“I’ve still got a passenger. Move your car.”

The bystanders watching the commotion gasped.

“Holy shit, this kid’s got balls—he hit Tony Moretti’s car and dares to talk back?”

“Tony runs half the Midwest crime districts. Even the cops don’t mess with him after midnight.”

“Poor bastard. Wrong car to hit. Even if he doesn’t die tonight, he’ll be skinned alive.”

As the whispers grew louder, Tony’s grin widened.

“Kid, if you want to run, at least make up a better excuse. What passenger? There’s no one in your back seat.”

But I noticed the spirit’s aura flaring redder. If I stalled any longer, she’d lose control.

“Tony Moretti, right?”

“If you value your life, you’ll kneel at my rear bumper and knock your head to the ground forty-nine times—or else…”

“Or else what, punk?” Tony rolled up his sleeves and charged at me, reeking of booze.

“Dodge again, I’ll kill you!”

I didn’t strike back—I only slipped out of reach. Not because I feared him, but because of my father Gabriel Hale’s warning when I first entered the trade:

“As a ferryman, you guide souls. Never entangle yourself in mortal grudges.”

A psychopomp never raises a hand against the living lightly. If we do, the result is always fatal.

Vince Moretti, Tony’s lackey, lunged at me with wild swings. Every punch missed, only enraging him further.

“You bastard, still dodging? Fine! You just wait.”

He pulled out his phone right in front of me.

“18th Street, Chicago—bring the boys and the hardware. Now!”

Meanwhile, some sympathetic drivers dragged me aside.

“Kid, you’d better run. Once his men arrive, you won’t walk away.”

“Yeah, his crew are real monsters. You’re on your own—you’ll get crushed.”

“You’re too young to throw your life away over pride.”

I was baffled.

He was the drunk driver, yet they expected me to run? Just because he was some mob boss, he could defy every law?

And what about the college girl in my back seat—the one he’d killed tonight? Was her life worthless?

My fists clenched until my knuckles popped.

“Calling in backup, huh?”

“Fine. But until you apologize to my passenger, I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony burst out laughing.

“Didn’t think I’d meet such a crazy bastard tonight. All right, I’ll show you exactly what the Morettis can do in the Midwest.”

I ignored him and slid back into my car.

My defiance earned me a grateful look from the spirit.

“My name is Emily Carter. Today was my twentieth birthday.”

No wonder her resentment burned so strong. It had been her birthday when she died.

I began to chant the calming incantation, trying to ease the spirit’s fury.

Tony Moretti, however, had grabbed a steel pipe and started smashing my car.

“You still putting on an act? I’ll smash your ride to pieces!”

Dozens of swings later, the only mark on my car was a faint scratch.

The scene should have unnerved him—but instead, he grew more frenzied.

He gunned his Phantom, ramming it straight into my driver’s side.

The impact spun my world. Even with spiritual protection, the door crumpled inward.

If I’d been in an ordinary sedan, I’d be crippled—if not dead.

I staggered out, testing my limbs. Just numbness in my leg—nothing fatal.

Tony stepped out grinning, gold teeth flashing, then lazily rolled down his window.

“You dare dent my car? I’ll run you down myself!”

My anger finally snapped. I charged at him with clenched fists—only to stumble and collapse before reaching him.

Pain seared my ankle. Blood seeped down. Must’ve been cut earlier.

The crowd of onlookers rushed to call an ambulance. But Vince leaned on the horn and roared:

“Anyone who helps him is crossing Tony Moretti. Think carefully!”

At once, the phones lowered. Silence.

Tony swaggered toward me.

“Where’s that tough guy act now, kid? Crawling on the ground already?”

I glared up at him through gritted teeth.

“You just tried to run me over, Tony. You really aren’t afraid of death, are you?”

He smirked.

“So what if I did? I’ll break your legs next—leave you crawling forever.”

I pointed at the traffic camera overhead.

“There’s surveillance here. Everything you just did was recorded. Let’s see what the police say.”

Tony burst out laughing.

“Surveillance? This street’s mine. One call and the footage is gone.”

He dialed.

“Yeah, it’s Tony. Wipe all tonight’s feeds on 18th Street.”

The woman draped on his arm smirked down at me.

“See? The evidence is gone. Go ahead, prove my man ran you over.”

She tossed her hair, sneering.

“We told you to take the payout. Instead you crossed Tony Moretti. Now look at you. Next time, open your eyes—his car isn’t one just anyone can touch.”

I’d grown up reckless, never knowing when to back down.

At eighteen, I became a psychopomp, dealing with death daily.

I’d never learned the rules of the living world—or how to bow my head.

All these years, Dad only taught me how to communicate with vengeful spirits. When it came to dealing with mobsters, I honestly had no idea how to handle them.

Tony Moretti mistook my silence for fear. He slapped me hard across the face.

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid. You were pretty cocky a minute ago, weren’t you?”

A woman leaning on his shoulder laughed.

“Babe, you don’t think this kid got knocked stupid when you hit him, do you?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Emily Carter in the back seat. Crimson fangs were already sprouting at the corners of her mouth—signs she was about to transform into a vengeful spirit.

I checked the time. Less than thirty minutes before the Gate of the Underworld closed. Time was running out, and I could no longer afford to waste it.

“You dared to smash into a psychopomp’s car? Looks like your reign as the Midwest’s underworld kingpin ends tonight.”

Tony didn’t take my warning seriously.

“Psychopomp’s car? Kid, you must be hallucinating from the crash. Let me tell you something—across the entire Rust Belt, there isn’t a single car I, Tony Moretti, wouldn’t dare ram.”

I nearly laughed out loud. Ignorance wasn’t scary—what was scary was when someone didn’t even realize they had already sealed their own fate.

While Vince Moretti wasn’t looking, I secretly pulled my phone from my pocket.

“Dad, it’s me, Ethan.”

Hearing my voice, Gabriel Hale immediately asked,

“Why are you calling now? Weren’t you on assignment tonight? This spirit isn’t ordinary—you can’t afford a single mistake.”

I glanced around and lowered my voice into the receiver.

“Dad, I’m stuck on the road. And… there’s something else you need to know.”

“Your car was smashed up.”

“What did you just say?” His voice almost exploded through the phone.

“You’re not joking, are you? That’s the soul ferrying car! Who’s insane enough to touch it?”

I calmly gave him a rough account of what happened, including Emily’s situation.

My father roared,

“Send me your location right now. I’ll dispatch people immediately!”

Before I could answer, Tony noticed me. Thinking I was begging for money, he snatched the phone.

“Hey, you must be the kid’s old man, right? You’ve got twenty minutes to cough up a million, or I start chopping off your boy’s fingers, one by one.”

My dad froze for a few seconds, probably stunned by such arrogance.

“So you’re the bastard who smashed my car and threatened to cripple my son?”

Tony didn’t realize he was already doomed. He smirked.

“Damn right. Now stop wasting my time. You paying up or not?”

Even over the phone, I could feel Dad’s fury.

“Pay? A million’s too cheap. How about I send you a hundred million instead?”

“Enough to buy your life.”

Tony sneered, caught off guard that Dad wasn’t backing down.

“Old man, you think you’re hot shit? You ever even seen a hundred million in cash? If you’ve got it, I’ll take it. Bring it to 18th Street in Chicago if you dare!”

He hung up, then grabbed his woman and kissed her roughly, basking in his bravado.