Chapter 304: Wanting Her to Have a Better Life

The afternoon sun was just right, and the sea breeze from the Atlantic blew gently.

On the Long Beach of New York, a man with a bare torso, wearing only a pair of large trunks, his whole body covered in flashy tattoos, lay lazily on a lounge chair. Through his half-squinted eyes, he watched a little one stumbling along the beach, occasionally falling down, rolling over, and chewing on sand. On the chair beside him, a woman with her dark hair coiled up held another little one who was biting on a pacifier, staring with envy at the running figure, struggling restlessly and mumbling, wanting to go over and play together.

The one lying down was, of course, Wang Yan, and the woman holding the child was, of course, Malèna. The one running on the beach was their eldest son, Xili, and the one in Malèna's arms was their second son, Ximo. There was no special meaning to this; it was purely to keep the formation with the eldest son, even though there was no such custom here. Originally, Wang Yan wanted to call him Xila, but Malèna insisted on having a daughter to use that name, so that was that.

After Malèna gave birth to their eldest, she rested for three months before pestering Wang Yan to have another child. On one hand, she wanted a daughter, and Wang Yan had said he wanted both a son and a daughter; on the other hand, as she put it, with such a large family business, having too few children wouldn't do, so the second pregnancy resulted in another boy.

Malèna, who hadn't managed to have a daughter, wasn't discouraged at all. After resting for more than two months, she pestered Wang Yan to have another child again, and now she was pregnant once more, already three and a half months along.

It was now mid-September of 1943. Italy had already surrendered, and that fellow Mussolini had already stepped down. Now, Germany and little Japan were struggling on both fronts, showing clear signs of exhaustion. Even a modern person who didn't know history well should know that the war was coming to an end. Wang Yan only resold arms and supplies; he didn't participate in the war and didn't influence major events, so, unsurprisingly, it was still 1945. After all, the biggest arms dealer was America; he was only drinking the soup, and the little bit he sold couldn't influence much—it was irrelevant to the overall situation.

The development over these two years could be considered smooth: the casino was being built, movies were being filmed, research was being conducted, US dollars were being earned, and life was comfortable and secure—not bad.

The casino was nothing more than improving service and providing a good experience; the film production company was full of professional talent, and as long as the money was paid, they would do a great job; regarding research, several laboratories had been built, and not just in America—he even opened companies in war-torn Europe to recruit talent at high prices; as for making money, not to mention that he was making a fortune from the war, none of his other legitimate businesses were losing money. Of course, paying taxes was impossible; he hired a group of elite lawyers who, besides handling daily lawsuits, studied how to ruthlessly avoid taxes.

Because it was currently wartime, a bunch of thugs were making money happily. Except for occasional friction among the low-level underlings, the overall environment was quite good. The industries controlled by Leo were thriving.

His elite troop policy was also being implemented and hadn't stopped to this day. Over the past two years, his subordinates had grown to over a hundred people. Among them were those who had come from the battlefield, as well as thugs and killers—all people who lived by the sword—who were taken under his wing after being manipulated. He set up a security company, let these people join, and enjoy various benefits. He was even buying land in the suburbs to build a gymnasium, which would be exclusively for their training.

As for the Corleone family, thanks to Wang Yan's help, they had been making a fortune in silence over the past two years, allowing their strength, which had already left other families behind, to advance even further. Old Corleone had wisdom; he knew that if the family continued like that, it would be hard to last long. Over these two years, he had been expanding his connections and resources, and taking advantage of this momentum, he was quietly cleaning up the family's "businesses"—that is, those gray and black industries. He was thoroughly abandoning and detaching from the thug ranks, leaning toward the more glamorous upper class, and striving to wash the family clean to become capitalists.

Therefore, in the last two years, one could see that the subordinates belonging to the Corleone family were starting to get restless; that was the result of Old Corleone gradually delegating power. He was consciously retaining a portion of the elite, while the rest were being dispersed to the two leaders under him, and he was also gradually transferring those gray and black industries to them.

The reason for the subordinates' restlessness was mainly because the two leaders who had followed Old Corleone in building the empire were too short-sighted; they still had old-school ideas and didn't know how to restrain themselves. Of course, this was understandable; after all, they had a glorious past. They had started with nothing in America's financial center, had carved out a huge territory in New York, and had lifted their boss, Old Corleone, onto the supreme throne of America's thug leaders. They were proud.

