What Are You Doing Here?

Add another zero?

Tacking on one more zero made it fifty million dollars—well over seventy-five billion won. It was the highest fee for a single commission he had ever received. And yet Salvatore claimed even that wasn't enough.

What else is he offering besides money?

The mention of an additional reward naturally piqued his curiosity.

Salvatore let out a short laugh and spoke.

"I never imagined I'd ever hand this over to someone else."

At a flick of Salvatore's fingers, his aide approached and handed Donovan a luxurious case. Donovan tilted his head and opened it.

Inside lay a heavy badge of pure gold, engraved with the Salvatore family crest that adorned every corner of the mansion.

"Hah...!"

A startled gasp escaped Cole's lips at the sight of it.

Salvatore's deep voice rumbled.

"It's a token that marks you as one of our own."

Judging by how shocked Cole was, this had to be something monumental in the underworld. From Donovan's perspective, though, he couldn't quite grasp its exact significance. Fortunately, Salvatore kindly elaborated.

"We will protect you. At least here in New York, no one will dare lay a hand on you."

Donovan scratched his chin inwardly.

...Hmm.

With the police and the mayor of New York already as his backers, it felt a bit redundant. In the back alleys it might carry more weight than a police badge, but it didn't hit him with any immediate impact.

Salvatore chuckled at Donovan's lukewarm reaction.

"It's been a long time since I've seen someone make that face after receiving this. Though given your position, I suppose it's understandable."

"Nah. It's a bonus—nothing wrong with that."

Watching Donovan brush it off casually, Salvatore drove the point home.

"It'll be far more useful than you think. You won't have to be picky about commissions anymore. No matter what job you take, you'll be safe."

Donovan cocked his head.

"Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration? It won't stop a fist or a bullet flying at my face."

"Of course this badge won't deflect an incoming bullet. But it can make sure no one even dares point a gun at you in the first place."

"How?"

"Anyone who touches the bearer of this badge gets paid back more than they gave—with the full ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠might of the family."

Salvatore's eyes flashed coldly.

"There isn't a single fool in this city who would ignore a police warning yet dare to ignore our merciless retribution. That's why we don't hand this badge out to just anyone."

His claim that Donovan would be safe no matter the commission wasn't an exaggeration. Cole hadn't been shocked for nothing. Once Donovan grasped the badge's true power, his expression changed completely.

"...This is pretty good, actually."

What had looked like nothing more than a gold lump moments ago suddenly seemed to radiate profound philosophy. It was essentially a free pass that would let him take on all the commissions he'd previously avoided because they were too dangerous.

At Donovan's blatant shift in attitude, Salvatore finally burst out laughing.

"Hahaha! I'm liking you more and more. How about it—any interest in becoming my exclusive?"

"Nope."

Donovan refused without a second's hesitation.

"If you need something, send a commission. I'll decide then."

Even after being turned down despite offering hundreds of millions, Salvatore seemed to enjoy the insolent response even more, his shoulders shaking with laughter. He looked satisfied enough, so that was fine.

Before heading back to the shop, Donovan decided to give Salvatore one last "bonus."

"Now that you've got the successor you wanted so badly, this time just lose to your kids."

"...What?"

"It's going to be a real mess this time, so just let them win."

At Donovan's warning, Salvatore snorted as if it were absurd and hardened his expression.

"Ha. Those brats? Causing me real trouble?"

The conviction that his sons would never dare challenge him no matter what.

Well, that's true enough.

In reality, no matter how angry they got, his sons would never confront him.

Even if they rebel, the most they'd do is cut contact and live their own lives, right?

The root of all the twisted paths in his sons' lives was their father, Salvatore himself. But saying that wouldn't change anything. Since he'd already rewritten the fate that forced them to sacrifice for each other, he might as well wrap things up cleanly. In the end, it would benefit Salvatore himself as well.

Donovan spoke again with a firm gaze.

"Have I ever been wrong so far?"

"..."

Salvatore's mouth clamped shut.

"...No."

"The important thing is the successor, right? So just cut the first and second sons loose and let them live however they want."

Donovan tossed the badge into his pocket with a grin. Salvatore stared hard at Donovan for a moment, then gave a small nod.

"...Understood."

