New York, Eighth District.
In a luxurious mansion.
Dressed in overalls, Mike Corleone inserted the flowers into a vase, indulged in their fragrance with a gentle sniff, turned on the slightly retro phonograph, and as the soothing music played, poured himself another glass of red wine.
Sitting in a recliner, he enjoyed a rare moment of leisure.
He was a man from the Mexico News Division, and he had been ordered to bring his people to New York, not for tourism but to teach these unruly "New Yorkers" a lesson!
CNMD.
"Who else could it be, getting on Mr. Victor's bad side, sigh," he exhaled softly.
To him, whatever the hell Aryan Brotherhood or Blood Oath were, 13th Street? If these two hundred men weren't enough, then he would just call for reinforcements.
After Victor cracked down on drug traffickers, he hadn't blown up all the "Underground Passages." It would have been a pity to collapse those that Guzman and other "Rustic Scholars" had worked so hard to dig out.
