Chapter 19.1

Ivan, who had been losing himself in the moment, suddenly paused. He tightened his embrace around Mo Zimu and smiled.

“Baby, when I want to be inside you, it’s not just about physical desire. More often than not, it’s my heart responding to you. I promise, I’ll give you time. Unless you want it, I won’t force you to make love with me.”

Ivan felt the subtle trembling in Mo Zimu’s body and held him closer. He knew he had finally taken a significant step forward. Yes, he would give him time, but he wouldn’t accept rejection. He wouldn’t’t even allow it to be an option.

The hospital room’s window wasn’t fully shut, letting the sea breeze drift in. It stirred Mo Zimu’s hair, and beneath his smooth forehead, his dark green eyes looked hazy. His voice was soft as he murmured,

“I want it now. Will you?”

Ivan had always known that Mo Zimu was someone he couldn’t resist, but he hadn’t expected just those few words to make him feel like he was about to explode.

His self-control in bed was something he prided himself on, even when Mo Zimu was his partner. But the moment he invited him in, something inside him seemed to break.

Desire surged like a tidal wave, drowning out all reason, leaving only raw instinct.

Mo Zimu’s pants were pulled down, and in the glow of the setting sun, his long legs seemed to take on a smooth, polished sheen. The fine texture of his skin caught the soft light, and whether from fever or desire, a faint flush spread across them.

He trembled uncontrollably, grinding against Ivan’s thighs as waves of moans escaped his lips. Ivan clenched his teeth, forcing himself to hold back the overpowering urge to flip him over and plunge into him.

“Get on top yourself, Seven.”

Dazed and lightheaded, Mo Zimu lifted his hips under Ivan’s guidance. Ivan steadied him by the waist, slowly easing him down onto his own burning-hot, swollen shaft, on the verge of bursting. The searing pain stretched him wide, like he was being torn apart, but the unbearable ache came with a sense of fullness, one that drove away the cold emptiness inside him.

The room was bathed in a thick, intoxicating red glow, so dense it was impossible to tell if it was the lingering sunset or the heavy, oppressive heat of lust filling the space.

Mo Zimu barely had the strength to move on his own. Every rise and fall of his body was carried by Ivan’s hands. Even though he was on the lean side, he was still a tall young man, yet Ivan made it painfully clear just how much strength he possessed. Each impact of their bodies sent shudders through Mo Zimu, pleasure crashing into him like relentless waves. Initially overwhelmed, he soon surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm, losing himself in waves of desire.

“Say you want me. Say you want more, Seven.”

Ivan’s voice brushed against his ear, followed by a sharp nip to his earlobe.

Mo Zimu let out a breathy hum but didn’t speak. Ivan suddenly lifted him high before slamming him back down. The instant impact sent a sharp, piercing pleasure rocketing through his body. A desperate cry tore from his throat as his climax hit, spilling over in uncontrollable release.

His body collapsed against Ivan’s chest, utterly spent. Ivan’s rough palms grazed over his sensitive nipples, the coarse friction sending a sharp jolt through him, making him whimper. He reached up, hooking his arms around Ivan’s neck, pulling him into a kiss.

And finally, Ivan heard the words that shattered his restraint. Mo Zimu’s voice, slightly hoarse, trembling with need.
“I want it. Give me more.”

The night raged on.

By the time it was over, Mo Zimu had all but drifted into unconsciousness. Through the haze of exhaustion, he vaguely felt someone wiping away the sweat clinging to his skin, then tucking him into the sheets.

Half-asleep, a fleeting thought crossed his mind, how ridiculously mismatched Ivan’s care was to his rugged, domineering exterior.

This man was nothing but contradictions.

Ivan gazed down at the boy lying against the snowy white pillow, his black hair spread messily over the fabric. A rare treasure, one that should have been placed high above, worshipped from afar. Yet, by some twist of fate, he had fallen into his hands. And now that he had him, Ivan had no intention of ever letting him slip away.

