Working as a police officer in Mexico

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Disgusting Victor is a pro!

What will the families of these CIA members think when they see the familiar faces on television?

Make it so this bunch of CIA can never turn their fortunes around!

Just slap on the label of a drug trafficker.

You want to mess with me, I'll disgust you to death first.

Augustine Przybylski thought it made sense, nodding vigorously. Seeing the ash on the other person's cigarette getting long, he trotted over and brought back the ashtray.

"By looking like this, do you have something to say?"

"Sir, you are truly impressive…"

Victor waved his hand, "Stop with the flattery, just tell me what you want."

"We're running low on funds, approve some more!"

"Get lost!"

New York. Eighth District.

Mike Corleone put on his suit and straightened his clothes in front of the mirror.

A man has to have his style.

"Boss, they're ready." A subordinate ran in and stood at attention.

"How many people?"

"10 people!"

Mike Corleone glanced at him, "Call more, we're going to trash the place. With too few, it's easy to get beaten!"

Look at that!

That's called being self-aware.

If Chao Pi had understood that, he wouldn't have been chopped to death by "Liang Kun."

"So I'll keep calling people, Boss. Do we bring weapons?"

When Mike Corleone heard this, he turned around and slapped him on the head, "You dare walk around New York without a gun!? Idiot, if we don't bring guns, should we bring incense instead?"

There are over 2000 temples in New York.

Buddha is awesome, huh.

Coming to North America to compete with Jesus for followers?

No wonder, sometimes Chinese people abroad attract hatred. Think about it, if you outperform someone at work, and even the religion you brought is stealing the spotlight.

Who else is to be blamed but you?

The scolded subordinate hung his head and ran out, just as another mobster ran in, "Boss, the... the girl selling flowers at the door is here."

"Give her the money and bring back the flowers, is this something to report?"

The mobster awkwardly grinned, "She said, she wants to see you."

Mike Corleone frowned and glanced at his watch, "Bring her in."

The other hurriedly agreed and ran out quickly. Not bad, the youth sure are fast on their feet, can run fast even if caught in an affair.

About two or three minutes later, the subordinate led the nervous young girl in, who was also carrying a sack.

"You wanted to see me, what's the matter?" Mike Corleone asked without looking up.

The girl was a bit tense, her sandals' toes curled tightly, and she spoke in a soft voice, "My... My mother prepared something for you."

She took down the sack, "These are homegrown corn, pesticide-free."

Mike Corleone was taken aback, looking at the corn in the burlap sack, then back at the girl who was anxiously wringing her hands, "Balter Marl!"

"Boss!" The nearby underling quickly answered.

"Tell the brothers they're having corn tonight."

Balter Marl nodded vigorously and carried the sack toward the kitchen.

Mike Corleone took out a US dollar bill and handed it over.

"No, no, no, Sir, there's no need, what you gave last time was already plenty." The girl shook her head.

"I never got into the habit of taking back money."

The girl hesitated a moment but still shook her head with her hands behind her back, "Mom said we should take what's ours, others' money is theirs."

That response puzzled Mike Corleone.

"Boss, they're all ready." An underling ran in to inform him. He nodded, stood up, touched her head, and asked her.

"What's your name?"

"Camilla!"

The girl looked up at him.

In her pupils reflected a man in a suit, elegant yet informal without a tie on, always with that graceful smile on his lips.

"That's a very nice name."

"Get her some milk and cheese. And please don't refuse," Mike said, addressing the latter part of his sentence to the girl.

Camilla nodded, "Thank you!"

Mike Corleone smiled at her and walked out into the sunlight.

"Boss, MGM's boss in New York has some tough connections."

As he got into the car, his underling turned and informed him.

This MGM in New York has nothing directly to do with the MGM Casino in Las Vegas. But what kind of good guys would be running a casino in New York?

"Are we charging in like idiots? Keep an eye on Kashima Noriyasu first, trick him into coming out before making a move," Mike said.

"If we can't trick him out, then we'll have to play rough."

"Mr. Casare is waiting, and if he gets angry, we will all suffer!"

Don't be fooled by Fat Casare's obsequiousness in front of Victor, but he is the second in command of Mexico's northern armed forces, second only to one. His power is still heavy.

It's just that he usually looks smiley, but if someone truly angers him, he will surely slap them!

A bunch of them headed towards the MGM Casino.

On the horizon, the evening glow was slowly spreading.

It was getting dark in New York. Find exclusive stories on empire

The chaos was about to begin~

It takes about 40 minutes to drive from the Eighth District to the Bronx District, where MGM is located. The neon lights along the road began to flare with passion, as women in short skirts started to sway their bodies, coming out to attract customers.

And the black people began to scan around using only the whites of their eyes.

Picking out their prey.

Only refugees dare to come out at night.

Mike Corleone had his men disperse and sat himself down in a coffee shop. As he entered, he naturally attracted the attention of others.

His well-proportioned figure, his upright stature, with a hint of reckless freedom, and a faint trace of righteousness that could be seen, was very lethal to women.

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