Old Corleone certainly knew all this, but although he spoke of friendship and friends, they were all people who lived in the underworld—how could he truly believe in those things? It was truly as cold as could be. His goal was only to peel the black away from the Corleone family; as for the lives of those people, he wouldn't care.

It was just like his star godson, a singer who was popular throughout America named Fontane; Old Corleone had single-handedly lifted him up. But the biggest pirate was the Corleone family—it had nothing to do with godfather or godson, because it could bring him benefits. Now, his primary interest was to wash himself clean; as for those past black deeds, it was a mercy that he didn't personally kill those people. This slow peeling away, letting them fend for themselves, was the best way.

Of course, Old Corleone's wisdom didn't just lie in his adaptability and foresight, but also in his ability to judge people. Ever since he had the "Body-Strengthening Pill," a sharp weapon for upper-class transactions, he naturally paid more attention to Wang Yan, who held it firmly in his hands.

That Wang Mou had been mixing in the underworld for hundreds of years; the time he spent as a thug was at least half, and the other half was just a disguised thug. The brilliance of a dragon among men could not be concealed. Old Corleone felt that this young man, who was about the same age as his eldest son, was an extraordinary talent.

He secretly observed Wang Yan's every move, including various registered companies worldwide, various unknown legal representatives, including building laboratories to recruit talent, including doing construction, doing international trade, and so on. He discovered that Wang Yan was just as cautious as he was, discovering that everything could not be linked to Wang Yan. He naturally understood this point; he knew how difficult it was for foreign ethnic groups to gain a foothold in America. And Wang Yan, with a different skin color and appearance, would only be more difficult; he could imagine it. But precisely because of this, he admired him, because Wang Yan's influence was expanding very quickly, while others didn't see it, and didn't even know that the person behind the scenes was Wang Yan.

Together with his strategist Genco, when they had nothing to do, they studied Wang Yan's actions and finally concluded that Wang Yan had never wanted to be a mafia member; he had always been "white." He hadn't left any traces in Italy, and in America, he walked through his connections. As for the source of his wealth, he was employed by a business consulting company, which paid a considerable salary. And that consulting company, he was naturally very familiar with; the medicine he bought was a gift from cooperating with that company.

He began to analyze Wang Yan's layout, began to investigate the industries Wang Yan was involved in, and then, wise as he was, he began to follow the investment. After all, he wasn't short of money and could afford to follow. Wang Yan participated in international trade, engaged in real estate, farmed—he did the same. Wang Yan built laboratories to conduct research; although he didn't know what exactly was being researched, he also had people conduct research, just on the things the laboratory needed. Wang Yan found a bunch of elite lawyers, registered companies all over the world, avoided taxes—he followed along... he just wasn't short of money, he just followed...

Wang Yan certainly knew about these things; after all, he couldn't completely trust anyone. He had to pay attention to what needed attention, and if the signs weren't right, he had to stop losses in time and destroy the Corleone family. He saw the Corleone family's actions clearly. Of course, one couldn't say that Old Corleone was copying him; after all, when a normal company grows large, it also diversifies.

He still liked Old Corleone's foresight and wisdom; they truly had no conflict of interest. Moreover, Old Corleone didn't trust the American government either, even though he had many politician friends. Wang Yan didn't like them either, and he also had many politician friends; even his relationship with the military was very solid—all bought with US dollars plus Body-Strengthening Pills.

His empire grew, so one had to mention the Body-Strengthening Pill, which had made a great contribution. After more than two years of research, the production of the Body-Strengthening Pill had reached another level, reaching a stable thirty-five bottles per month, and the price had reached sixty thousand per bottle. After two years of Old Corleone's unremitting efforts, plus the ones he sent out, even if the truly upper-class people hadn't eaten them, they had all heard of them. Naturally, he entered everyone's field of vision.

Although they looked down on him for being an Oriental, they were drooling over the formula he held in his hands. When the upper class saw that the lower class held something extraordinary, their first reaction was absolutely not cooperation, but to possess it, to use coercion and inducement to force a purchase.

