Pretending to Be an Untouchable Crime Boss-Chapter 35: Funeral.

"So, who do I actually need to care about at this funeral?" James adjusted his black suit.

Bella ran through the document in his hand. "Well, funerals like this aren't just for mourning. They're business meetings too. The ones worth talking to are Silas Ricci, Dante Castillo, and Damien Montoya. But honestly, they all just want to be like you."

Like me? James thought, buttoning his suit jacket. 

Silas Ricci... the man practically owns the entire northern region. 

Dante Castillo, another ambitious one, but still in Silas shadow. 

And Damien Montoya? That guy's a weapons smuggler, busted once for transporting actual tanks.

As James adjusted his black suit, lost in his thoughts, he noticed Hector watching him with an amused smirk.

"What?"

"Nothing." Hector said, still grinning. "Just picturing them all scrambling to get your attention."

James tightened his tie, his expression darkening.

"There will be no talking, no business meetings. Today is Charlotte's day to say farewell to her father. If anyone so much as hints at business, I—"

"Understood." Hector's smirk faded instantly. His posture shifted "I'll make sure they keep their mouths shut."

"Okay... what about the NSBI and the other?" He looked at Bella.

"You know who they are. I think more agents will attend than friends or business partners." She said, smiling.

Why are you smiling...? They make my life harder...

"But don't worry, security will be top-notch. Nobody can even look at you with bad intentions." She added.

"I dare them." Hector said. "I will give them love..." He opened his suit, revealing two guns hanging inside.

This man... But I need one too, I'm the boss...at least for look.

"Give me a gun too." James said.

Bella and Hector just looked at each other.

"What?" James asked, tilting his head.

"Nothing." Hector shook his head. "I'll give you one of mine."

He pulled a pistol from his holster. "It already has one in the chamber, so the safety is off and ready to go." He said with a wide smile.

James reached out, but his eyes locked onto the weapon in Hector's hand.

It wasn't just any gun. The silver surface, intricate engravings curling along the barrel..

"This is yours?"

"Oh yeah." Hector smiled, a rare, genuine grin breaking across his face. "I thought, if I ever get into a shootout, why not have a sexy gun?" He turned the pistol slightly, letting the engraved silver surface catch the light. "It's handmade."

For a moment, the tension in the room eased not because the danger had passed, but because Hector, despite everything, was genuinely happy talking about his gun.

James turned the gun over in his hand, running his fingers over the engravings. "Handmade, huh?"

Hector nodded. "Yeah. Every detail, every piece perfectly balanced." His voice carried a strange sense of pride, like a craftsman admiring his finest work. "This isn't just a weapon. It's personal."

But Bella's forcefully coughing broke the moment.

"....what about this?" She held up a bulletproof vest.

James glanced at it, then shook his head. "I don't need that. It's only an hour, and then it's over."

Bella didn't move. Her grip on the vest tightened. "An hour is all they need."

She's afraid for me... This girl truly loves me, huh?

James exhaled, pushing down the strange warmth creeping into his chest. But he didn't dwell on it. Instead, his gaze hardened as he turned to Bella.

"And who are they?"

It was a question, but his voice carried no curiosity, only warning.

Bella stiffened, her fingers twitching slightly. "I... I talked too much. I'm sorry." She looked away, her eyes refusing to meet James'.

"Ugh... Okay."He turned toward the door. "I'll check on Charlotte."

What was that reaction?

With that, he left the room.

Hector, however, remained still, staring at the floor as if lost in thought.

"He didn't ask for the gun to protect himself..."

Bella swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah."

They both knew it.

James wasn't afraid of dying.

He made his way downstairs, where Charlotte was sitting in front of the TV. She wore a full black dress, her tiny legs swinging slightly over the edge of the couch. A black hat sat on her head, too big for her, tilting a little to one side.

James walked over and sat beside her. "How are you?"

Charlotte didn't look away from the screen. "Bored." She mumbled.

