Francesco Petrarca returned to the hotel with a weary face.
He had t so big shots tonight and discussed a bit of business, feeling sowhat excited.
If everything went as planned, it could significantly expand Camorra's influence elsewhere.
"Where's Jada?"
He got out of the car and didn't see his son, frowning as he asked.
His subordinates looked around and whispered to him about his son's involvent with won.
"That bastard!" Francesco Petrarca cursed, furious. He couldn't understand why, being a hero himself, he had fathered such a diocrity.
He actually had three sons; the eldest died young, the second was killed in a fight, and the third, a spoiled child from a young age, was now the only successor to continue the family lineage.
Just like that?
Once he was dead, he was sure others would wipe his son out.
"Call him and tell him to co back dead or alive!" Francesco Petrarca said, showing his frustration.
The subordinates hurriedly made calls, but after dozens of calls were made by five people, no one answered, which led them to awkwardly shake their heads at the boss.
"Can't get through."
Francesco twisted his eyebrows. Although he found it odd, he wasn't particularly alard, because this son...
Really was a wastrel!
"Go find him! Damn it, make sure you break his legs!"
"Understood!"
A group of guys rushed to search all the major bars in London.
Francesco Petrarca, angry and depressed, returned to his room to discuss business matters with his "companions" from Naples.
Busy with work, he forgot everything else.
Later, too tired to inquire further, he just went to sleep.
He was a real workaholic.
The next day, at 9:30 in the morning...
Francesco Petrarca got dressed and was ready to leave for a eting. He looked around,
"Where's Jada?!"
"He didn't co back... we couldn't find him yesterday."
His anger soared instantly. "Damn it! Doesn't he know what day it is today? Find him! If you can't, he can damn well leave and never co back!"
The subordinates felt a chill down their spine as they hurriedly agreed.
Francesco Petrarca ca down from the elevator with a dark face. Surrounded by a group of people, he was heading toward the exit when suddenly a female manager called out and approached him, holding a box tied with a ribbon.
The guard blocked her from getting too close.
Smiling and not showing any embarrassnt, the female manager said, "Mr. Petrarca, this is for you."
"What is it?"
"I don't know, but it's written, 'A gift from the Royal Discussion Research eting.'" The female manager read the ribbon.
Francesco Petrarca relaxed his face, gestured for the guard to take the gift, and chuckled to those around him, "The British are always so polite."
When he opened it!
His face stiffened!
Inside was the head of his only son, Jada Petrarca, pale-faced, eyes wide, full of disbelief!
Francesco Petrarca felt dizzy and nauseated, and before he could get angry, he saw the departing female manager pull out a remote from her bra and press it.
Boom! Bang!!!
The massive explosion shattered the hotel's windows.
Jada's head had been stuffed with a bomb!
Francesco Petrarca and his guard hadn't even had ti to react before they were killed in the explosion, while two guards who were slightly further away had their legs and arms blown off, they were lying on the ground, screaming in agony.
The female manager kicked off her high heels, walked over with a gun in hand, and coldly shot each of them dead!
Looking over the bloody ss of the Italian Mafia Camorra leader, she pressed a button on her clothing, "The event... has begun!"
A massive explosion occurred at the hotel; ambulances, fire trucks, and police arrived swiftly.
But the fire would not be extinguished anyti soon.
anwhile...
Haiti's military leader, Raul Cedras, who had co to power via a coup, was visiting Westminster Cathedral in London.
A governnt interpreter accompanied him.
Introducing the greatness of Great Britain to this "guest" from Haiti.
This military leader who first legalized drugs worldwide looked fierce, hardly seeming like a good person. He admired the Cathedral and couldn't help but remark, "It would be quite an honor to be buried here one day."
British translators and governnt officials chuckled.
Did they know who was buried in this Westminster Cathedral?
Newton, Churchill, Elizabeth I, Shakespeare, and other notable figures.
You? Who are you?
Haiti's new power broker?
Power brokers there are like leeks, one after the other, and who knew why he was invited.
Just then, the guards began to change guard.
A dozen guards, holding SA80 assault rifles and wearing tall hats, looking damn like lobsters.
A hundred years ago, these lobster soldiers dominated the European battlefields; now... they were rely mascots.
Nearby tourists cheered, raising their caras to capture this mont.
"Co on, look at the cara, Diane~" A bearded male tourist said to his daughter neben him, holding up the cara for a selfie, both grinning with a gap-toothed smile, ready to press the shutter.
Suddenly, they saw four or five soldiers burst from the ranks of the guards and open fire at the entrance on the big drug trafficker, Raul Cedras, and his entourage!
While the SA80 assault rifle was dubbed "the worst assault rifle post-World War II," that was only in battlefields,
here...
It damn well was the overlord!
Ratatatatat...
User Comments
0 comments from readers