"Ha ha ha..."

Lauren burst out laughing, the hand holding the cigar bobbing up and down.

He shoved the woman draped over him aside rather roughly.

His massive beer belly jiggled, making him look kind of ridiculous.

"This is a huge business deal. I've gotta be on top of it, you know..."

Lauren cackled oddly and waved the cigar - holding hand in the air.

Bin and a few other scrawny lackeys hauled over a wooden box.

Nobody knew what was inside. The box creaked as it rattled around during the move.

"Bang..."

The guys let go, and the box landed square on the ground.

Right away, dust filled the air. Orson, Malon, and Lauren were quick to cover their mouths and noses, but the others coughed from the dust.

While covering his face, Orson glanced up at the wooden box.

It had "French Red Wine" printed on it. The wine - red paint was all chipped and faded, and the rest of the words were too blurry to read.

Lauren waved away the dust in front of him and said in English, "Open it." Bin got the message right away and stepped up to yank the lid off the box.

"Wow..." Orson let out a whistle. "Uncle Lauren, you're really something else," he teased.

Inside the box were stacks and stacks of US dollars, reeking of luxury.

The box that should've been filled with wine was now stuffed with cash.

"Course I am. I'm an old - timer. Can't be stingy, right?"

Lauren's eyes, a bit cloudy, sparkled with greed. He gave a sly smile.

"With the situation in Ukraine all tense and everything, they're desperate for weapons and ammo. That gives us a lot of wiggle room..."

"Orson, I know you've got a bunch of arms factories. Since your uncle here's always been good to you, don't you think you should show some appreciation?"

Lauren's eyes locked onto Orson, his greed out in the open.

A strange smile tugged at the corner of Orson's mouth.

They'd barely started talking, and this Lauren was already hounding for favors.

"Such a drag..." Orson muttered under his breath.

At his words, the hidden goons and the sentries on the second floor swung their guns around, pointing them straight at Orson and his crew.

Malon was quick on the draw.

As soon as he sensed trouble, his gun was up, aimed at Lauren, who was puffing on his cigar.

Orson had a smile on his face, but his eyes were as cold as ice.

"Uncle Lauren, what's the big idea?"

"Orson, you listen up," Lauren said, sticking out his fat belly and laughing wickedly.

The greed in his eyes was almost palpable. "Hand over those arms factories in Germany and Italy, and this box of cash is yours."

"But if you don't play ball, well, heh heh..."

Lauren paused, looking at the dozens of sub - machine guns trained on Orson's group.

He had a smug look, like he had everything wrapped up.

"Then you're disrespecting your Uncle Lauren! You won't get the money, and you might not even get out of here alive."

As he spoke, he put on a fake sad face.

The moment he finished, Bin whipped out his Glock from his waist. It was an Austrian - made pistol, simple and light.

Without a word, he chambered a round and fired a shot near Orson's feet.

The cigarette Orson was holding twitched and then dropped to the ground.

The lit end flickered a few times before getting stomped out by a leather shoe.

Orson looked let down. "Uncle Lauren, looks like you set me up. This is a real ambush." Then he laughed sarcastically.

"Aren't you worried I'll wipe out this place?"

"Ha ha ha ha..."

Lauren burst out laughing.

His fat belly shook with the laughter. Right then, a gun barrel was jammed against the back of Orson's head.

The cold metal didn't seem to faze Orson.

He lowered his eyes and said casually, "Malon, you sure about this?"

Malon held his gun tight in his right hand, finger on the trigger.

He shifted a bit and, with his left hand, snatched the gun from the small of Orson's back.

"Sorry, boss."

"Hey, no need to be sorry. Everyone pays for the choices they make," Orson said, sounding almost philosophical.

"Yeah, I'm just wondering who's so eager to see me gone," Orson added.

Lauren's laughter cut off suddenly.

He was confused.

Orson was in a really tight spot, but he was still acting so cocky.

Where did he get the nerve?

Was he hiding something?

No way!

The guy from the West Side had turned Malon against Orson.

And they'd gotten word that Orson only brought a dozen or so guys with him.

So what was his deal?

Lauren's mind raced with questions.

He puffed on his cigar, the smoke hiding his expression.

After a few seconds, he made up his mind.

He was in control here.

Orson was just bluffing.

"Orson, cut the crap! Sign the contract, and you can walk outta here in one piece."

"Heh heh..."

Orson just sneered. "Sign? Walk away? You're kidding, right?"

Orson slowly reached into his pocket. Malon, Bin, and the others tensed up.

The gun barrels inched closer. The cold barrel at the back of his head dug in deeper.

"Whoa, easy there," Orson said, sounding startled. "I'm just getting a smoke."

He pulled out his hand, revealing a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

The group relaxed a bit.

At least it wasn't a weapon. "I just wanted a smoke. No need to freak out," Orson said, shrugging like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Humph..."

Lauren tried to play it cool, but his face was still tense.

He looked at one of his goons, who quickly stepped up and swiped the lighter and cigarettes from Orson.

"Sign the contract, and you can have anything you want. Money, women, cigars - name it," Lauren said, his eyes fixed on Orson, watching for any reaction.

He motioned, and another goon came out of nowhere with a laptop and set it in front of Orson.

Orson tugged at his collar and popped open two buttons, showing off his muscular chest. His well - defined muscles were a clear sign of his strength.

His move made Lauren's group jumpy again.

"Hey, relax. It's just hot in here," Orson said, taking a drag of his non - existent cigarette and exhaling a puff of imaginary smoke.

"You want me to sign? Maybe we should do it somewhere else."