Chapter 6
Pfft!
Joseph spat out a mouthful of blood, along with three gold-capped molars.
Sean stood over him, looking down.
"A bastard with no one to raise him..." Sean repeated the words in his mind, the killing intent in his eyes almost becoming something you could touch.
He was an orphan himself, raised in a welfare home from childhood.
He knew better than anyone how vicious and devastating those words could be to a child without parents.
Thank God Linda and the others were asleep inside.
If those kids had heard it, it would have haunted them for the rest of their lives.
"Ahh—! Help! Someone's being killed!"
The female secretary screamed nearby, her parasol dropping to the ground.
Joseph clutched his face, swollen like a pig's head, and struggled to his feet.
When in his entire life had he ever been treated like this? Back in New York, who didn't offer him a cigarette with a smile?
"You... you actually dare hit me?!" Joseph screamed hysterically. "I'll kill you! I'll make sure you rot in prison!"
Sean's face was blank. He stepped forward and closed the distance in an instant.
With Joseph staring at him in terror, the second slap came down hard.
Smack!
"You're asking for it." Sean's voice was ice cold.
The other side of Joseph's face swelled up instantly, and he crashed to the ground again.
Sean didn't stop. He grabbed Joseph by the collar and hauled him up like a dead dog, then backhanded him across the face.
Smack!
"That one's for respecting your elders!"
Aunt Susan had worked herself to the bone for fifteen years. How dare this piece of trash talk to her like that?
Smack!
The fourth blow landed, and the crack of bone was unmistakable.
"That one's for protecting the young!"
Those innocent children — how dare he trample all over their dignity?
For the last slap, Sean raised his hand high. The air whistled as his palm swung down with the force of a thunderbolt.
SMACK——!!
The blow caved in half of Joseph's face. He flew through the air like a kite with a snapped string and slammed into the Bentley's windshield, spiderwebbing the tempered glass before slumping onto the hood, completely still.
"And that one's for being a decent human being."
Sean calmly dusted off his hands, as if he'd just swatted a fly.
"You're dead... I swear, you won't live to see tomorrow's sunrise!" Joseph lay sprawled across the hood, half his face swollen like a pig's backside, slurring his threats through the pain, his eyes filled with pure hatred.
Sean looked at him coldly, not even bothering to listen. He lifted his foot and kicked.
Thud!
The kick caught Joseph square in the gut. His two-hundred-pound body flew back several feet like a torn sack and crashed into the flower bed, where he writhed in agony and retched up bile.
"Ow... my back, my ribs are broken..." Joseph wailed like a stuck pig.
The driver, scared out of his mind, scrambled over and struggled to shove Joseph into the battered Bentley.
The door locked. Joseph thought he was safe. He pressed against the window, jabbing his finger at Sean with a twisted face, clearly hurling threats.
Sean frowned slightly, picked up half a red brick from the ground, and flicked his wrist.
Crack!
The bulletproof window shattered to dust. The brick skimmed past Joseph's nose and obliterated the dashboard on the passenger side.
"Drive! Go! Get out of here!" Joseph screamed hysterically, having wet himself on the spot.
The driver floored it. The Bentley belched black smoke, its engine shuddering violently, and went bouncing and scraping down the hill in a desperate escape.
Sean brushed the dust from his hands, his eyes calm again.
If this hadn't been right at the welfare home's front gate — if he hadn't wanted to avoid bloodshed in front of Aunt Susan — Joseph would already be a cold corpse.
"Shawn," Aunt Susan walked over, watching the Bentley disappear in the distance. She let out a heavy sigh, her face full of worry. "You hit him too hard. Kimberley Properties has real pull in New York, and that Joseph is the kind of man who holds a grudge. You just got back — what if he sends people after you? What then?"
"Aunt Susan, don't worry." Sean steadied her by the shoulders, his voice softening. "A clown like that gets what he deserves. He got a beating today — he won't dare come back here and cause trouble again."
Susan opened her mouth to say more, but when she looked into Sean's steady, unreadable eyes, the panic in her chest somehow melted away.
"You've changed so much these years out there, child..." Susan said, patting his arm with a touch of sadness.
"Aunt Susan, Linda still needs looking after — go ahead." Sean smiled. "I... want to go see Sister Sofia first. I've missed them."
"Go on, go." Susan nodded eagerly, her eyes full of warmth. "Sofia's company is right in the city center. She'll probably lose her mind when she sees you."
……
New York. The heart of the CBD.
A fifty-story skyscraper rose from some of the most expensive real estate in the city. Near the top, the words "Valentino Group" gleamed in gold letters under the sun.
Valentino Group — the most dazzling dark horse in New York's business world in recent years.
In just two years, it had gone from an unknown little company to forcing its way onto the list of New York's top one hundred enterprises.
Sean stood outside the building, looking up at it, a quiet pride tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Not bad at all, Sister Sofia."
At the entrance, several security guards in sharp suits stood at attention, scanning their surroundings.
But to Sean — the Arctic Marshal — the building's security system was nothing. In the gap between one guard's turn of the head, Sean took a single step. His figure blurred, and he slipped past the front desk and the infrared sensors without a sound, stepping straight into the elevator.
……
The elevator climbed, and stopped at the top floor.
Ding.
The doors opened to a sleek, luxurious modern office space.
Sean walked across the thick, plush carpet toward the door at the end of the hallway. A polished brass nameplate hung on it: President's Office.
He didn't know why, but standing in front of that door, his heart began to pound in a way he couldn't control.
Thump. Thump.
He shook his head with a quiet, self-mocking smile.
Just yesterday, in Minsk in the Arctic, he had charged alone into a force of eight hundred elite fighters sent by several empires working together. Through a storm of blood and flashing blades, his heart rate hadn't shifted even once.
And yet now, standing in front of a single door — knowing that Sister Sofia, whom he hadn't seen in fifteen years, was just on the other side — he was nervous.
