“What an asshole,” said Jaesung. He watched Luca leave, glaring daggers into his disappearing form. If looks could kill.

“Do you know what you just did?” Gael practically shrieked, giving Jaesung an immediate headache. He was sure the Chief had him do the pickup here as some kind of sick joke.

“I don’t have the energy for this now. Do you have the cash or not?” May the Gods he didn’t believe in help keep him from murdering this couple today.

Chase looked at Jaesung, eyes half lidded. “We already paid.”

“What?” That had to be bullshit. Would Vince send him on a trivial errand out of spite, or were the two before him a bunch of lying assholes?

“Luca took care of it.”

That was awfully vague. Wait. “That jerk works for the Maniaco?” That sort of explained his fancy clothes, but where the hell did that shitty personality come from?

Gael gave Jaesung an are-you-really-that-dumb look. “Have you been living under a rock all of your life?”

“Fuck you. Don’t you have anything nice to say to me?”

Gael stuck out his tongue, acting like a child, while Chase seized his arms and drew him close. The contents of his stomach wanted to come up seeing them act protective of each other.

Then again, maybe he was only sour because he spent his life in the closet to protect his homophobic grandparents from having a heart attack. He didn’t want to send them to an early grave. They had fed him lines from the bible like it was their lifeline. Not to mention, the mafia was less-than enthusiastic about it. Like that stopped anyone, though.

“Can you not hug on each other for one second and get me a drink before I go?” asked Jaesung. “And where the hell is Feng?”

After the debacle at the diner, and dealing with a drunk Feng, Jaesung headed home. His grandparents were probably worried about him after not having seen him for a while. He tried to pop in every couple of days, but the mafia life didn’t always leave for a lot of free time.

He sighed and put his hands in his pockets while turning a corner. At this hour of night, those roaming the streets were usually of his own kind. It’s the only occasion he felt like the world wasn’t judging him for his ethnicity or Asian heritage. Out of all the possible racial slurs, gook ended up being the one he heard the most.

A few minutes later, Jaesung arrived in what many called the ghetto. He walked past boarded-up buildings, trash-littered sidewalks, and homes older than the president himself. Their neighborhood had a mix of African Americans, Italians, Asians, and even some Muslims. When his family had immigrated to America with hardly any money to their name, the only home they were able to afford was out in the ghetto.

Jaesung stepped over a gap in the cement step and unlocked the gate at the top. An overgrown front yard greeted him as he wandered to the side of the house. Sitting outside, he met eye to eye with his grandpa.

“Harabeoji, why are you out here alone? Where’s halmeoni?”

Jaesung glanced into their house through the window. A light from the kitchen flickered. From where he stood, he saw three spots at the dining room table. Regardless of whether he came home, they always reserved a spot for him.

He took a deep breath before grabbing the walker next to his grandpa. “Let’s go inside.”

Although he didn’t respond, a slight smile graced his lips, eyes crinkling at the edges.