Chapter 295: Need Elite Troops

Wang Yan strode out of the estate gate, waving casually, and called softly to the three men in the distance: "Come over."

Leo and the other two glanced at each other, then obediently rose and ran over to Wang Yan.

"Follow me." Wang Yan turned and walked into the estate. The three behind him exchanged glances, then stepped inside after him.

Inside the estate, the two guard dogs lay on the ground with their tongues lolling out, pools of blood pooling beneath their heads—clearly dead. On the other side lay a shepherd, eyes wide with disbelief, unblinking in death, clutching his hunting rifle to his chest. Inside the main house, another shepherd lay with his head twisted nearly one hundred eighty degrees, only a thin strip of skin holding it on—his death was horrific.

Tang's two shepherds weren't just famous in Syracuse; they were known across all of Sicily. Over the years, they'd handled many troubles for Tang and kept him safe. Now, these two ruthless men had been quietly and effortlessly killed by that madman from the East—it was damn terrifying.

As the madman entered the room, beneath the bedcovers lay a woman with half her Shanfeng exposed, silent and lifeless. Beside her, their Tang lay on the floor, mouth stuffed, limbs broken, barely clinging to life. When he saw them enter, his eyes bulged in disbelief—his own men had betrayed him.

Zoltan and Magnas were fine—they were of a different rank—but Leo couldn't hold it together. Under Tang's hateful gaze, his legs trembled, his heart full of guilt.

Wang Yan didn't care. He threw a dagger onto the floor: "Do it."

Their lives hung in the balance—they dared not hesitate. Zoltan acted fastest, bending down, snatching the dagger, and stabbing the big boss twice in the belly—white blade in, red blade out. Then Magnas, trembling, copied him, stepping forward to stab twice as well.

Finally, Leo held the blood-red dagger in one hand and made the sign of the cross with the other, then plunged the blade into his own boss's neck, sending him to his death, back into the arms of God the Father.

"Now you are Tang Correia!" Wang Yan glanced at the corpse, confirmed it was dead, then patted Leo's shoulder warmly: "Zoltan and Magnas here can help you, Leo. You won't let me down, right?"

"Mr., rest assured—we will take control of Syracuse."

"We'll see how you perform."

Wang Yan ignored the three foreigners and began searching the house. Earlier, he'd merely knocked people out or killed them; now he was looking for money.

After rummaging around, he found the stash—not much, just a few ten thousand dollars and a few ten thousand lire. Perhaps the money wasn't here at all. After all, there was something called a bank. Though war had made people distrust banks, they only distrusted their own country's—still, they trusted America.

To him, this sum was small, but in this era, it was still a fortune. After all, the average American income was only eight or nine hundred dollars—this was what an ordinary American would earn in twenty or thirty years. But for a gang boss who controlled nearly a town, directly commanded dozens, indirectly hundreds, and ran illegal businesses, this amount was far too little.

Wang Yan waved to Leo, who was still sweating and grunting: "Do you know how much money he had?"

"It's all here," Leo explained. "He knew he couldn't be respected forever, so he lived extravagantly. We had families to support, he paid us, and he had to bribe the town's big shots—so he never kept much."

He'd overestimated this thug. No ambition. A piece of trash. Wang Yan pulled out ten thousand dollars and ten thousand lire, stuffed them into his pocket: "All the rest is yours. I'll be watching you. Next week at this time, I'll come to that bar to find you. Don't do anything stupid."

Leo slapped his chest loudly: "Rest assured, Mr. —we won't disappoint you!" Behind him, Zoltan and Magnas quickly promised too, vowing not to betray the madman's expectations.

Wang Yan gave the three a cold glance, then turned and walked out, mounted his bicycle, and left. The three foreigners were left to clean up the mess. This time, it wasn't too messy—except for the gang boss, who suffered terribly, the others died without pain.

It was the middle of the night, so few patrols were out. No incidents occurred. He pedaled hard until he reached the outskirts of the original town, then tossed the bicycle aside and ran back to Marlena's house.

When he got home, it was past four. Dawn was breaking. Wang Yan didn't sleep. He ate a little, washed up, lit a few candles, and sat on the corner sofa reading by their dim yellow light. As for eye strain—he didn't care.

Time passed slowly—from pale dawn to full daylight. At eight, neatly dressed, Marlena came downstairs. Seeing Wang Yan bare-chested, tattoos exposed, wearing only white boxer shorts, she no longer panicked. Her expression was calm as she descended.

In truth, she was holding back. This was the second time she'd seen this man's body. She had to admit—he looked good, sexy, arousing enough to make her want to know him deeper. Of course, she wasn't a prostitute—just idle, foolish thoughts.

"My clothes are dirty. Wash them. Oh, and I need you to make me a few more pairs of underwear. I've worn this one for three days."

