Chapter 93: Time Was Just Charging Up, Not a Buff Failure

Without a doubt, Kara was mocking that Sophia would tell Falcone every detail of the conversation in the basement; whatever Sophia knew could be taken as something Falcone would certainly know.

And indeed, that was the case.

"Aunt Kara, I was sent over with respect."

Sophia looked at her aunt, who had turned away to continue shooting at the target, and said to her, "We will attack Maroni on the morning of St. Patrick's Day. Dad thinks Maroni might be the Holiday Killer himself, or at least knows who the Holiday Killer is—will you stand up and oppose us?"

Kara did not answer directly; instead, while shooting, she replied coolly, "Carmine now has the bank situation under control, and the money is flowing again. Things have gotten back on track."

So Sophia bent down and kissed her hand with reverence.

"Thank you."

Time moved forward a few days later.

St. Patrick's Day, 5:03 AM, Sal Maroni's hideout.

Dense and chaotic gunfire erupted outside the door; bullets pierced the glass of the main door, blasting through the bodies of the family members stationed in the hall, whose sole duty was to protect Maroni.

Some still retained the strength to fight back, but the killer outside was extremely cautious; after emptying a magazine, even though no one inside returned fire, he still used door-penetrating shots to unleash a rain of bullets that covered all the large and small chandeliers directly above the hall.

As the light fixtures fell and shattered one by one, the interior was immediately completely shrouded in the dark night from outside the windows; at that moment, the people inside had no strength left to fight back and could only be picked off one by one by the gun-wielding killer, or watch helplessly as they bled, grew weak, and then fell completely into darkness.

The main door was opened gently; the killer's footsteps were almost silent as he quietly slipped into that darkness; soon, all the groans inside ceased, and that faint, erratic gunfire died down.

St. Patrick's Day, 5:00 AM, Sal Maroni's hideout.

The golden hands of the watch pointed to thirteen minutes past; Sophia withdrew her hand, confirmed the time, and then began to issue orders.

"Stop the car."

The black luxury sedan stopped at the door in response, but Sophia's face was gloomy; she looked with suspicion and unease at the open hideout: the dark interior, the heavy scent of blood, the broken windows, and the door riddled with bullet holes—all of this stirred a bad premonition in her heart.

"Someone beat us to it. This... changes things."

She drew her pistol and flashlight, opened the car door, stepped through the rain curtain, and walked into the hideout.

The shattered, ornate chandeliers; from the hall floor to the stairs, to the bodies and blood covering the second floor; red and black colors interwoven and splashed throughout the villa, brewing an atmosphere of death and terror.

And the most striking things were the. 22 caliber pistol with its grip wrapped and serial number filed off, placed at the entrance; that damaged baby pacifier; and that green Irish magic elf leprechaun holding a wand.

On the square base was printed the shamrock symbolizing St. Patrick's Day (this small grass, common everywhere in Ireland, is also Ireland's national flower), with "Erin go Bragh" (Ireland Forever) written above it.

She walked out the door; the original attack plan had lost all meaning. The Holiday Killer had slaughtered his way through Maroni's hideout; this incident was more than enough to clear Maroni himself of suspicion—this was not like the previous car bombing, a minor incident with only four deaths, but a true assault that bloodily wiped out the core members of an entire hideout.

A person might sacrifice a piece or two of their own flesh, or even an arm, to execute a self-harm tactic, but a blooded crime boss would never sacrifice his face, dignity, and core family members to pull off such a trick—let alone that this incident brought no benefit whatsoever to the Maroni family.

Maroni was just a bit reckless, but he was not stupid.

Sophia got back into the sedan; she looked up at the upper floors of the hideout apartment. Through the shattered windows, a faint flicker of fire and smoke drifted out; the person leaning out into the darkness was Maroni, his eyes wide with terror and his face pale.

"H-Holiday Killer..."

The crime lord, whose voice even trembled, took a deep drag of smoke, using the sensation of nicotine entering his lungs to suppress the fear in his heart. Within just a few minutes, the entire hideout's elite bodyguards and core members had been wiped out; this was the first time in the decades since he took over the Maroni family that he had felt death closing in step by step.

Unable to resist, with no way to fight back; that person's marksmanship was terrifyingly accurate, and their thinking ability was astonishingly sharp, slaughtering their way through the entire building. If he had not specifically built a secret hiding room within the hideout building, he would not have escaped death today.

He watched as that black luxury sedan, along with the other cars, disappeared into the rain curtain, and he could clearly recognize them as people from the Falcone family; their visit at this time certainly was not to discuss life and ideals with him.

But he had no time to spare to think about that; that terrifying Holiday butcher had already occupied his entire mind. Forget anger; the fact that he could maintain a state of thought right now was enough to prove that Maroni himself was worthy of the title of Gotham City's second-largest crime syndicate leader.

Just then, a figure on a small motorcycle with a thermal box on the rear seat, wearing a yellow raincoat, appeared on the street and stopped in front of the hideout.

He casually took out a pizza delivery in a bag, and as he turned, he stood frozen at the entrance of a building that clearly had a major problem.

"Uh, is anyone left to sign for this delivery?"

Just as he spoke those words, a system prompt popped up.

【Gotham City Private Delivery Order

Mission Description: The Supervisor has gained some understanding of you, so he has given you a paid leave job. However, as the saying goes, open sources and cut expenses; isn't it better to take on another job during this time?

Note: A gang member once tasted your cooking in the restaurant's back kitchen and praised it endlessly. If not for some unexpected events, you might have already been recommended to Maroni—but in any case, he still wants to eat your pizza again.

Status: 21 completed (Mission ended)

Reward: For every pizza sold, gain 50 USD Asset Points; for every ten pizzas, reward one level of Motorcycle Driving Proficiency. No upper limit.】

Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the bullet holes covering the door and smelled the bloodiness seeping from inside; his scalp went numb. He had only roughly identified the scents, but he felt that there were at least a dozen people's scents inside the building; it was obvious that the gang member who often signed for his pizza was already dead.

He then shifted his gaze to the window upstairs; Maroni's wide-open eyes were staring fixedly at him, and his expression clearly showed that he recognized him.

Perhaps, he would never hire him as his employee again.

(End of Chapter)