Sean knew he couldn't resort to the crude tactics that Jonas employed. Even within the world of organized crime, where violence was a common currency, such brutal methods would inevitably invite severe retaliation—not just from the Dimeo criminal group, but from all mafia factions across the United States. No one wanted to be associated with a gang of wild dogs whose only instinct was to kill; that kind of attention was a recipe for disaster.
The next day, Sean reached out to Old Mike again. "You know the Dimeo Group in New Jersey?" he asked.
Old Mike studied Sean carefully before responding. "You still want to take them down, don't you?"
"Why not?" Sean replied, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Old Mike hesitated, pursing his lips as he considered the implications. He always felt that his employer was treading dangerous waters. "What do you want me to do?"
"It's simple," Sean said, patting Old Mike on the shoulder. "You've been in the police system for years and don't have connections outside your city, right? I need you to gather information on Dimio through your police contacts."
"I want everything—branch locations in each city, police networks, criminal records, wanted individuals, suspected cases, you name it!"
Old Mike cursed under his breath. "Why don't you just go to Fobole? They should have that info!"
Sean shook his head. "No, Fobole won't have such comprehensive data. They lack the detectives and the focus on lower-level police matters. It's a different system, and they can't control everything."
Old Mike sighed, tilting his head. "Give me one hundred thousand."
"Done," Sean replied without hesitation. "It's just black money; it doesn't need laundering." He viewed it as an investment, not a loss.
After sending Old Mike on his way, Sean stealthily took the veterinarian out in the middle of the night.
"Why do we always have to meet in these creepy places?" the veterinarian complained, adjusting his glasses as he sat in Sean's car. "Can't we pick a different time or location?"
As the darkness enveloped them and the sound of the river flowed nearby, the veterinarian felt a growing sense of unease. He spoke to ease his anxiety. "What do you need from me?"
"I need you to collect some information through your secret channels," Sean said directly.
"About what?" the veterinarian asked, rubbing his hands together. "Information pricing is all over the place. Different people have different rates, and it can get chaotic."
"About the Dimeo Group and their operations," Sean specified.
The veterinarian quickly shook his head. "No, no, they wouldn't betray their employer's information. It's not just a matter of reputation—if that gets out, people will die!"
Sean smirked. "It's not about reputation; it's about money." He reached for his backpack and tossed it onto the veterinarian's lap.
The veterinarian's eyes widened as he opened the backpack, revealing a stash of cash. He had never seen so much money before. "Well, Americans don't save much, do they?" he thought.
"Look," Sean continued, "as long as there's money involved, people will talk. You can tell your contacts that anyone who can provide critical information will be handsomely rewarded."
Sean grabbed the backpack again, but the veterinarian held on tightly, his reluctance evident. "If you want, I can give you $300,000," Sean offered. "Join my intelligence team and contribute fully for ten years."
The veterinarian, typically cautious, was clearly tempted by the offer. In the U.S., professions like doctors, lawyers, and accountants held vast amounts of information, often hiding secrets from even their closest relatives.
"That's impossible—that's far too much!" he protested.
Sean seized the moment, "Five years!"
The veterinarian hesitated, struggling with the decision.
"Three years!" Sean lowered the offer again, sensing victory.
The veterinarian panted heavily, battling with his conscience. "It's not that I'm weak-willed; it's just that the other party is offering too much!"
After a moment, he finally relented. "Fine, three years it is!"
In that instant, the smart and cautious veterinarian had made a decision without considering whether he could back out later.
Sean laughed heartily, patting the veterinarian on the shoulder. "You won't regret this. I'll have my intelligence officer contact you tomorrow. Now go, take your money, and sleep well."
As the veterinarian climbed out of the car, Sean felt a sense of accomplishment. With Old Mike and the veterinarian on his side, he had a solid foundation. He then instructed Armstrong, his intelligence chief, to delve deep into the Dimeo Group.
"Boss, I need more manpower," Armstrong said, frustration evident in his voice. "I have no professional intelligence staff. Gathering intel sounds straightforward, but it's complex. We need professionals for collection, collation, and analysis; otherwise, we risk missing critical information."
"How many people do you need?" Sean asked, ready to allocate resources. He knew that New Jersey couldn't accommodate two competing factions, and he was prepared to invest whatever it took.
"At least an eight-member intelligence team," Armstrong replied.
"You're familiar with intelligence talent, so find them. I'll provide the funds," Sean agreed. "But understand that our security company operates under a strict military structure. If anyone shows disloyalty..."
"Boss, don't worry. Everyone knows the rules," Armstrong assured him, nodding firmly.
As Armstrong left, Sean picked up a cigarette from the table, lit it, and held it without inhaling, watching the smoke curl upward as the ash grew longer.
He was aware that the Dimeo Group was not something that could be easily dismantled, unlike smaller operations. They had been entrenched in New Jersey for over 50 years, evolving through three generations and splintering into multiple smaller families. Their connections with law enforcement, the legal system, and political circles ran deep.
If New Jersey was a stunning beauty, the Dimeo Group was her well-established husband—legitimate, respected, and well-connected. In contrast, Sean was merely a strong young man, possessing little more than youth, charm, and capability.
However, he wasn't deterred. With the right resources, alliances, and intelligence, he believed he could outmaneuver even the most entrenched criminals. His ambition was not just to disrupt the Dimeo Group but to carve out his own territory in a world where power was often dictated by blood and brutality.
As he extinguished the cigarette, Sean felt a surge of purpose. He was ready to take the next steps in his plan, knowing that the path would be fraught with danger but also ripe with opportunity. With Old Mike gathering police intel and the veterinarian's connections at his disposal, he was building a network that could rival the Dimeo Group's extensive reach.
The game was on, and Sean was determined to play it to win.