Wang Yan didn't act like a pervert. After all, commanding a woman under coercion was only natural.

Marlena's face flushed. Such intimate tasks were only done by a mother for her son or a wife for her husband. She wouldn't refuse. She soaked Wang Yan's clothes in a basin, washed up, then prepared breakfast.

Because she'd bought plenty of ingredients yesterday, today's breakfast wasn't simple. At Wang Yan's request, meat, eggs, and milk—all present. A good life. The abundance of food since Wang Yan's arrival still made her heart flutter. Eating to fill your stomach and eating to enjoy—it was always two different lives. Most importantly, she couldn't resist Wang Yan. If she could, she wouldn't want this flutter.

Wang Yan swallowed an egg whole and said casually: "Going into town today?"

"Mm." Marlena nodded. "I need to look for work. Is there something?"

"You finished the three books you brought back. Buy a few more. Also, pay attention to what the men are gossiping about these days."

Marlena frowned, hesitant: "What do you mean—what are the men gossiping about?"

"Last night, I killed your respected Tang MacDaniel and his three powerful underlings. I helped a man named Leo Correia—he was just like those three men I killed, serving Tang MacDaniel. I cleared the way for him, helped him become Tang Correia. But his strength is weaker than theirs. Something might go wrong. So I need you to listen to what others are saying—track how things are progressing."

Wang Yan spoke plainly. No need to lie. He killed them—plain and simple. To Marlena, he was a fugitive; killing a few people was only natural. Of course, outsiders wouldn't think so—they all believed Leo betrayed and murdered the old Tang. That was their secret. Kind of twisted…

Marlena stared, wide-eyed, at the man wolfing down his food beside her. After a long silence, she murmured a response and quietly ate. She didn't think he'd lie—and had no reason to lie. So last night, he really killed four people. Thinking of the dark red stains on the white shirt, she wondered if he'd killed someone the night before too…

After eating, Wang Yan went straight upstairs to sleep. He hadn't been tired from the night's work, but he was drowsy. Full and satisfied, it was time to rest.

Marlena cleared the table, washed the dishes and cutlery, tidied herself, slipped on her heels, grabbed her small bag, and walked out, hips swaying.

As she opened the door, she saw the boy who always followed her on his bicycle. She paid no attention, locked up, and walked toward town. She had confidence in her beauty—it was her pride. She knew every man in Syracuse wanted to spend a night with her. Even those hormonal teenage boys were no exception.

But as she wandered in thought, she remembered the Eastern man at home—Wang. He was different. In his bright, deep eyes, she saw no lust. It made her doubt herself, made her insecure. Only when she reached town and felt the countless hot stares on her body, heard the meaningless greetings, did she confirm her charm still held. She didn't understand why Wang remained unmoved.

Then she wondered—if Wang truly desired her, would she refuse? Probably not. She was powerless. She was just a weak woman. But then what? What would she do? She'd probably survive…

Lost in these thoughts, she didn't realize she'd reached town. Amid the villagers' pointing and whispering, Marlena entered the employment office. It was where people found jobs. She knew no one would hire her—but still, she went. Maybe, just maybe.

"Sorry, Marlena. There's nothing suitable for you here," the woman behind the desk shook her head before Marlena even spoke.

Marlena nodded and walked out.

Before, she'd explain—she could do laundry, cook, clean, serve, sew. Now she didn't. She knew anyone who could hire her was married—and their wives, jealous of her beauty, would never let her work, for the sake of family harmony. So she didn't bother. It was useless. But what hurt was that her beauty brought her no advantage—only endless trouble.

Outside, she saw the boy who'd been loitering by her door, panting, pushing his bicycle around, looking everywhere. She didn't stop. She walked calmly through the crowd toward her father's house. One reason: to check on her lonely father. Another: he had many books—she'd bring them back to Wang.

Honestly, she didn't understand how Wang read so fast—three books so quickly—but whatever. Just bring them back.

She arrived at her father's house by noon. She cooked him some food, ate a few bites herself. Breakfast had been late; she wasn't very hungry. After eating, she packed five books into a bag and left. She didn't talk much—her father was nearly completely deaf. Communication was too exhausting.

After leaving her father's, she went to the fabric shop. She needed cloth to make underwear for Wang.

The tailor's shop and fabric shop were side by side. The two owners, with no customers, leaned against the wall smoking and chatting, recklessly gossiping about the Mafia.

"Did you hear? Tang MacDaniel and his three other leaders all died last night. Only Leo remains alive."

"How could I not know? Everyone says Leo killed them."

"I think he's the next Tang. Even though the other leaders' men are ruthless, they'll fear Leo even more."

