Chapter 3: Going to Die

New York, the Gambino Villa.

In the hall, Vito Gambino, the head of the Gambino family, sat on a leather sofa with a cigar between his fingers. Through the swirling smoke, his face looked terrifyingly grim.

Three of his men stood before Vito, each with their head bowed, not daring to breathe too loudly.

"A shipment worth twenty million dollars, just gone like that?" Vito's voice wasn't loud, but every word carried crushing pressure. "Tell me, who in New York dares to touch my goods?"

"Boss, we've checked. It wasn't another family..." The subordinate's forehead was sweating. "It seems... it seems to have just disappeared."

"Just disappeared?" Vito narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying twenty million dollars worth of goods grew legs and ran away?"

The subordinate's legs went weak with fear. "No... I mean, maybe something went wrong during transport..."

"Something went wrong?" Vito smiled, and that smile made everyone present shudder. "I hate it when things go wrong."

Just then, the butler pushed the door open. "Boss, there's someone outside. Says he's from the Smith family."

"The Smith family?" Vito frowned. "That Smith family that lost our goods?"

"Yes, he says his name is James."

Vito sneered. "Smart of them to send someone to die."

"Boss, should we let him in?" the butler asked.

"Did I say he could just come in?" Vito flicked his cigar ash, his eyes cold. "Break his legs first, then drag him in."

"Yes!"

The butler left to carry out the order.

Outside the estate gates, James stood tall at the entrance.

The gate opened, and a dozen thugs with iron bars rushed out, surrounding James.

The lead thug was muscular. He looked James up and down with a contemptuous smile. "Kid, you can go in, but leave your legs behind first!"

With that, all dozen of them rushed at him.

James sidestepped, his right hand shooting out like lightning, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting.

The thug screamed as his left hand dislocated and the iron bar slipped from his grip.

James caught the bar mid-fall and, like the grim reaper, took down all the thugs in less than a minute.

The lead man stared in disbelief at the scene. He turned to run, but James was already in front of him.

"Lead the way." James's voice was calm.

The man swallowed hard and, trembling, turned to guide him into the estate.

...

Inside the hall, the butler pushed the door open again, terror on his face.

Vito frowned. "What is it?"

The butler opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.

Just then, the door was pushed open.

James walked in.

Behind him, thugs lay fallen all along the path, their groans rising and falling.

Vito's eyes narrowed slightly.

He'd seen people who weren't afraid to die, but someone who dared to fight at the Gambino Villa—that was a first.

James walked to the center of the hall, dusted himself off, and looked at Vito calmly. "You're the head of the Gambino family, right? Didn't you ask me to come? Why attack me?"

As soon as he finished speaking, a dozen bodyguards behind Vito reached into their jackets, ready to draw their guns.

Vito raised his hand, stopping them.

He looked at James with interest. This young man had a quality he rarely saw—not just the courage to face death, but a composure that didn't fear power.

Vito leaned back on the sofa, looking James up and down. "What are you to the Smith family?"

"Joseph is my father."

"Is that so?" Vito raised an eyebrow. "I remember Joseph only has one son, named Jocent. A waste of space."

"He is indeed a waste." James nodded and said, "I'm his older brother."

Vito laughed. "So you're the scapegoat they pushed out?"

James knew he was trying to sow discord, but his relationship with Joseph didn't need any sowing, so he didn't bother continuing that topic. "I came here for my own reasons."

Vito stared at him for a few seconds, suddenly feeling this young man was not simple.

He'd seen plenty of people dragged in with broken legs, but someone who walked in on their own and stood there talking to him so calmly—that was a first.

What a shame.

Vito sighed inwardly.

The goods were lost. Someone had to pay the price.

"You're special, young man." Vito stubbed out his cigar and stood up. "But rules are rules. My goods are lost, someone has to die."

He waved his hand, and a dozen bodyguards drew their guns simultaneously.

"Wait." James spoke up.

Vito frowned. "Any last words?"

James looked at him, his gaze calm as still water. "I know where that shipment is."

At these words, everyone froze, including Vito.

"You know?" Vito sneered. "My people couldn't find that shipment, and you, a dead man walking, know where it is?"

"I have my methods." James said.

Vito said nothing, sitting back down on the sofa, his fingers tapping the armrest, looking at him with interest. "Then tell me, where is it?"

James didn't rush to answer, but asked instead, "I need to know what exactly that shipment was, when and where it was lost."

As soon as he finished, a subordinate behind Vito jumped out to object. "Who do you think you are to ask these questions? I think you're just stalling for time!"

"Exactly!" Another subordinate jumped out. "Boss, this kid is clearly playing us! How could he possibly know where the goods are? Just kill him!"

Vito raised his hand, silencing his subordinates' outbursts.

He looked at James, his gaze deep.

This young man stood before a dozen gun barrels without changing expression. That wasn't an act.

"Tell him." Vito said flatly.

Though the subordinate was unhappy, he didn't dare disobey Vito's order. He could only say through gritted teeth, "The goods were high-purity heroin. They disappeared three days ago during a handoff at Brooklyn docks. All six people responsible for transport were killed, and the goods vanished without a trace."

James closed his eyes.

The hall fell silent again.

Everyone stared at him, not knowing what he was up to.

James activated the power of the werewolf bloodline within him. An invisible sense spread outward from him in all directions.

This was a special ability of the werewolf bloodline—tracking.

The power of his bloodline swept across all of New York like radar waves, finally detecting an unusual fluctuation in a corner of the city.

The shipment had a special marker on it.

James's eyes snapped open.

"The goods are at St. Michael's Cemetery in Brooklyn." He said, "East section, seventh row, under the third tombstone."

The hall was silent for a second, then burst into laughter.

"Hahaha! St. Michael's Cemetery? Are you making a movie here?"

"Thought he was Sherlock Holmes, turns out he's a fraud! Boss, this kid is clearly talking nonsense! Kill him!"

Vito didn't laugh.

He'd been watching James's eyes the whole time.

Those eyes held no panic, no guilt, only an almost crazy certainty.

"You're sure?" Vito asked.

James looked straight at him. "I'm sure."

Vito was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled.

He turned to his subordinate. "Send people to St. Michael's Cemetery."

The subordinate froze. "Boss, you don't really believe him, do you? This is obviously bullshit..."

"I said go." Vito's voice suddenly turned cold.

The subordinate shivered, not daring to say more, and quickly left with his men.

Vito sat back on the sofa, his fingers tapping the armrest again. "If I find out you're playing me, I'll make you wish you were dead!"

Time passed minute by minute. Several hours later, Vito's phone rang.

He answered, and his subordinate's voice came through the receiver. "Boss, we found the goods..."