Gonda stood in the middle of the room with both hands raised.
His gun was on the floor now.
Bruno's men surrounded him from every side. Guns pointed at his chest and head. The men who had survived the first attack had already been forced down or dragged away.
Bruno stood a little distance away.
He did not hurry.
For years, he had imagined this moment in different forms. Sometimes Gonda was begging. Sometimes Gonda was angry. Sometimes Gonda was already dead before Bruno reached him.
Now the real moment stood in front of him.
And Gonda was still trying to survive.
"Bruno," Gonda said, keeping his voice as steady as he could, "remember who brought you into this organization."
Bruno watched him without expression.
Gonda continued, "I took you in when you were nothing."
Bruno did not move.
"I raised you when other gangs would have killed you in the street," Gonda said. "You think these people around you respect you?"
His eyes moved to the men around them.