As the fabric shop owner spoke, the tailor nudged him and gave him a look. The fabric shop owner turned, confused—then his face lit up: "Oh, beautiful Young Lady Marlena! Are you here to buy fabric?"

Seeing Marlena nod, the fabric shop owner beamed: "Your coming here is my honor, Young Lady Marlena. Let's go inside. Don't worry—I'll give you a fair price."

Both men were in their forties. Seeing Marlena, the town's most admired woman, they showed off their middle-aged male charm—without shame.

Inside the shop, Marlena named the fabric she needed. The owner cut it himself, gave her a twenty percent discount, and urged her to come again. Even if he couldn't have her, just seeing her was enough.

Marlena took her change, stuffed it into her bag, forced down the nausea from being groped, and asked: "Mr. Sears, what were you saying about Tang?"

"Didn't expect you'd be interested, Young Lady Marlena." Mr. Sears beamed. "Yesterday, Tang MacDaniel and his three top men were all killed. Only Leo survived… I heard the funeral's in three days. All the Tangs and leaders from the East Coast will come. Nothing this exciting has happened here in ages…"

…………

After hearing Marlena's account, Wang Yan, bare-chested and acting like a thug, nodded: "Then just ask around casually—no need to pay special attention."

These things are useless, and they've only just happened—probably results will come out in the next couple of days. He's done enough already; if he's to take Tang's place, fine. But if Leo and those three foreign devils disappoint him, they must be cut down—useless trash shouldn't be kept. Though the past few days were wasted, it's no big deal—he can just prop up another foreign devil. Not all of them can be trash.

Marlena watched Wang Yan's indifferent expression and silently sighed. She feared he might be exposed; if that day ever came, the scene she couldn't even bear to imagine.

Wang Yan sensed her unease and smiled faintly: "You don't need to be afraid. No one knows I'm here with you. As long as you don't tell anyone, you're safe—I guarantee it."

Marlena gave Wang Yan a forced smile and kept eating.

Wang Yan shook his head and said nothing more. In the film, Marlena appeared aloof—even after she went into the sea, she remained that way, simply unsure how to face things. She had no friends, no one to confide her sorrows to. She was just a young woman in her early twenties—how deep could she really be?

In the empty room, only the sounds of chewing and sipping wine filled the air, while a radio nearby broadcasted updates on the European war.

Never mind the later internet mockery of Italy—here, ordinary people railed against the fascist regime led by that bastard Mussolini, let alone Sicily, which despised every other region; just avoiding civil war was already a miracle.

With scarce resources, plus a bunch of conscripts who had zero cultural or military training—those romantic Italian gentlemen who surrendered at the drop of a hat—it's a miracle they could even fight. Without Italy causing chaos, maybe the Americans could've held out longer. Put another way, Germany fighting Europe alone would've been better than having such an ally.

"Clang, clang, clang"

After a brief silence, someone knocked on the door and called out Marlena's name.

Seeing Marlena instantly tense and look at him, Wang Yan patted her shoulder and helped her stand: "It's fine, Marlena. Don't be afraid. Go ahead, open the door—be natural. Nothing's wrong."

As they reached the door, Wang Yan leaned against the wall beside it.

Marlena took a deep breath, looked at Wang Yan's calm, believable demeanor, opened the door, and leaned against the frame: "Mr. Vargas, is there a letter for me?"

Without thinking, Mr. Vargas had to be the postman—her excited tone confirmed it; her husband's letters had always come through him.

The postman outside said: "Yes, Young Lady Marlena. A letter from your husband—he's safe."

After a few mumbled words, Marlena kissed the postman goodbye, then shut the door. Turning to Wang Yan, she beamed, waving the envelope: "Wang, it's a letter from my husband!"

"Go ahead and read it, Marlena," Wang Yan waved his hand, strolling lazily back to the table and sitting down to eat again.

Marlena watched Wang Yan's back, stuck out her tongue playfully, found scissors, sat at the table, and carefully cut open the envelope. She stole a glance at Wang Yan—seeing him gobbling food—then pulled out the letter to read.

After a while, Marlena neatly refolded the letter along its original creases, slipped it back into the envelope, and ran upstairs to place it with the rest of the thick stack of family letters.

Returning to the table, she gave Wang Yan a beautiful smile—and ate far more than usual.

For the first time, there was real life in the room—but not because of him, Wang Mou. He saw clearly: the letter was four full pages, densely written. He'd bet anything it contained plenty of inappropriate content. Because Marlena laughed heartily, then blushed, then burst into tears.

Wang Yan mentally added a note to Marlena's dead husband's record: a dead lieutenant shouldn't have come back.

In the following days, Marlena regularly visited her father's place, listened to gossip about the Mafia, and told Wang Yan over dinner.

