Just the Two of You!?
Sean burst into laughter at the comment, a broad smile on his face. "Yeah, it's just the two of us!"
Alec took a deep drag from his cigar, extending his thumb and index finger to point at Sean. "Shit, which gang do you belong to?"
"I'm not part of any gang," Sean replied. "I'm different; I'm a whole different kind of firework."
"Hey, this is Newark! Who told you it was okay to come here and sell alcohol? Do you even understand the rules?" Alec retorted, irritation clear in his voice.
Sean raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Whose rules? Yours?"
"Newark's rules! Put the money down, turn around, and get out with your crew. Otherwise, I won't hesitate to dump your bodies in the Hudson River." Alec flicked his cigar again, signaling to his companions. Two men stepped forward, drawing pistols and aiming them at Sean and his friend.
"I said before, don't let anyone point a gun at me again." Sean maintained his smile, but his eyes turned icy.
Alec was unfazed, his focus solely on the bag of money at hand.
Sean took a few steps back, whistled sharply, and then—
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ten meters away, three of Bill's men lifted the camouflage from their heads, silently setting up Ingram Mac-10 submachine guns, and opened fire on Alec's group.
Da da da!
Bullets rained down in a deadly storm, forming a crossfire net that enveloped Alec and his crew.
Screams filled the air as the bullets struck their targets, blood spraying everywhere.
Caught in the open with no cover, Alec and his gang were like defenseless prey, falling one by one to the relentless gunfire.
Meanwhile, two cars skidded to a halt in the distance, their occupants frozen in shock. They couldn't see the attackers, but within twenty seconds, Alec and his six companions had all collapsed, bloodied and lifeless on the ground.
It wasn't until Bill leaped from his hiding spot that the onlookers recognized the camouflage he wore, complete with branches and face paint. He rushed towards Alec's group, ready to deliver a final blow to ensure they were truly dead.
"Kill them all—leave no traces!" he ordered.
Sean exhaled calmly, unfazed by the chaos. He pulled out a cigarette, took a deep breath, and waited until Bill confirmed the job was done.
As he walked past the bodies, Sean didn't even glance at them. Instead, he raised a hand and waved to the two cars in the distance, signaling them to approach.
The members of the two gangs hesitated, caught in a moment of uncertainty. Should they go? Fearful of ambush. Should they stay? Unsure if they'd be next.
After a tense pause, they cautiously drove forward, wary but compelled.
Sean approached them, scratching his head as he held his cigarette, a friendly smile on his face. "Excuse me, could you do me a favor?"
He gestured towards the corpses. "I forgot to ask their names just now. Can you help me out?"
"You know, since they're enemies, the best approach is to eliminate them all to avoid future trouble. But I'm new to Newark, so I don't know them yet."
The onlookers exchanged nervous glances, unsettled by Sean's nonchalant demeanor.
So cold!
Though they had encountered many tough individuals before, Sean's casual approach to such brutality chilled them to the bone.
"Okay, okay." One of them finally spoke up, pointing to a body. "That guy's name is Alec."
"Thanks a lot." Sean nodded politely, his smile unwavering. "I prefer to follow the rules when I conduct business; all transactions should be pre-arranged."
He produced two business cards and handed them to the gang members. "If you want goods, please call in advance."
As for the bodies, I apologize for not following the rules, and I hope this won't cause any issues for our future cooperation."
"N-no problem," they stammered, eager to avoid conflict.
With newfound respect for Sean's power and ruthlessness, they acknowledged the shift in Newark's smuggling landscape. Sean was clearly the new player to watch.
After bidding farewell, Sean signaled his crew to get back in their car, leaving behind seven lifeless bodies.
It wasn't until Sean and his team switched vehicles midway back to the factory that the Newark police finally arrived, late to the scene.
Sean had no qualms about the massacre; such gang disputes hardly drew police attention, and they hadn't pursued him for the earlier incident.
...
Upon opening the package, Sean shook it vigorously over the table, sending rolls of dollar bills scattering everywhere.
"Oh my God!" Yuri and the others shouted in disbelief. Jonas even poured wine over his head in celebration.
They had never seen so much money before—$180,000 in total!
Sean settled into a chair, legs crossed, a satisfied grin plastered across his face.
"Are you excited?" Saul leaned in, curiosity evident in his eyes.
"Not at all," Sean replied, shaking his head with a smile. "This is just the beginning."
Saul raised an eyebrow, recalling how Sean had changed since Rockefeller's funeral. "What are your plans?"
"First, we continue operating the factory."
"Are you really going to stick with this business?" Saul asked a hint of surprise in his voice.
"Why not?" Sean's lips curled up slightly. "Most people, when running a business, focus too much on improvement and perfection. Sometimes, that very drive leads to bankruptcy."
He leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I tried some of the leftover drinks from their storeroom. They were actually quite good. But it was precisely because they were so good that the factory closed down."
Saul blinked, puzzled. "What kind of logic is that?"
With the atmosphere still buzzing from the recent success, Sean felt a surge of determination. He was no longer just a player in Newark's underbelly; he was becoming a force to be reckoned with.
"Let's get to work," Sean said, standing up and rallying his crew. "We have a new market to conquer."
As they prepared to head back to the factory, the weight of their ambitions—and the blood on their hands—hung in the air, a reminder of the choices they had made and the path that lay ahead.