared at it, as Dilian's voice came through.

"Where is Ferucci?"

As soon as James's voice came through the phone, Dilian took a long breath while he closed his eyes, repeating the same prayer that he did earlier, not because he feared James would kill him, or his family, or anybody close to him, but because it felt like the same time when he informed his colleagues families. He was the one that called them, he was the one who said to them that they weren't coming home.

The same feeling, he was lost, even though Ferucci's heart was still beating…

"H-He is in a surgery room, in the Daffodils Private Hospital… he is in bad shape, really bad shape…" He said, his voice shaking, and he hesitated with the words, unsure of what was going to happen, but his words just sent more panic into them.

As soon as they heard that he was in bad shape, they knew the situation was fucked up. Because a medic, someone who was trained to save lives, people who were in danger, would say something else, like "he's fighting for his life." But bad shape? No, that was telling.

"Is he alive?" James asked, but his voice was still calm in the chaos, in the estate they had just raided, in the driveway where the dead bodies still laid in silence.

"I don't know." A simple answer, yet powerful. "His heart was beating when we brought him in, his breath was slow, but he was fighting… but the amount of blood he lost is… is bad. Really bad, boss."

Again, silence. It was enough to hear, and it was enough to understand that the chances were low. And knowing well that Hans had died the same way, losing too much blood, James could only think about the consequences Ferucci's death would bring.

Yeah, because he's not going to sit idle while one of his men dies. Not even if Ferucci screwed it up… no, no. He's going to kill everybody in his way. He's going to fall into Lucian's footsteps, but in a way that fits the new era.

He'll kill everybody who even just knew about these plans, who knew that the Sinatra were going to attack them. Yeah… becase it happened because of them.

He had already lost his family, his mother, whom he had sent away and who knows when the time will come for them to see each other again? Who knows if, when they meet, he will still be the same James… or if he will even live long enough to see them again. And now, he was on the verge of losing someone else.

How many deaths would it take? How many people would he have to kill to finally have a peaceful life?

He didn't know the answer yet, but he will take that path.

Bodies upon bodies. Death upon death. There is only death. There is only sorrow and despair. Kill or be killed, there will be no peace as long as he lives.

Death is the answer to peace.

"So, he's still alive." James said into the phone. "Good. Then we can go home."

Again, silence.

There was no way that was his real reaction to hearing Ferucci was dying. Even Hector was surprised by it. He thought it would mean another war. And, well… he wasn't far off.

Because this wasn't going to be a war… it was going to be a massacre.

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