Irresistible Charms

Kwan Moldrick, tall, handsome, and bold-a man who took everything seriously, even the silliest jokes his mother once told him. At a very young age, he experienced the worst thing that could happen to a man-he accidentally killed his brother and was despised by his own family.

To escape the crime he did, Kwan fled their town and live on the streets, where he learned to steal from ordinary vendors and use dirty tricks to fool people out of their money just to buy food and survive both the heat and cold.

Kwan had risked his life many times, and now he was standing in front of a huge mansion that belonged to his client, a notorious mafia boss who came from Beijing but moved to Western Europe for some reasons he didn't know, ready to risk his life once again.

Brein Loi (aka. Brandon), sitting on his throne, surrounded by armed men the leader of them all was about to meet the most wanted hitman in the west. As the door opened, he stood up and welcomed him.

Monsieur Denisse Lucresse, Brandon's cousin, who had come from Marseille, recommended Kwan to eliminate his enemies. Denisse assured him that Kwan had never failed a task assigned to him, yet Brandon remained skeptical.

Moldrick entered the dimly-lit mansion and asked, "Where's your leader?" He looked around and saw Brandon and his men, waiting for him.

The atmosphere was tense. The smell of cigarettes, drugs, gunpowder, and alcohol lingered in the air. The men were silence, but ready to shoot just in case something unexpected happen.

Brandon thought he would meet a creepy man, like a mysterious assassin, but the man in front of him has a calm, composed, and collected demeanor and a serious face without a single scar. He wondered could he act so calm despite being in such a tense situation, and he was all by himself?

"Mister Moldrick!" Brandon approached him. "I didn't expect you to come here alone. Weren't you warned that you might not get out of here?"

Kwan remained calm. His right hand was holding a cigarette, and the other inside the pocket of his long overcoat. A threat had been a normal introduction for him.

"I'm here for the money," Kwan said, emitting smoke, making Brandon step backward.

"As expected of the most wanted hitman," Brandon said, slipping his fingers inside the pockets of his jeans, conscious about what the price would be. He thought that his cousin Denisse might be wrong because this man seemed difficult to negotiate with.

"Twenty million; I'll do it quickly," Kwan replied brusquely, as if he were the boss.

"What a shameless man!" Brandon screamed in his mind. "It doesn't matter; I'm wealthy enough to buy someone's life-someone who's very important to disappear or might become a hindrance to my sovereignty in the east."

"I'll give you one month," Brandon said.

"Won't you offer a down payment?" Kwan demanded as he swallowed his cigar, the cinder slowly approaching his lips and smoke spiraling up in the air.

"Get the case!" Brandon ordered, clapping his hands for the men around him.

One of his men took the bulging, black attache case from the floor and dragged it near Kwan. The man opened the attaché case, while Brandon went towards his chair and sat down. He crossed his legs, leaned on his chair, and lit a cigarette.

"That's half the price, so you can't withdraw the deal when you accept that," Brandon said, holding a silver lighter and a cigarette in his lips. "You may count them to be sure."

Ten million was huge enough to support himself and the business he was going to build, but Kwan knew how valuable his conscience was. He spent a few moments in silence before making his final decision.

"Maybe you're scared of what can happen to you if you get caught by those cops." Brandon broke the silence and laughed derisively.

"I'll be back with her head!" Kwan made a promise, took the attaché case from the floor, and immediately went out of the mansion.

"Just make sure. Hahahahaha!" Brandon's devilish laughter gradually faded as the sun went down and vanished from view.

Far away in the east, where the sun always rose, the five-storey mansion of San Jose stood on vast, untouched land. It had a grand staircase leading upward with elegant, blooming flower beds and stone railings on both sides. Its steps were made of patterned stone.

A lovely lady in her mid-20s was assisting her parents in their garden when someone called their attention from the gate. A chariot stopped there, and a tall and handsome man came out. He was wearing ordinary clothes, a black tunic with a hood, black pants, and boots.