And so the long, drawn-out commission for the Salvatore family came to a successful close. Donovan's steps as he left the mansion were lighter than ever. Cole, trailing behind, was soaked in cold sweat down his back from the released tension. To him, Donovan's unflappable composure throughout was nothing short of miraculous.

"Good work, Cole. Let's go. Times Square."

"Yes, Boss!"

As the two climbed into the waiting sedan and exited the mansion gates—

On the dark outdoor terrace of the mansion's second floor, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the youngest daughter stood motionless in the shadows, quietly watching Donovan's sedan recede into the distance.

The next morning.

Times Square, 45th Street.

In front of the five-story building Donovan had bought for a hundred and fifty million dollars, Richard—senior manager of the real estate management agency S&W—had already spent a full thirty minutes adjusting his tie and swallowing dry.

Stay sharp. Gotta do this right.

A hundred and fifty million dollars, all cash. Direct administrative processing through New York City Hall. Full support from the Wallace family. The profile of the new building owner who had shown up with this insane résumé was merely "a man in his twenties of Asian descent." Even without knowing his exact identity, that alone made it clear he was no ordinary person.

Then a sleek black Lincoln sedan with a glossy sheen pulled up in front of the building. Richard sucked in a breath and reflexively straightened his back.

A man with the massive frame of a bear—Cole—stepped out of the driver's seat and opened the rear door. And at last, the new building owner appeared.

Was it the top-tier Italian suit that clung sleekly to his frame? Or the result of all that fretting?

He's definitely different.

Even the leisurely way he surveyed his surroundings seemed special somehow. Richard hurried over, smiling, and extended his hand to Donovan.

"Oh, Mr. Donovan! Welcome! I'm Richard, senior property manager at S&W. It's an absolute honor to meet you!"

When Donovan casually offered his hand, Richard clasped it with both hands, wearing a look of deep emotion. Donovan gave a light once-over to Richard, who was being excessively deferential.

Straight brow ridge, sharp light in the eyes—smart. Thorough with calculations, but not the face of someone who'd skim off the top. As a manager, he passes.

Donovan withdrew his hand and spoke indifferently.

"Donovan Kang. Looking forward to working with you on the building management."

"Yes, I'll do my utmost!"

Richard, stiff as a new recruit, quickly began the tour.

"I'll show you around the building personally and report on the current status. Right this way."

As Donovan followed Richard toward the entrance, his gaze swept past the large glass window of the first-floor souvenir shop. The face of the merchant bustling behind the counter.

As expected of a prime location—even the first-floor tenant's physiognomy is extraordinary.

Not just the apparent shop owner, but even the part-timers were far from ordinary faces. Donovan entered the building lobby with a satisfied smile.

"As you saw from outside, the first floor gets quite a few tourist customers."

"Nice. What about the second?"

"The second floor is operating as a pub, but it's before opening hours since it's morning. Both the first and second floors are on long-term leases, so the income is very stable."

"It's closed? Too bad. I was curious about the second-floor tenant too."

When Donovan tossed that out lightly, Richard answered promptly.

"I'll arrange a meeting later during business hours."

"No need. I'll just drop by around evening. So, the third floor?"

"Currently vacant. To be honest, the nighttime noise and vibration from the pub right below make it difficult to lease as a regular commercial space, so it's been empty for quite a while."

"And the fourth?"

Donovan asked about the fourth floor as if it were no big deal, and Richard hurriedly continued the briefing.

"It's used as the main machine room and storage for maintaining and repairing the large electronic billboard on the building's exterior. Clearing out the unnecessary clutter alone would free up new space. Finally, the fifth floor is the private office ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠used by the previous owner."

Donovan eyed the elevator panel and jerked his chin.

"Let's start from the fourth."

Ding—.

As soon as the doors opened, a low mechanical hum filled the air. Massive cooling fans and thick server pipes that powered the giant outdoor billboard lighting up Times Square's main street packed one wall. But the remaining half of the space, beyond the machinery, was messily neglected with useless lumber and dust-covered empty boxes.

Donovan scanned the storage side and muttered.

"If we shove the machines over and clear out all that junk, it'll be pretty spacious."

"Yes. The ceiling height is high too, so it could become a comfortable space. With just some construction, it would make an excellent rental property..."