Reaching out, he gently tucked the blanket around Mo Zimu, his fingers brushing over his face. Only after confirming he was completely asleep did Ivan finally stand and step out of the room.

Outside the infirmary, Mike was waiting, looking somewhat awkward as he stood by the door of his clinic.

Ivan smiled. “You made the right choice, Mike.”

Mike’s lips twitched slightly. “I hope Seven’s nightmares have eased, Mr. Ivan.”

Ivan nodded, the smile lingering on his lips. “Oh, yes. Nightmares are terrifying. Even when you know you’re dreaming, it’s still nearly impossible to escape.” He tilted his head slightly. “Do you have nightmares, Mike?”

Mike replied, “No, thanks. I’ve always slept well.”

“Even here, in Mammon?”

Mike hesitated further. “At first, I did. But I’ve gotten used to it now.”

Ivan chuckled faintly. “You’re a man with a sense of justice. It must have taken you a long time to adapt to this place.”

Mike responded awkwardly. “I wouldn’t say I’m driven by justice… Mammon offers excellent benefits.”

“But it’s not safe, is it? Haven’t you thought about leaving Mammon?”

Mike broke out in a cold sweat. Beneath Ivan’s rugged exterior lay something profoundly intimidating. At that moment, Mike finally understood why the Bonanno heir had been so cautious of Ivan, even going so far as to sever ties in order to remove him as a threat.

Mike murmured, “I haven’t thought about it…”

“You mean you don’t dare to think about it.”

Ivan’s tone was calm, yet it pressed down on him like a heavy weight. “Norton gave you a chance for revenge, let you get rid of the prisoner who raped your girlfriend. That tied your fate to Mammon’s. If it falls, you fall with it.”

Mike’s fists clenched as anger contorted his face. “That bastard deserved to rot in hell!” His fury was uncontrollable, even as his deepest secret was laid bare.

Ivan maintained his composure. “Mike, I can offer you a way out. I can free you from this place if you do two things for me.”

Mike’s voice trembled. “What do you want me to do?”

“Tell Geoffrey that I’ve struck a deal with his father. Aside from the ten billion dollars, Seven is part of the agreement. I, Ivan, honor my promises, and I trust the Geoffrey family will do the same.”

Ivan continued with a faint smirk. “To them, your only value is staying in Mammon. But I don’t need that. So, instead of siding with them, you’re better off siding with me.”

Mike felt his face burn with humiliation. His fists clenched at his sides as he watched Ivan’s broad figure walk away, leaving him standing there in silence.

The sound of unsteady footsteps echoed behind him.

When he turned, he saw Mo Zimu leaning against the wall for support. His breath caught. “S-Seven? You’re up?! When… how much did you—?”

Mo Zimu nodded slightly. “Long enough to hear your entire conversation.”

Mike swallowed hard, at a loss for words.

Mo Zimu’s tone was calm. “You don’t have to align yourself with Geoffrey or Ivan. There’s a third option.”

“What’s that?”

“Make a deal with me.”

Mike let out a bitter laugh. “Seven, I know both Geoffrey and Ivan hold you in high regard. But to them, you’re a prized asset, while I’m nothing more than a hunting dog. The game is theirs to play, and we can’t change the rules.”

Mo Zimu smiled faintly. Under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, Mike thought he saw a spark in his eyes.

“No, Mike,” Mo Zimu replied, his voice steady. “Perhaps you’ve learned the rules of the game, but its outcome might surprise you.”

Standing straighter, Mo Zimu continued. “If you succeed, you’ll receive two new identities and ten million dollars. You and Jennifer can escape Mammon and start a new life.”

Mike’s breath hitched at the mention of his wife’s name. He showed a hint of surprise, but more prominently, his eyes betrayed a deep yearning. This was precisely what he had long dreamed of.

He hesitated and held back, but finally couldn’t resist and said, “Not unless you take me with you!”

—

Mo Zimu stayed in the infirmary for three full days before finally leaving. During that time, nearly every inmate in the warehouse had been put through some form of brutal interrogation.