But when a leader of a large capital and a congressman died one after another, and after more than thirty congressmen and capitalists spoke out, it perfectly eliminated this small disturbance, and it naturally rose to sixty thousand per bottle, and you still couldn't buy it.

Next was collecting funds, specifically used to improve the research of the Body-Strengthening Pill, as well as research on cells, genes, lifespan, etc. —that is, immortality.

As for the problem of exposing himself, it was certainly not a problem for Wang Yan; it only had benefits—after all, they were all umbrellas. As long as others couldn't crack the Body-Strengthening Pill, he could always be like this, but obviously, no one could do it. He only needed to appropriately increase production year by year and constantly raise the expectations of this group of people to avoid someone breaking the pot—"If I can't eat it, then no one can eat it"—and that would be fine.

By now, the Corleone family could no longer produce thirty bottles a month; they couldn't afford to provoke so many people, and only Wang Yan, the owner, bore the pressure. Of course, Wang Yan had always been a very good friend; every month he would give the Corleone family five bottles at a price of one hundred thousand—this was already a price that included human favors. And now the purchase price had reached two hundred thousand; at this price, everyone tacitly agreed not to drive up the price anymore, which could be considered a temporarily set price.

Of course, it would definitely rise in the future; after all, it wasn't just America that had rich people. With the spread of the upper class, eventually, all the rich people in the world would know.

In the process, Wang Yan gained an umbrella and also gained a considerable amount of US dollars—it was truly a great thing that couldn't be better...

"Daddy, let's go build a castle." Xili, having rolled enough, climbed onto his father, made a face at his younger brother who was a few months old and ignorant, and invited his father to play together.

"Let's go." Hearing his son's words, Wang Yan sat up at once: "Go get your bucket and little shovel."

Xili shouted happily, then climbed down, excitedly tumbled twice, ran back to the courtyard, found his grandfather to help him turn things over, dragged his gear back, and stumbled to the seaside to play with his father who was waiting there.

Both children had typical mixed-race features, a model of East-West combination. By Wang Yan's aesthetic, whether in the East or the West, they were called handsome. Of course, this was mainly Malèna's credit, and more importantly, it might have been the system's "living daddy" helping out. Having given birth to so many children, Wang Yan also discovered the role of the system's "living daddy"—it would synthesize the advantages of both the man and the woman and bestow them upon the children. After all, none of the women Wang Yan had taken a fancy to over the years were ugly, and none of the children born followed his ordinary appearance; they were all handsome men and beautiful women.

As for a deeper level, whether the children were really his... he was the one doing the work, and he was the one putting in the effort; the "living daddy" just adjusted some genetic things, so it was right not to think about it...

And regarding the children's education, the father was Chinese, so the sons also had to know, whether it was useful or not. However, the good thing about children being young was that they learned very quickly in a linguistic environment. The language in their home was relatively complex: he spoke Chinese, Malèna spoke Italian—and Sicilian dialect at that—and they lived in America, so they had to speak English. The old man was a Latin teacher; although he didn't force the children to learn, they heard several languages being spoken back and forth every day, so they naturally understood a bit of everything. In general, the children were quite tired.

As for their future study life, they would definitely have to go to school. Knowing their father was Chinese, discrimination was certain, but as their father, Wang Yan would teach them how to become strong. Although he didn't care much, this time he could indeed see once again how the little one who was obsessed with his parents' embrace would become an adult who hadn't seen his parents for a long time...

"Daddy, this time let's build a big one, okay?" Xili looked at his father with longing.

"Xili, no matter how big we build it, it will always be washed away by the waves. Our efforts will eventually be in vain."

"Yes, Daddy." The little one Xili nodded his head seriously. He stared stubbornly, even his speech was stumbling, but he said it very loudly: "But next time we will make it even bigger!"

Wang Yan laughed: "You're right, Xili, we will make it bigger."

Children were always ambitious when they were ignorant of the world. Fortunately, he had a good father, and in the future, he could also be ambitious without fear; he was born a strong man.

The second one, Ximo, looked at his father and brother playing in the sand, crying, reaching out to grab his mother's clothes, gesturing and babbling, wanting to go over.

