The man responded by punching him in the face and the sound of the impact silenced the bar.
The customer fell sideways, knocking his chair over as he hit the floor. His beer spilled across the table, and someone near the window screamed.
Frank moved toward them.
"That's enough!"
Vincent caught him by the arm.
"Stay out of it."
Frank tried to pull away, but Vincent tightened his grip.
"Let go of me."
"Or what?"
John set the glasses he was carrying on the nearest table.
He had hoped his first week in this world would pass without anything reminding him of his old life. Unfortunately, trouble had a habit of finding people who wanted nothing to do with it.
He walked toward the counter.
"Let him go."
Vincent turned his head.
Since entering the bar this was the first time, he seemed to notice John properly.
He looked at John's plain black shirt, his dark trousers, and the bandage that was still faintly visible beneath his collar. Then he glanced at Frank.
"Who's this?"
"An employee," Frank replied. "He has nothing to do with this."
Vincent released Frank's arm and turned fully toward John.
"An employee?"
"That's what I said."
Vincent gave a short laugh.
"Well, your employee should learn to mind his own business."
John looked at the hand Vincent had used to grab Frank.
"Then tell your friend to stop hitting customers."
The man near the fallen chair had already stepped away, leaving the injured customer groaning on the floor.
Vincent stared at John for a moment before smiling again.
"You new around here?"
"Yes."
"Then here's some friendly advice. When grown men are having a conversation, you keep your mouth shut and let them handle their business."
John glanced at Frank.
"Are you finished with him?"
Frank looked as though he wanted to say something, but Vincent interrupted before he could answer.
"Hey, I'm talking to you."
"I heard you."
"Then answer me."
John looked back at him.
"I'm waiting for you to leave."
The smile finally disappeared.
Vincent took a step closer, lowering his voice.
"You think you're funny?"
"No."
"Then why are you acting like a smartass?"
"I'm not sure what you want me to say."
For a brief moment, Vincent seemed genuinely confused by the response.
He was accustomed to people becoming nervous when he raised his voice. Some apologized, others tried to explain themselves, and a few attempted to act tough before backing down.
John wasn't doing any of those things.
He simply stood there, looking at Vincent as though the conversation were an inconvenience he would rather finish.
That irritated Vincent more than an insult would have.
"Listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once. You don't know who you're dealing with."
John sighed.
"I hear that a lot."
Vincent's face twisted with anger.
He swung.
The punch was quick enough to catch an ordinary person off guard, but John had spent years fighting men who were considerably faster and more dangerous. He moved his head slightly, allowing the fist to pass beside his cheek.
Before Vincent could recover, John caught his wrist.
He didn't twist it or strike back. He simply held it in place.
Vincent tried to pull away but he simply couldn't and when he noticed this his expression changed.
John could feel the man's muscles straining against his grip, but there was no real effort involved in keeping him still. His ribs ached from the movement, and he was still recovering from the injuries that had nearly killed him, yet handling Vincent was almost embarrassingly easy.
"Let go of me," Vincent growled.
"Then stop swinging at people."
Vincent's free hand shot toward John's face.
John released his wrist, stepped inside the attack, and drove a short punch into his stomach.
The air left Vincent's lungs in a harsh gasp.
He doubled over, clutching his abdomen, and stumbled into the counter.
The entire exchange had lasted only a few seconds.
For a moment, the bar was completely silent.
John looked at Vincent, then at the two men near the entrance.
"Are we done?"
Neither answered.
The man who had punched the customer finally moved. He approached John with his shoulders squared, apparently deciding that three against one would be enough to restore the situation.
John watched him come closer.
He wasn't particularly eager to fight. His ribs still hurt, and he had no interest in spending another week recovering because someone couldn't control his temper.
Unfortunately, the man seemed determined to make the decision for him.
He threw a right hook.
John shifted aside, caught the man's arm, and used his momentum to turn him toward an empty table. A quick shove sent him stumbling over a chair and crashing onto the floor.
The third man hesitated near the entrance.
John looked at him.
"You're welcome to try."