James raised an eyebrow. "Bored?"

She nodded. "Funerals are boring."

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James huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, they are."

"Is someone going to try and hurt you today?"

He turned his head sharply, meeting her wide, curious eyes.

"Where did you hear that?"

She shrugged. "Nobody told me."

James exhaled, leaning back against the couch. "Then why do you think that?"

Charlotte twirled a strand of her hair. "Because Bella's and Hector acting weird."

"Hector's just dramatic."

Charlotte frowned. "So no one's gonna hurt you?"

James hesitated for half a second....too long. He doesn't know what is going to happen.

Charlotte noticed.

She crossed her arms. "You're lying."

James sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's complicated."

Charlotte watched him for a moment, then reached for the remote and turned off the TV. She scooted closer, her tiny legs barely making a sound against the couch.

"Do you have a gun?" She asked.

James blinked. "What?"

"A gun." She pointed at his jacket. "Like Hector."

"Why are you asking that?"

Charlotte shrugged. "Because if someone tries to hurt you, I think you should shoot them first."

James stared at her, half in disbelief, half in something else, something heavier.

Seven years old, and yet, she spoke like someone who had already decided that safety came from pulling the trigger first.

"I'm not going to answer dummy questions, do you need sunglasses?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I'm not going to cry."

James smirked slightly. "You sure?"

She looked up at him, her expression serious. "I hated him."

James didn't react right away. He just nodded, like he expected that answer. "I know."

Charlotte stared down at her hands, gripping the fabric of her dress. "But that doesn't mean you can't cry," James said gently.

Her fingers twisted the hem of her dress, her small shoulders stiff.

"Would you be mad if I did?" She finally asked, her voice quieter.

"No," he said. "I'd only be mad if you thought you had to hold it in."

"Are people going to kiss me?" Charlotte asked suddenly.

James blinked, taken off guard. "What?"

"You know," she frowned. "Like on the cheek. Old people do that at funerals."

James smirked. "They're only going to pay their condolences, if they even know who you are."

Charlotte made a face. "I don't want that."

"Then just stick by me. No one will touch you."

She adjusted her hat, fixing the part he messed up. "Good."

James stood up and adjusted his cuffs. "You ready?"

Charlotte nodded. But as they walked toward the door, she tugged at his sleeve.

"If someone tries to kiss me, can I punch them?" She asked seriously.

James let out a short laugh. "No."

Charlotte pouted. "What if I just push them away?"

James sighed, shaking his head. "Don't start a fight at a funeral, alright?"

She thought about it for a second, then gave a small nod. "Okay."

James smirked. This kid...

As the head to outside Charlotte gave a small wave to James mother, though she didn't look too enthusiastic about it.

Outside, six black SUVs were waiting, packed with guards.

A guard opened the door to one of the SUVs, and as James helped Charlotte inside, she tugged on his sleeve again.

"Do we have to go?" She whispered.

James met her eyes, his voice quieter now. "Yeah. We do."

She sighed, crossing her arms as she sank into the seat. "Stupid funeral."

With that, the doors shut, and the convoy rolled forward, heading toward the one place none of them wanted to be.

He expected the cemetery to look like a mafia gathering, but this was too much.

Limos, black suvs, and luxury cars lined the streets, parked in a tight formation that screamed importance.

Men in dark suits standing by the vehicles, scanning every face that passed. It wasn't just a funeral. It was a declaration.

Somebody influential had died.

And also it was an opportunity.

The drug he ordered to burn had sent a message.

A message that wouldn't go unanswered.

And the thought lingered in his mind like a shadow, they wouldn't leave this place without blood being spilled.

His fingers twitched slightly, instinct making him check the weight of the gun Hector had given him earlier. It was there, secure, but that didn't ease the tension coiling in his chest.

The people gathered here weren't just grieving. They were watching. Calculating.

Waiting.

Because in their world, funerals weren't just about saying goodbye.

They were about who was next.