Leo didn't disappoint him. The main issue was that others misunderstood Leo's ruthlessness—ambitious foreigners dared not move. Only a few fools dared oppose Leo; after none of them lived past the next day, though still shaky, he'd claimed Tang's position. At the funeral of the former Tang, witnessed by the bosses and leaders of families across the East Coast, Siracusa began the Correa family's era.

Of course, Leo inherited the former Tang's status and wealth—and with it, the former Tang's feuds with other families. Now, at this vulnerable moment of power transfer, a Mafia war was inevitable.

Wang Yan despised the Mafia's so-called families—they were just gangs of thugs pretending to be clans. No different from the gangs he'd run with in Hong Kong. But truthfully, a global-level gang like the Mafia looked down on Hong Kong's street thugs. Even if the Mafia had fewer men, compared to swinging knives, a burst from a submachine gun was far more effective.

One week later, deep into the night, in a tavern outside town, Wang Yan held a cigarette between two fingers and a square cup in the other, listening as Leo detailed every aspect of the organization.

The entire organization could muster about two hundred men, but most were untested recruits. The real core members numbered fewer than forty.

Besides the previously mentioned casinos, brothels, and taverns, they owned several houses, had smuggling routes for tobacco, and trafficking channels for people. Additionally, the former Tang owned a relatively large plot of land nearby, suitable for growing lemons—a rare asset. Overall, it was solid—all profitable businesses. Even though lemons were cyclical, during wartime, everything was valuable, so it was still good.

The most important network was ties with the town's sheriff and other officials. Though the Mafia despised police, in reality, they depended on each other.

As for rivalries, they stemmed from business disputes, unequal profit splits, or failed attempts to invade each other's territory, with deaths piling up into blood feuds. Nothing major—just kill them.

After listening, Wang Yan said nothing, quietly sipping his wine.

Leo, Zoltan, and Magnus stood with heads bowed, not daring to move or speak. Though Leo now controlled dozens, he still feared the madman before him. Lately, he slept only during the day—couldn't sleep at night. Too terrifying. The other two felt much the same; it took long hours to shake off their fear of this lunatic.

After a while, Wang Yan spoke: "Leo, keep things as they are. Maintain your connections. Go out with more men now—watch your safety. You two, stay alert. Don't let another family kill you. Understood?"

"Understood, Mr." The three straightened their bodies and answered in unison.

Somehow, hearing this madman's concern, they felt a small warmth…

Wang Yan knew these three foreigners submitted only to his strength—they held zero respect for him. Afraid, yes, but that didn't stop them from looking down on him. So proud.

"Leo, tomorrow, give me the files on those thirty-plus men," Wang Yan said. "Keep this tavern operating normally. After this, go see the house McDaniels owns nearby. If it's suitable, we'll meet there from now on. Also, starting tomorrow, bring five men here every night—I want to meet them, talk to them properly. The rest we'll decide after I've spoken with them. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr."

"Good." Wang Yan drained his cup, slapped Leo's shoulder: "Let's go see that house."

The house lay on the outskirts of the town's settlement, a two-story detached building with a small courtyard, just like Marlena's. Wang Yan was very satisfied—it was confirmed as their future meeting place.

After that, Wang Yan said no more. Under the gaze of the three foreigners, he returned to the vicinity of the tavern, circled widely, then finally went back to Marlena's home.

He came home early today, ate something in the kitchen, washed up simply, then went upstairs to rest. His schedule was chaotic—no routine at all.

Lying in bed, Wang Yan silently thought about the future.

Making money was simple: the more the law forbade something, the more he'd make Leo do it. What he needed to consider was the organization's direction and future strategy.

The Mafia was certainly dishonorable. Though it seemed insignificant, it was hard to thrive—among true elites, it was beneath contempt, nobody respected it. Yet, even while despising it, they still needed the Mafia's muscle to get things done. All hypocrites.

This wasn't Hong Kong, nor the mainland—he could act far more freely. So this time, the organization wouldn't be like his old Hong Kong days, with tens of thousands of street thugs—useless. Back then, he'd needed to maintain stability, so he'd kept so many men.

Now it's different. Just not causing chaos was already good enough—stability wasn't his concern. And given the overall social and political climate, he couldn't draw attention—he needed to focus on making money.

He had no intention of unifying Sicily's underworld, let alone America's. He wanted people to listen to him, obey him, dare not refuse, dare not defy.

Therefore, for these reasons, he needed elite troops—not a horde of idle street enforcers, but a group of ruthless men, even better—a paramilitary force. Whoever caused trouble, he'd gun them down instantly—simple, direct. And compared to the cost of maintaining tens of thousands, a few hundred fully armed thugs was far more economical.

Once he understood this, Wang Yan drifted into aimless thoughts about the coming chaos, and slowly fell asleep…