"Let's go to the fifth first."

Before Richard could finish, Donovan stepped back into the elevator without a second thought.

At last they arrived at the top fifth floor. When the private door that only worked with the owner's key card opened, a spacious area finished in top-grade marble appeared. All the furniture and belongings had been cleared out, leaving it empty, but the mahogany wood panels lining the walls and the Times Square view pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows were luxurious enough.

Donovan stood in the middle of the empty fifth floor and surveyed the building's energy.

"Nice."

He turned and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gave Richard a casual instruction.

"Do you handle remodeling too?"

"Of course. Leave everything related to the building to me."

"Then I've got a request. For the first- and second-floor tenants, if there's any facility maintenance needed, don't spare the money—fix everything. And for the third floor, do top-of-the-line soundproofing."

"Yes, understood."

"For the fourth, clear out all the junk like I said. Completely separate the machine room from the rest of the space, then turn the leftover area into a high-end residence with a spacious bedroom, private bathroom, and shower."

As Richard nodded while scribbling with his pen, Donovan turned to Cole standing behind him and grinned.

"Cole. The fourth floor is yours."

"...What?!"

Cole's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. An entire floor of a building right in the middle of Times Square, remodeled to the highest standard and given to him as lodging?

While Cole was flustered, Donovan turned back to Richard with more instructions.

"I'll use this fifth floor as my hideout, so set it up like a residential penthouse. Bedroom, kitchen, living room—everything top-tier."

"...Ah! So you'll soundproof the third for rental, and use the fourth and fifth as residences for the two of you! I understand perfectly."

Richard marveled as he finished his notes, then carefully swallowed and asked.

"It's a major renovation touching every floor... Uh, Boss. How much of a remodeling budget should we set?"

Donovan answered nonchalantly, hands in his pockets.

"I've got about fifty million dollars available."

Richard was convinced once more. The man before him was a true heavyweight.

"...Th-that's more than enough."

He tried to sound as calm as possible, but Richard's voice trembled finely. It wasn't simply shock at the large sum. His voice shook from pure exhilaration—the thrilling joy of confirming that Donovan was an even greater figure than he had imagined.

"I've confirmed with my own two eyes that the budget is more than ample, so I'll assign New York's best construction team and proceed perfectly!"

At that resolute answer, a pleased smile spread across Donovan's lips.

Man. Having a capable manager is so convenient.

With a manager who would handle everything to New York's highest standards on his own, nothing could be more comfortable.

"Alright. I'm counting on you."

As Donovan walked toward the elevator, he gave the empty fifth floor one more glance, where the dazzling morning sunlight of Times Square poured in.

"Looking forward to it."

Right then—

Vrrr—, vrrr—.

The old flip phone in his suit's inner pocket vibrated heavily. The caller was none other than the Boss.

"Yeah, Boss. What's up?"

Donovan tilted his head and asked.

"Absurd call? What about?"

"Kingsley? What's with him this time? Something else happen?"

"...Already?"

At Donovan's incredulous reaction, the Boss let out a deep sigh.

"...Ha."

A hollow laugh slipped past Donovan's lips.

True angel of destiny?

Donovan chuckled and gave the empty fifth-floor penthouse a once-over. He planned to keep taking clients at the fortune-telling shop until the remodeling was finished anyway.

"Well, no harm in it. Where do I go?"

"Got it. I'll head over."

Donovan ended the call and shoved the flip phone back into his pocket.

"Wonder what kind of weird woman it is this time."

Kingsley's taste in women was starting to become something to look forward to. Donovan climbed into the waiting sedan.

A short while later, at the restaurant of The Grand Astoria.

As Donovan walked toward the VIP table under the host's guidance, he had to suppress a hollow laugh from afar. Kingsley was looking at the woman across from him with an expression so honey-dripping it looked ready to melt.

Ugh, completely smitten again.

Anticipating what kind of strange woman it would be this time, Donovan approached the table.

"Oh, you're here?!"

Spotting Donovan, Kingsley sprang up and stretched out his hand with the brightest face in the world.

"Say hello. This is my angel of destiny."

With Kingsley's over-the-top introduction, the woman seated opposite turned her head gracefully to look at Donovan.

"...Huh?"

Salvatore's youngest daughter was sitting right there.