Chapter 2

The cold Glock barrel pressed hard against my forehead, the metal temperature more bone-chilling than Miami's morgue.

"Click."

The Senator's thumb flicked, the crisp sound of a round being chambered amplified infinitely in the smoke-filled living room.

More than ten Blackwater mercenaries' assault rifles all locked onto my vital points.

"Viktor, my patience is as shallow as this gun's trigger." The Senator's face, which had worn a hypocritical smile on television for years, was now twisted with extreme greed, "My daughter is dead! Four federal officials also died on that ship! The blood on your hands is enough for the FBI to send you to the electric chair ten times over!"

I didn't surrender, didn't even change my position sitting on the sofa.

I still elegantly crossed my legs, holding that glass of bourbon whiskey, looking at him coldly.

"Senator, since you dismissed the FBI and brought your private dogs to break in here, it means you're not here to arrest me." I gently swirled the glass, ice cubes creating crisp sounds, "Speak up, what do you want?"

The Senator narrowed his eyes, withdrew his gun, and pulled two thick documents from his jacket, slamming them on the coffee table.

"This is the debt transfer agreement for that $500 million in dirty money. Once you sign it, this bad debt that disappeared from the Federal Bank becomes entirely your personal responsibility, Viktor, with no connection to Miami politics. As compensation, the Corleone family's three deepwater ports in the South District will all be unconditionally transferred to my name."

The Senator braced his hands on the coffee table, glaring viciously at me: "Sign it. Buy your worthless life with the ports, then go die with that $500 million debt. Otherwise, I'll blow your head off right now."

I looked at the documents on the table, the corner of my mouth curving in an barely perceptible arc.

He thought he was taking advantage of my misfortune, not knowing this played right into my hands.

That $500 million in dirty money was the Corleone family's public account. As long as this debt remained under the family name, I couldn't pursue and liquidate it in my personal capacity.

I pulled a pure black Mont Blanc fountain pen from my jacket pocket and removed the cap.

"I'll sign." Without the slightest hesitation, I signed my name with flourish on both documents, then pushed one toward him, "The ports are yours, I'll take the debt. But I have one condition."

"You're in no position to negotiate with me!"

"I am. If you don't want this five hundred million, feel free to get out. I don't care what happens to you." I raised my eyes, my gaze cutting toward him like a blade.

The Senator's eyes flickered, then he sneered coldly, "For five hundred million, what's one condition? But don't push it too far!"

I nodded, "Take this agreement and get out of my apartment, and for the next 48 hours, keep those FBI mad dogs away from me. I don't want any righteous crusaders disturbing me while I handle the family's 'internal affairs.'"

The Senator froze, then burst into mocking laughter.

"Deal." He thought I was a fool willing to do anything to cling to life for a few more days, grabbing the port transfer document and looking at me like I was already dead, "In 48 hours, I'll personally watch you get sent to the gas chamber."

With that, he smugly waved his hand and swaggered out with his mercenaries.

Heavy footsteps gradually faded down the hallway.

Isabella locked the door and walked to my side, her eyes flashing with confusion and killing intent: "Boss, those three ports are half our lifeline. Just gave them to that old dog?"

"Just storing them with him temporarily. A politician about to be disgraced won't be able to keep them down." I filed my copy of the debt agreement in the safe. With this paper, I became the sole absolute creditor of that $500 million. I could not only legally hunt those who took the money, but also legitimately freeze everything.

"Connect us." I sat down, coldly ordering.

Isabella immediately opened the military-grade encrypted computer on the table.

"Your family thinks they've escaped surveillance, but that custom satellite phone they took has long been implanted with the highest-level hardware trojan by me."

The screen flickered a few times, and soon, a clear real-time video feed and audio, spanning three thousand kilometers from a Medellín estate in Colombia, transmitted to my screen.

By the azure private pool, Elena in a sexy bikini lounged lazily on a beach chair, swirling a glass of expensive champagne.

Lucian wore a floral shirt, attentively cutting premium wagyu for the old Godfather.

"Counting the time, my respected senator father should have a gun to Viktor's head by now, right?" Elena giggled sweetly on screen, her voice slightly distorted by the miniature microphone amplification, "My father is so greedy for money, he'll definitely squeeze the marrow from Viktor's bones dry."

"That deadpan Viktor is probably scared shitless, kowtowing and begging for mercy on the ground right now." Lucian laughed proudly, "He'll never know until he dies that the $500 million is now lying comfortably in our offshore confidential accounts. Come on, let's toast to our perfect scapegoat brother!"

Four crystal wine glasses clinked together under the South American sun.

I watched these four foolish clowns on screen expressionlessly.

They were celebrating what they thought was victory, not knowing that their every move, even every incestuous moan, had long been exposed under my god's-eye view.

I closed the computer screen, cutting off the feed.

"Boss, those animals..." Isabella gritted her teeth.

"Let them enjoy the sunshine a few more days." I stood up, walking toward the weapons cache deep in the apartment, "The trouble from the legitimate side (FBI) has been temporarily blocked by the Senator. Now, it's time to clean up the trash from the criminal side."

"The Council of Elders just sent an ultimatum." Isabella reported, "They're using your suspected murder of the old Godfather as grounds to initiate emergency impeachment proceedings. All twelve elders are here, in the bulletproof conference room downstairs. They're preparing to forcibly take over your family's supreme authority access key."

The temperature in my eyes dropped to freezing.

The supreme authority access key was my only way to hack into the global offshore financial network and execute "data dimensional strikes" against my enemies. As long as these old bones remained, they could freeze my operations through the board of directors.

Anyone blocking my path had to die.

I took a brand new Israeli Desert Eagle from the weapons cabinet, pressing the gleaming large-caliber bullets into the magazine one by one.

"They want authority? I'll personally deliver it to them."

I tucked the gun behind my back, straightening my suit jacket, my voice like cold wind drifting from hell's abyss.

"Call up the 'Shadow' squad, bring silenced submachine guns. Seal the conference room's ventilation ducts. Today..."

"Not a single living fly leaves that room."