Devil’s Music

"What kind of house requires a golf cart to get from the main gate to the front door?"

Miroslav opened the giant gate and drove one of the four parked golf carts, taking Geon with him.

As they passed a garden wider than a soccer field visible on the horizon, heading towards a distant five-story mansion, Geon looked around like a country bumpkin freshly arrived in the city. He caught Miroslav humming an unknown melody, the back of his head visible to Geon.

Miroslav's head, not merely buzz-cut but completely shaved, bore a tattoo featuring a skull surrounded by a snake coiling around a rose branch, which moved whenever Miroslav nodded.

"Doesn't it hurt to get a tattoo on your head? You'd think the hair would never grow back..."

While Geon idly pondered this, looking at Miroslav's tattooed head, they got off the golf cart that circled around a fountain in front of the main gate. Miroslav greeted the men guarding the gate, armed with machine guns, before saying to Geon,

"Please come this way. The boss is waiting for you."

Geon was surprised as an antique wooden door opened before him.

"That's no ordinary wooden door. Look at its thickness. It must be over 1m thick. Is it bulletproof?"

The heavy door had a central metal bulletproof panel. It opened with a hiss, seemingly gas-pressurized, indicating it was very secure. Miroslav led Geon inside, pointing to the interior with one hand as they entered the lobby on the first floor. Geon's eyes widened at the sight of the interior.

"Wow, it's like the entire New York Metropolitan Museum was moved here. Does the homeowner like art?"

Indeed, the first floor was filled with various paintings and sculptures everywhere. The stairs stretching on either side gave the feel of a noble's castle from a medieval movie. Following Miroslav to the second floor, Geon stood before a black door. True to the nature of a mafia headquarters, large men armed with guns were patrolling, and surveillance cameras constantly followed Geon's movements, making clicking sounds. Miroslav knocked on the black door before opening it and saying,

"This is as far as I'm allowed. Please, go in."

Hesitatingly, Geon entered the room, revealing a study that seemed three times the size of his house in Korea. One wall was filled with books from floor to ceiling, and the floor was carpeted.

The owner of the study seemed to prefer dark-toned furniture, with the antique pieces being black or dark brown.

Stepping into the study, Geon saw a massive desk that could easily seat eight people, with someone sitting at it, facing away and looking out the window.

It was a majestic scene, yet the windows the person was looking at were barred with iron and bulletproof glass, resembling a caged beast.

"Excuse me... Are you Gregory Miocic?"

As the man in the chair turned around, Geon saw the face of a man who reminded him of Marlon Brando from The Godfather, shown to him by his high school friend Jooyong. The man had the seasoned look of middle age, with a thick Cuban cigar in his mouth.

"I thought you were Marlon Brando... But I guess Russians can look like this too. I heard he's in his early 60s, but he looks young enough to pass for his late 40s."

The man was incredibly fit for someone supposedly in his 60s. Wearing a light blue shirt, a dark blue tie, and a formal vest, his clothes were tight over his muscular body. After removing the cigar from his mouth, the man spoke,

"Have you arrived? Sit down."

Gregory's manner of speaking, as if addressing someone beneath him from the start, seemed to reflect a lifetime of leadership.

Feeling somewhat intimidated by Gregory's charisma, Geon sat on a black sofa that was facing Gregory's table. Uniquely, the sofa was positioned to face the table, unlike typical sofas arranged to face each other, suggesting it was used for conversations with Gregory.

As soon as Geon sat down, the expensive-looking leather sofa slowly deflated, enveloping him comfortably. Yet, Gregory remained silent, simply examining Geon and exhaling cigar smoke.

After a long silence, with Geon maintaining eye contact despite feeling tense, Gregory finally spoke.

"You seem to have a strong spirit. No wonder you could work in such dangerous places."

Standing up, Gregory put the cigar back in his mouth and walked to the desk, leaning against it as he exhaled smoke.

"Do you know where you are?"

Geon looked around briefly before answering,

"Yes, Mr. Gregory Miocic."

"Just Gregory. So, you knew you were coming to the Red Castle, the home of the boss of the Red Mafia?"

"Yes, that's correct , Gregory."

