Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are Are So Dangerous! [BL]-Chapter 119: Brotherly Bonds

When his gaze met his father’s, he saw only determination and calm.

"I’m here," his father said firmly. "You have nothing to fear. I will not leave you. No matter what happens, I will always stay by your side."

With a gentle touch, his father wiped the tears from his cheeks.

Rocco blinked his eys again, his last remaining tears slipping down his face.

And then, just like that, exhaustion overcame him.

Perhaps it was the relief of being brought back to his senses, or perhaps the panic and chaos of the past moments had taken more of a toll on him than he realized.

He couldn’t fight it.

His consciousness slipped away, like a light being turned off.

As Rocco finally calmed down and slipped back into a peaceful sleep, his delicate face softened into an innocent expression.

It wasn’t surprising—his small body had been entirely overwhelmed by the chaos and terror he’d just experienced.

Holding Rocco’s limp form in his arms, his father let out a weary sigh of self-reproach.

He had always known that, despite Rocco’s attempts to appear composed and brave, the boy was unusually sensitive and timid for someone born into a mafia family.

And yet, he had failed to immediately consider how witnessing such violence—so commonplace to him—would affect Rocco, for whom it was anything but ordinary.

"Rocco... I’m sorry. We’ll go home soon. You’ve been through too much."

As he wiped the sweat from Rocco’s forehead with his sleeve, he muttered softly.

Rocco, so angelic, pure, and innocent, was a sight to behold.

That he had been exposed to such brutal scenes was an unforgivable failure.

No amount of penance could atone for it.

If only I weren’t in the mafia, he thought bitterly.

Could I have spared him from all of this?

Could I have shown him a world of beauty instead?

"Father!"

His dark musings were interrupted by the gratingly cheerful voice of someone behind him.

He frowned, annoyed by the unwelcome nickname.

When he turned around, he saw Georgio who is standing there while grinning that infuriatingly casual grin of his.

Georgio, one of Rocco’s favorites, was someone Marcus tolerated solely for that reason.

Frankly, he found people like Georgio insufferable.

The entire plan they’d executed earlier had been devised purely for Rocco’s sake.

Were Georgio not so dearly adored by Rocco, he would have been eliminated as a potential liability long ago.

Suppressing the scowl threatening to deepen his features, he let his annoyance show only slightly as he asked curtly, "What do you want?"

"Oooh, I’ve always suspected it, but... do you hate me, Father?" Georgio teased, his grin widening.

"Stop calling me that," he replied coldly. "The only ones allowed to call me ’Father’ are Rocco and Sylas."

"Wow, such a doting dad," Georgio jeered, laughing brightly.

Marcus clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to react to the provocation.

Georgio, noticing the rising tension, quickly switched gears, his expression turning serious as he brought up an entirely different subject.

He had thought it before but was reminded again—Georgio barely seemed human.

The way he could shift topics so quickly, his fleeting interests, his lack of genuine emotion—it was as though he lacked the capacity for feelings altogether.

"You know, Boss," Georgio began, his tone nonchalant, "you must’ve realized it by now—my sister wasn’t killed by him."

The sudden shift in conversation caught Marcus off guard for a moment, but he quickly narrowed his eyes and responded with a curt nod. "I see."

"In the first place," he continued, his tone sharp, "the Assassin Guild had nothing to do with your family’s revenge, did it? Allowing a false accusation just to put an end to the hassle—seems rather indifferent for something as personal as avenging your own blood."

Georgio’s eyes widened slightly at that but quickly softened, his lips curling into an amused smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus noticed a man kneeling in stunned silence before the lifeless body of the Guildmaster, who had just been killed moments ago.

He furrowed his brow.

That must be Vaan, he surmised.

The despair of seeing a long-hated enemy gunned down so effortlessly must have been overwhelming—especially since the man likely hadn’t yet realized the Guildmaster had nothing to do with his quest for revenge.

"It’s not that I’m indifferent," Georgio replied, his tone light but his words laced with venom. "It’s just... he wasn’t the one. He wasn’t my target. I already know who is."

As he spoke, his cheerful demeanor clashed starkly with the smoldering hatred burning in his eyes.

His casual attitude only barely masked how close he was to snapping entirely.

However, for Marcus, Georgio’s vendetta wasn’t of interest.

To him, the death of the Guildmaster moments ago was just another ordinary event in their world—nothing exceptional.

What mattered was that Rocco’s wish had been fulfilled.

Georgio’s so-called "closure" had been achieved.

His role here was finished.

Rocco was still fragile, and they needed to leave.

With that thought in mind, he turned on his heel to depart, Rocco still safely cradled in his arms.

Just as he began to walk away, Georgio’s words froze him in his tracks.

"That guy said something," Georgio remarked, his tone suddenly heavy. "’Despair and ruin for the two great families.’ Something about taking control of the underworld."

Marcus turned back, his expression calm but his gaze piercing.

Georgio met his eyes without flinching, his voice resolute as he continued.

"The mastermind’s goal," Georgio said firmly, "is the destruction of the two great families."

Georgio and Vaan’s revenge had finally come to an end, and Georgio safely returned to Rocco’s side.

The Assassin Guild, which many believed would dissolve with the death of its leader—the Guildmaster—took an unexpected turn.

Georgio, of all people, became the new Guildmaster and took charge of the guild.

This decision was entirely Georgio’s own, reasoning with his characteristic nonchalance, "If we’ve got expendable pawns lying around, why not recycle them?" Typical Georgio, for better or worse.