Even the piano player had stopped moving.
The bikers stared through the windows.
Doors of the black SUVs opened together.
Men in black suits stepped out.
Not rushing.
Not panicking.
Walking with terrifying calm.
The biker swallowed.
“What the hell is this…?”
The old man stood up.
Slowly.
For the first time, there was no shaking in his hands.
He looked at the cane still in the biker’s grip.
“Do you know why I kept quiet?”
Nobody answered.
The old man smiled slightly.
“Because powerful people never need to raise their voices.”
The restaurant doors opened.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
The men entered.
Then one of them looked at the old man and lowered his head.
“Sir… we’re here.”
The biker’s face turned pale.
“Sir…?”
The old man took back his cane.
Then leaned closer.
Very close.
And whispered:
“You thought I was a forgotten old man.”
He looked toward the men behind him.
“Bring my grandson.”
The biker frowned.
Then his eyes widened.
Because walking through the door was someone he recognized instantly—
The most feared man in the city.
“Dad… are these the men?”