"What do you think the mafia is?"

After a moment of thought, Geon spoke up.

"You might not like hearing this, but I understand them as people who do illegal activities, a necessary evil in society."

Gregory chuckled, taking a deep drag of his cigar.

"In Russia, the definition of mafia is a bit different. It's not about the existential condition of a group but rather the actions it takes to realize its interests. If those actions largely align with societal norms, even if they're in the shadows, we don't call it mafia. But if a business, even one that operates openly, uses methods against the law and involves violence in its dealings with others, that's called mafia."

Gregory exhaled a large cloud of smoke, the amount seemingly enough to fill a person's lungs.

He watched the smoke disperse in the air, turning the cigar in his hand with a satisfied smile.

"Cuban cigars really are the best. Would you like one?"

Geon waved his hands in refusal.

"I don't smoke."

"Pity. Anyway, in Russia, if someone in the oil business uses violence in their dealings, they're called oil mafia. If the police do it, they're police mafia. That's our tradition. The term 'Red Mafia' wasn't coined by us but by the world, referring to Russia's national color."

Geon asked with a serious face.

"I don't understand why you're explaining the mafia to me, as I don't have much knowledge on the subject."

Gregory grinned broadly.

"A mafia is an organization that uses illegal methods to monopolize certain powers and resources. What I'm saying is, consider what I might do to get what I want from you."

Geon stiffened at Gregory's words, his expression hardening. After a silent standoff, Geon stood up.

Gregory crossed his arms with an amused expression as Geon, unusually angry, said,

"I didn't come here seeking personal gain. I came out of concern for a father worried about his sick daughter, yet you see me as a player in your game of interests. I'll be leaving now."

As Geon turned towards the door, Gregory spoke, watching his back.

"If you leave that door without my permission, you'll be filled with bullet holes. The system works that way without my needing to say anything. Don't leave. Sit down."

Geon glanced at the closed door, noticing a CCTV camera pointed at him. He turned back to Gregory, biting his lip.

"I never expected to be threatened. I heard you asked for me through Daniel several times. Did I hear wrong?"

Gregory chuckled, taking another drag of his cigar.

"You heard right. My apologies. Will you sit again?"

Feeling the shift in Gregory's tone to a more pleading nature, Geon returned to the sofa. He had no choice but to stay, knowing leaving without permission could mean death.

Gregory looked at Geon, breaking into a laugh.

"Haha, alright. My mistake. I hadn't met you in person before, so I needed time and a reason to judge. Forgive me, it's just the way someone who's lived in the mafia world judges others."

Seeing Geon's expression remain stern, Gregory clasped his hands together, extending them forward in apology.

"I once saw a Yakuza apologize like this. Being from the East, you understand the gesture, right? I'm sincerely sorry."

Geon sighed, his expression softening slightly.

"Phew, I'm Korean, Gregory. And to be honest, I was quite scared earlier."

Gregory laughed heartily.

"Hahaha! Honest to a fault, my friend. I would've pretended not to notice even if you'd acted a bit cooler, haha!"

Geon wiped the sweat from his forehead, replying,

"There's a time and place for posturing, not in front of the boss of the Red Mafia. Doing so could mean ending up floating in the Hudson River tomorrow. I value my life, phew."

Gregory roared with laughter.

"Hahaha, sorry about that. Truth is, I wanted to hear it from you. That you came not with desires but with a pure heart to help. Of course, I'll make sure you're not left feeling shortchanged."

Gregory, cigar in mouth, approached Geon, speaking in a friendlier tone.

"Actually, I don't expect you to cure my daughter. It's just that she showed interest in someone else for the first time, and I thought meeting you might make her a bit happier. No pressure, just meeting my daughter would be thanks enough."

Geon put away the towel he had been using to wipe his sweat, sighing in relief.

"If you promise not to play such tricks again, I'll come to see your daughter more often."

"Haha, agreed! I promise!"

As their conversation warmed from its initially chilly start, Gregory picked up the phone.

"It's me, bring in the car. Use the finest tea imported from Russia. And have the maid check if Kiska is awake. If she is, bring her to the study."

>

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