After considerable torture, Hatch finally regained consciousness and began to incoherently recount every item he had touched and everyone he had interacted with that day. Each name and object he mentioned became a new focal point for investigation.

The entire prison became entangled in this mess. Inmates desperate to escape blame began accusing each other at random, setting off a chain reaction of paranoia and distrust. The bottle of whiskey remained the prime suspect, but somehow, it had vanished without a trace.

Adolf rampaged through the prison like a rabid dog, biting down on anyone he could. The more people he went after, the angrier he became, yet his efforts yielded nothing. Instead, his actions further fueled the prisoners’ hatred for the guards.

It wasn’t until Mike finally put his foot down, declaring that he would no longer treat any more beaten and injured inmates because his infirmary was full, that things began to settle.

However, this announcement became the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Even the hesitant inmates were now pushed to their limits, ready to face the vicious Mammon guards in a fight to the death.

Murmured conversations spread like wildfire across the prison yard.

—

Mo Zimu sat on the bleachers of the basketball court in A Block. Climbing a few steps up, he settled beside Kaspersky and handed over the pocket watch in his hand.

“How much information can I buy today?” he asked.

Kaspersky took the pocket watch, his gaunt face devoid of expression,”Sorry, I’m not in the mood today. I don’t feel like talking. No deals.”

Mo Zimu surveyed the entire yard. From this vantage point, he could overlook the entire exercise area. He said, “I don’t need you to say much. I only need you to answer yes or no.”

Kaspersky glanced at the boy. Of all the people he’d encountered, this boy was the sharpest. Perhaps the unfortunate prisoner, yet paradoxically the luckiest. Regardless of fortune or misfortune, nothing dulled the intelligence shining in his eyes.

“Ask away,” Kaspersky finally said after a pause.

“Ten years ago, Mammon Prison was called Samson Juvenile Detention Center. Its warden was a Puerto Rican named Cyril Aluero, correct?”

The midday sun was scorching. Kaspersky instinctively hunched his shoulders, responding flatly, “Yes.”

“He was sentenced to twenty years in prison for allegedly murdering his wife, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“But the warden was, in fact, innocent. His wife, unable to endure his long absences due to work, had an affair. Her lover embezzled all their assets and then tried to abandon her. In the process, he accidentally killed her. This lover was the warden’s private attorney at the time and later became the chairman of the Davy Law Firm in New York, Johnson.”

Kaspersky’s expression remained unreadable, but his grip on the pocket watch tightened.

“And that warden was you, wasn’t it?”

A long silence followed. From beneath his heavy eyelids, Kaspersky’s gaze drifted far away, filled with an old, festering hatred. He had endured for so long, believing he would one day make it out alive.

But time was the sharpest blade of all, carving away at everything, smoothing even the hardest edges. His initial anger and resentment had long faded, leaving only the primal instinct to survive.

Yet now, when it felt like even that last shred of hope was about to be stripped away, Kaspersky came to a bitter realization. Survival had never been his true wish. Revenge was.

Mo Zimu waited patiently.

After a long silence, Kaspersky rasped, “What do you want to know?”

“Norton has a secret account he uses to collect dirty money. It’s hidden because it originally belonged to a warden, a man with decades of impeccable credit history. His wife was a renowned venture capitalist with strong banking connections. He himself was a respected gentleman , making it unlikely for anyone to scrutinize his financial transactions.”

Mo Zimu’s gaze swept over the prisoners in blue below.

“This gentleman wasn’t fond of cash and never used online banking. He preferred writing checks. What I want to know is… Norton wouldn’t walk into a bank with your security card to cash checks himself. So, how does he withdraw money from your account without raising suspicion?”

Kaspersky was silent for a long time before answering, “I have a pre-arranged phone code with the bank. Every year, they require me to confirm a new password. That’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

“If you tell me, I can’t take you out of here,” Mo Zimu said. “But I can help you get your revenge.”

“Deal,” Kaspersky said indifferently.