The man glanced at Vincent, who was still struggling to straighten up, then at his companion lying among the overturned furniture.
He made the sensible decision.
"Come on," he muttered.
He grabbed Vincent by the shoulder and helped him toward the door. The other man scrambled to his feet, abandoning any attempt to look intimidating.
Vincent paused at the entrance and turned around.
His face was pale, and his breathing was still uneven.
"You have no idea what you've just done."
John picked up the cloth from the table.
"That's possible."
"Mr. Russo is going to hear about this."
"Then tell him."
Vincent stared at him for another second before leaving with the others.
The door slammed behind them.
John looked around the bar.
Several customers were staring at him. The woman near the window still had her phone in her hand, while the injured customer was sitting upright as another patron helped him retrieve his glasses.
Frank stood behind the counter, looking at John with an expression that was difficult to read.
John walked over to the fallen chair and picked it up.
"Sorry about the mess."
Frank blinked.
Then he let out a long breath.
"You're apologizing for the mess?"
"They knocked over a few things."
"John, you just beat up three men in the middle of my bar."
"Just two of them."
Frank stared at him.
John set the chair upright.
"The third one left before I had to do anything."
Frank rubbed his face with both hands.
"Jesus Christ."
John returned to the counter and picked up a clean cloth.
"I'll clean this up."
Frank looked at the overturned table, the broken glass, and the customer nursing a swelling cheek.
Then he looked back at John.
"Forget the damn table for a minute. Are you okay?"
John paused.
It was an unexpected question.
"I'm fine."
"Your ribs?"
"They hurt a little."
"A little?" Frank repeated. "You were practically dead when I found you, and now you're throwing people around like they're bags of flour."
John shrugged.
"They started it."
Frank opened his mouth, then closed it again.
After a moment, he shook his head.
"I don't know whether to thank you or fire you."
"I'd prefer the first option."
Despite himself, Frank laughed.
It was a short, tired laugh, but it helped ease some of the tension in the room.
"Go sit down before you tear something open. I'll deal with the mess."
"I can clean it."
"John."
John met his eyes.
"Sit down."
John considered arguing, decided it wasn't worth the effort, and took a seat near the end of the counter.
Duke, who had been sleeping in the back office, emerged a few moments later. The puppy trotted into the room, sniffed the air, and approached John with his tail wagging.
John scratched behind his ears.
"You slept through all of that, didn't you?"
Duke licked his hand.
"Useless guard dog."
The puppy wagged his tail harder.
Frank returned after helping the injured customer and checking that everyone else was all right. He placed a glass of water in front of John and leaned against the counter.
"Those guys work for a man named Anthony Russo. He's been lending money to small businesses around the neighborhood for years. When people can't pay him back, he sends someone to remind them."
"Remind them?"
Frank gave him a dry look.
"You saw the reminder."
John took a drink of water.
"How much do you owe him?"
Frank hesitated.
"That's not important."
"It seemed important to the man who came looking for it."
"Because he's an asshole. Doesn't mean I have to tell you my financial problems."
John nodded concluding it was fair enough.
He hadn't expected Frank to explain everything simply because he'd stepped in during a fight.
After a moment, Frank pulled out a chair and sat opposite him.
"I borrowed money a while back to keep the bar running. Business was bad, and the bank wasn't interested in helping me. Russo offered a loan with what seemed like reasonable terms at the time."
"And now?"
"Now the interest keeps growing, and every time I get close to paying him back, something else comes up." Frank rubbed his forehead. "I should've known better, but I didn't have many options."
John understood that more than he wanted to admit.
In his old life, money had rarely been the problem. He'd earned enough to live comfortably, and his reputation had opened doors that most people didn't even know existed. However, he had also seen what happened when desperation pushed ordinary people toward the wrong individuals.
Once someone like Russo had leverage over you, getting out became considerably more difficult.
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Author here, yes I know the timeline in between chapters has not been ideal :( but rn I can make at least one chapter a day. Or maybe even 5 it just depends on how inspired I am so please vote!
Also I'll be making other fanfics by request so if you have a movie, tv or anime that you'd really like to see come alive as a fan fic lmk!