After saving the recording, Michael yawned.
"Time Dilation, five times!" Michael climbed into bed. Thanks to Time Dilation, even if he slept for just an hour, it would feel like five hours of rest!
Michael quickly drifted into a deep sleep.
At six in the morning, Michael woke up.
He stretched, feeling fully refreshed, and checked his phone. "Great! It's only been two hours. But I've actually slept for ten hours!"
At the same time, Michael had lost ten hours of his lifespan. But that amount of time hardly mattered to him.
A smile spread across his face as he got out of bed and began to eat breakfast. He then picked up his phone and suddenly noticed a news report.
"Last night, gang leader William Cahill was assassinated by a hitman. He was shot six times, and despite efforts to save him after being rushed to the hospital, he was declared dead. The killer is suspected to be a member of a rival gang. Further investigation is underway..."
Michael's expression changed immediately. He finally remembered who Cahill was—the name Jerry had shouted about last night.
"A gang leader?" Something clicked in his mind, and he quickly opened his laptop, sat down, and began searching for information on William Cahill.
His fingers danced over the keyboard, and as he reviewed the results, Michael's expression grew more surprised.
"William Cahill, no children, several of his brothers have died! Some were killed in gang shootouts, others by assassination. Now, the only leader left is an elderly man in his eighties..." Michael stared at the information on his screen, a ripple of intrigue stirring within him.
The Cahill Family is a group of Italians originally from Ciri Island. Their history is filled with violence and power struggles. They rose to prominence during Prohibition, engaging in smuggling, drug trafficking, and gambling. For decades, they battled rival gangs and law enforcement, ultimately becoming the formidable force they are today.
It's no exaggeration to say that the Cahill Family is one of the few giants in the entire underworld.
However, what came as a surprise in this generation was that they found themselves facing an unexpected crisis. Michael keenly realized that with William gone, the only person left to oversee the family affairs was the elderly patriarch, who was over eighty years old.
"Antonio Cahill…" Michael muttered, finding his picture online. He gazed at the imposing elder, whose presence alone made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, even through the screen.
Yet, Michael was not intimidated. His mouse moved across the screen. "Antonio hasn't appeared publicly in three years. There were rumors that he was seriously ill, which isn't surprising. According to online sources, he's 93 years old…"
In other words, Antonio—the last remaining leader of the Cahill Family—was also on the brink of death. Once he passed, the entire Cahill Family would be left without leadership.
"It looks like the Cahill Family is in a deadly chokehold from their enemies. Once the old man dies, the entire underworld will be reshuffled. Other rival families are already circling, ready to devour the Cahill Family!" Michael said with satisfaction, setting the mouse down and exhaling. Clearly, Antonio Cahill was his ideal next target!
Leaning back in his chair, Michael pondered for a moment, then pulled out a dirty business card. The photo on it was of Jerry.
Yesterday, Michael had taken it from Jerry's house as part of his plan. As his next potential client, Michael of course needed a way to contact him. He dialed the number on the card.
"Hello, who's this?" Jerry's voice came through, tinged with suspicion.
"It's me." Michael's voice returned to the deep tone he had used during the transaction—unnatural, unmistakable, and marked.
"It's you! Grim Reaper!" Jerry's voice faltered.
Michael wasn't bothered by the title.
Jerry nervously asked, "Excuse me, is there something you need?"
"I have a question for you."
...
Half an hour later, Michael was sitting in the back of a taxi.
He was carrying a backpack filled with a mask and a recording pen. The vehicle was heading towards the suburbs of Lobauerguang City. Before long, a mansion appeared ahead, accompanied by an old, dilapidated barn nearby.
"Hey, this is your stop." the taxi driver said as he pulled over.
Michael looked out the window and nodded. This was the place Jerry had mentioned. Antonio was likely here, as expected.
He got out of the car with his backpack slung over his shoulder. As the taxi drove away, Michael rubbed his hands together and gazed at the mansion. It didn't take long for him to notice the barn next door, which was heavily guarded.
Several armed guards wearing sunglasses were patrolling the high points, creating a fortress-like atmosphere. It was clear that the interior of the manor would be just as heavily protected.
A smile curled on Michael's lips. "This confirms it. I've definitely found the right place. This is Antonio's stronghold!"
However, he knew that infiltrating it would require some effort.
…
Inside the manor.
In the spacious hall, an elderly man sat in a wheelchair, his eyes closed as if dozing off. He was Antonio. Around him stood a group of middle-aged and younger men—trusted lieutenants and core members of the Cahill Family.
Each of these men controlled a part of the family's empire and were known to be ruthless killers. Yet, in this moment, every one of them wore an expression of hopelessness and despair.
The hall was filled with people, but not a sound was heard. The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, as they all gathered around the elderly man at the center. After a long silence, Antonio finally opened his eyes.
In his hand, he held a photograph. It was a picture of William, but taken when he was much younger.
"Godfather, it's time for breakfast." said a middle-aged man, Ricardo Moretti, as he bent down to speak softly.
Antonio, however, didn't even glance at him. "Moretti, have you found the man who killed my nephew?"
Moretti's face darkened, and he lowered his head. "Godfather, not yet."
At this, the frail Antonio forced himself to raise his head, and his cloudy, aged eyes suddenly shot out a cold, ruthless gleam. "Still haven't found him?"
Moretti's face paled, and he hurriedly responded, "We highly suspect it was the Valenti Family. But we have no concrete evidence yet. We're investigating, but as you know, they're very secretive in their actions..."
Antonio's eyes burned with fury. "Those bastard dogs... I want them all dead..."
Despite his failing health, the elderly man's presence still commanded fear, striking terror into the hearts of everyone in the room. But as soon as he finished speaking, his body suddenly trembled, and his head dropped forward. His eyes grew vacant, and his breathing became weak.
In an instant, the others nearby cried out in panic. "Quick! Get the doctor!"
"No…" Antonio, using his last bit of strength, raised a trembling hand and spoke, "It's no use… I won't make it through the night… After I'm gone, the Cahill Family will be in your hands…"
Even though Antonio said this, he knew deep down that once he died, the fate of the Cahill Family would be hanging by a thread.
So many enemies were watching them closely. Without his steady leadership, the decline of the Cahill Family seemed almost inevitable. It would likely fall apart, heading toward annihilation in the upcoming battles.
The others, too, looked pained. They were tied to the family's fortunes—when it rose, they rose; when it fell, they fell. At this moment, they all felt a suffocating sense of doom hanging over them, as if destiny itself was pressing down on them.
A century-old family, brought to ruin today?
At that moment, a figure suddenly appeared at the door of the hall.
Clack, clack, clack... The sound of crisp footsteps echoed across the wooden floor.
Michael's expression remained calm, his steps neither hurried nor slow, as he walked straight through the crowd of gangsters, as if they were invisible to him.
"Who are you?!" As soon as Michael appeared, a shocked cry came from Antonio's side. The henchmen positioned around the room immediately raised their guns, aiming directly at Michael.
Without hesitation, they pulled the triggers!
Bang! The sound of a dozen gunshots filled the room, flames shooting from the barrels.
But Michael waved his hand: "Time Acceleration, one hundred times!"
He pulled himself, Antonio, and the few key members around him into this accelerated space.
It was as if everything in the room slowed down by a hundred times—the bullets' speed was reduced by the same proportion.
Suddenly, an astonishing scene unfolded before him. The bullets hung in the air, suspended, as Michael effortlessly dodged them! Just like that, he strolled right up to Antonio and the group around him.