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*****
Nightfall in the Bronx. Inside the most lavish nightclub controlled by the Carlson family, the air was thick with deafening music, bodies dancing wildly, and provocative performances on stage. In the dark corners, junkies high on all sorts of illegal substances indulged in their vices.
George sat at the bar, casually sipping a drink, scanning the crowd for his target.
According to the intel from Leon, this nightclub, under the Carlson family's control, was managed by Carlson's youngest son, Junior Carlson. He was a regular, showing up almost every night.
Junior Carlson had a notorious obsession: women. Specifically, young and energetic women, preferably those fresh out of school or just entering the workforce.
With his wealth and status, plenty of young college girls were willing to spend time with him, but he craved the thrill of conquest.
Every night, he visited his own nightclub to hunt for prey.
Once he set his sights on someone, his men would step in to drag the unfortunate woman to his private room. If she pleased him, he would sometimes handle the abduction himself.
The most outrageous incident had taken place right in the middle of the dance floor, in full view of everyone.
As the heir to the Carlson family, he would pay off the victims or intimidate them into silence. Girls from ordinary families, without connections, had no choice but to swallow their humiliation and keep quiet for the sake of their safety and their loved ones.
Anyone who resisted? They were disposed of—usually dumped in the ocean.
Even those with some background didn't dare confront the Carlson family head-on.
People who could pose a real threat to the Carlsons knew better than to set foot in this nightclub, avoiding the place altogether.
Those who did visit the club were either regulars looking for a wild night or naive youngsters unaware of its dangerous reputation.
These girls were either too curious or foolishly hoping for some fairytale romance, imagining they'd meet a tall, handsome, rich guy for an unforgettable night.
Reality, however, would soon shatter their illusions, teaching them that staying away from danger was the best way to protect themselves.
"He's here!"
George's eyes locked onto a muscular bald man entering the nightclub with a group of cronies. They confidently took their seats in one of the exclusive VIP sections. George slowly rose from his barstool.
Killing Junior Carlson would be easy—a swift blade could slit his throat in seconds. But that wasn't George's plan.
A direct approach would cause too much chaos. Worse, the upper ranks of the Carlson family might go into hiding, complicating matters further.
Moreover, if several high-ranking members of the Thirteen Families were assassinated in a row, it would surely spark a major uproar.
George's goal was to make their deaths seem like accidents, not something that would be linked to superhuman activity.
Even in Leon's case, the public believed he had killed Chappelle in self-defense on the rooftop. No one suspected a mysterious benefactor had intervened.
"Looks like today's my lucky day. I've found a real prize."
Junior Carlson had barely been seated for a few minutes when he spotted his next victim in the middle of the dance floor.
She was attractive, tall, and, most importantly, she had that innocent look—definitely a first-timer. Her nervous dancing gave her away, likely a student.
"Boss, it seems like she's about to leave. Should we go ahead and grab her for you?"
One of his henchmen, keenly reading the situation, offered his assistance.
Junior Carlson waved off the suggestion, setting down his drink. "No, I'll handle this one myself. She reminds me of that girl from last time. Pity she ended up committing suicide. Could've had more fun with her."
"Looks like the boss plans to make his move right here on the dance floor."
Hearing this, the cronies grew excited. Like their leader, they were all cut from the same cloth.
Junior Carlson got up and strode into the dance floor, intercepting the girl before she could leave.
He started with lewd comments, which quickly escalated to him putting his hands all over her.
The girl tried to resist, but how could she possibly fend off the much larger and stronger Junior Carlson? His threats only deepened her fear.
As for the friends she came with, they had already been surrounded by Junior Carlson's cronies, unable to move.
Just as Junior Carlson was about to succeed, George moved into position, standing closest to him amidst the crowd.
"Tarantella!"
A faint blue spark shot across the vibrant dance floor, discreetly striking Junior Carlson.
Suddenly, Junior Carlson's groping hands froze, and his legs began to twitch uncontrollably as if he were performing an intricate, fast-paced dance.
His cronies, seeing their boss start to dance at such a moment, assumed he was up to some new game, and immediately began cheering, clapping, and hollering for him.
The girl, with her clothes half-torn, stood there in shock, not understanding why the bully in front of her had suddenly broken into a dance.
Even Junior Carlson himself was baffled, having no idea why his body was moving this way.
"Leg-Lock Jinx!"
The dancing spell was immediately followed by the Leg-Lock Curse, and Junior Carlson, as if tripping over his own feet mid-dance, lost his balance and toppled backward.
Ordinarily, a simple fall wouldn't have been anything serious.
But as fate—or something more deliberate—would have it, a stud from a nearby punk's leather jacket had popped off and rolled right to where Junior Carlson was falling.
Crunch!
The stud, point-up, pierced the back of Junior Carlson's skull as he fell, instantly killing him in a pool of blood.
"Someone's dead! Someone's dead!"
Panic erupted in the club, with screams filling the air as people scattered in every direction. George quietly slipped out of the nightclub with the fleeing crowd.
That stud wasn't an accident; it had been guided by his powers.
Two hours later, the devastated Old Carlson stood in the dance hall, listening to his men's report.
"Based on the security footage and investigation, it's confirmed that this was indeed an accident, not a premeditated murder."
"I've told him so many times to be more careful, but he wouldn't listen. He had it coming," Old Carlson muttered bitterly. "As for the guards who were supposed to protect him, throw them into the sea to feed the fish."
Relieved that his son hadn't been deliberately murdered, Old Carlson sighed, leaning on his cane as he turned to leave the nightclub.
The loss of his son pained him deeply, but what worried him even more was the impact this death would have on the family's future.
His son had been the designated heir, and the family elders had been content to support him. They had recently taken over some of Chappelle's territory, and everything had been moving in a positive direction.
But now, with his only heir gone, the power-hungry members of the family's upper echelon were sure to start scheming. If he mishandled the situation, the family could quickly descend into chaos.
Everyone would be vying for his position, and the infighting would make the Chappelle family's problems look like child's play. A single mistake could cost him everything.
"My health is still good; I can hold things down for a while. It seems I need to select a new heir soon."
(End of Chapter)