Gary was about to make another move while Mark was about to open his mouth to intervene. But neither of them got a chance.

The sound of an approaching car engine snapped the attention of everyone in the basement toward the entrance. A moment later, a shiny black sedan rolled down the concrete ramp into the basement.

Everyone in the room moved. All of them were immediately on their feet. A moment later, the car came to a halt, and the engine shut down. One of the men approached the rear door and flung it open. A shiny brown leather shoe emerged from the car and landed on the floor. A second later, the rest of the body followed.

None of the men present in the basement bowed or made any kind of grand, respectful greeting. But from the expressions on their faces and the trace of reverence in their eyes, Ronan could tell that everyone genuinely respected the man a lot. And at the same time, they also feared him. He could see it.

Ronan did not need to be told that this man was the Boss of the Red Rose Gang. Gravel. The name which his subordinates did not really refer to.

He was not very tall, probably around five feet four or five inches, but he was bulky, muscular and heavy. He had a slight potbelly pushing against his shirt. He was dressed in a sharp combination of a white and black suit.

His hair was trimmed to a short length, something similar to a military style, and he was clean shaven. He had a square shaped face with stiff and rigid muscles. He looked as if there would be no expression on his face even if the world collapsed.

But the thing that drew maximum attention from Ronan was a scar. It looked to be a knife wound.

It started on his cheek, just next to his ear, ran downward to his neck, and continued all the way to where his neck met his shoulder. It was a long scar. And with all of this, the man radiated an absolute mobster vibe.

The boss exchanged curt nods with a couple of the men close to him before walking toward the table in the center. The men around the table quickly cleared it of the playing cards, alcohol bottles, and glasses, leaving absolutely nothing on top of it. They had even stubbed out their cigarettes.

The boss walked with a crisp step and took his seat on one of the wooden chairs. From the moment his car had entered the basement until he had taken his seat, not a single word had been spoken. The boss was the main character here, and Ronan was just a side one. At least for now.

"I believe," the boss said, taking a moment to settle in, "that something interesting was happening down here before I arrived."

His voice was rough, hoarse, and deep. His eyes moved, roaming around the entire basement before they eventually settled on Ronan.

"I would like to know exactly what that interesting thing was," he remarked.

It was as if everyone knew who was expected to provide the answer. It was one of the two men who had been playing chess earlier. He stepped forward, stood in front of the boss, and started his recounting.

"Mark brought this young lad," he said, indicating toward Ronan, "saying that he wants to join us. Gary confronted him, arguing that the lad is a greenhorn, a newbie with no hair on his balls."

"Things escalated a little, and Gary decided to test his abilities," he continued. "But in the single move they exchanged, Gary was completely overwhelmed. The lad dodged Gary’s punch, and Gary took a fist to the stomach, stumbling a few steps back."

Though there was little change in the boss’s expression, Ronan could see a brief flash of surprise appear in his eyes.

"Boss," Gary interjected quickly, desperation bleeding into his voice. "He just got lucky with the dodge and I was just caught off guard with the blow. It does not mean I was bested."

"Give me another chance to prove myself," he said, staring at Ronan with pure anger and hatred. "And I will show this kid what it actually means to join us."

The boss simply raised his hand, and Gary instantly shut up, turning completely quiet. The Boss’ eyes remained settled on Ronan. He was studying him.

"What is your name, boy?" He questioned after a few moments of silence.

"Ronan," Ronan replied.

"And you want to join our gang?" The boss asked.

"Yes," Ronan nodded his head.

"Why?" The boss asked. "Why would you want to choose a field where you are always on thin ice, and unless you are some legendary and lucky person, there is hardly any growth?"

"Do not tell that you have come here daydreaming about becoming some great Mafia Lord while remaining completely obvious to the realities of this work."

"I think this is the work I could do best," Ronan answered without a hint of hesitation. "I am not good at my studies. I do not have any other skills. The only thing I can probably do is some physical labor or work my ass off in some shopping complex."

"I know for sure that sooner or later I will go down the wrong path," he continued. "So why not start young and give yourself every chance of success?"

"It might be that I am that extremely lucky person. That I am that legendary person," Ronan concluded. "I may not be fully aware of the realities but I am aware of my abilities and I believe that they are good enough."

The boss remained silent for a few moments. He continued to stare at Ronan’s face, as if trying to decipher something. As if trying to read something straight from Ronan’s brain.

"You know," he said. "Whatever the reasons, they are of no use if you yourself are worthless."

"But it seems that you have just proved your worth," he remarked, looking not so subtly towards Gary.

A frustrated expression appeared on Gary’s face, but he dared not intervene and cut off the boss.

"But even if your skills are strong, are you gutsy enough to use them in a tough situation?" The boss questioned.

"If you want to join us, you need to pass a little test of my own," he said. "Are you willing?"

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