"Alright, Ximo, we're going over now. Hurry and let go of Mommy, otherwise Mommy will take you back to the room to play by yourself." Malèna, full of maternal radiance, chattered as she carried the child to the two of them, watching them busy themselves. The second one shrieked and gestured, as if he were giving directions...

One couldn't see the sunset on the East Coast. The family of four, plus the one in the belly, played outside until the afterglow disappeared. Only then did they pack up their things, return to the villa, and start making dinner, eating lively as a family.

Now the father-in-law was used to it and didn't cause trouble for Wang Yan anymore. In view of this, Wang Yan even tried to treat his ears; it was a small problem with the auditory nerve plus hardware, causing hearing impairment—it could be considered a difficult and complicated disease. It took nearly a year of acupuncture and medicine before it was restored.

After the family finished eating, they went about their daily business. Wang Yan sat on the sofa reading a book, the father-in-law watched the fish he kept in the large fish tank, Xili was actively shouting and jumping everywhere, the second one lay in the baby carriage, staring intently at his brother running around, while Malèna was watching the children while preparing clothes. Medical technology wasn't as advanced as it would be later, so one couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl, so Malèna had to make clothes again, preparing for both possibilities.

Wang Yan was a master of traditional Chinese medicine; of course, he couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl, but based on years of experience plus his super-high perception ability, he could conclude that Malèna was pregnant with twins this time. The rest was just matching; the probability of having a girl was still very high.

To be honest, Wang Yan was relatively unhappy about having so many children. If there were more women, he wouldn't say anything, but now there was only Malèna, and she had been pregnant for three years in a row; he was a bit unhappy. But Malèna wanted to give birth, so he didn't object; a large family was good, lively.

While the family was warm, a phone rang in the study upstairs. Wang Yan put down his book and went to answer the phone. He was naturally the same as Vito Corleone; this phone was registered in someone else's name and at another address, just to prevent tracking and wiretapping. The phone in the living room was theirs, the kind that wasn't used twice a year.

Looking at his son who followed him stumbling, Wang Yan smiled slightly, then picked up one of the phones that was ringing incessantly: "Hello?"

"Hmm, what did he say?"

"Okay, you did well. Give him a sum of money, let him change to another place to live, that's it."

Wang Yan then picked up his eldest son, who was groping blindly, teased him, went downstairs, and continued playing. As for Malèna on the side, she didn't make a sound, just occasionally looking at the second one beside her, then looking at the father and sons on the side, revealing a gentle smile.

Wang Yan's mouth curled up, letting his eldest son continue to toss, while he continued to read.

The call just now was about Sicily. Now that Italy had surrendered, naturally, the Italian soldiers who had been defeated and captured should also be released. Therefore, Malèna's ex-husband, Lieutenant Antonio Scordia, had returned to his hometown.

Sicily had been bombed almost entirely by the Allied forces. Everywhere there were broken walls and ruins, and innocent people were crying as they cleaned up their new homes and sent off their dead relatives. But at the same time, they couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Because they didn't have to live in fear all day long; although they weren't rich, it was good to be safe.

A small broken car stopped in Syracuse, which had been bombed into a mess. Carrying a tattered bag, wearing a tattered coat, one empty sleeve fluttering with the Mediterranean breeze, Antonio stood in the broken walls and ruins, looking around, trying to subjectively bring the town he remembered into the present. Thinking about the damage brought by the war, feeling the fluttering sleeve, he sighed, used his other sound hand to stuff the empty sleeve into his pocket, and walked toward the direction of home.

He wanted to see his beautiful wife Malèna as soon as possible; that was the greatest motivation that had kept him going these past few years. But at the same time, his heart was also very ashamed, because he hadn't performed meritorious service on the battlefield, hadn't made money, and ended up losing an arm. He had described a good life to Malèna countless times, but now the situation was obvious—he had broken his promise; he had failed completely.

With such complex feelings, he walked through the town. He just pretended not to hear the whispers of the people on the way. Because he was already used to it; after all, he had married the most beautiful pearl in the town. Men were jealous, women made sarcastic remarks—wasn't that normal? Marrying Malèna was the greatest pride of his life.

After three years, Renato, the half-grown boy who had been infatuated with Malèna, was smoking a cigarette and riding a bicycle quickly through the broken walls and ruins. He was stunned when he saw Antonio walking toward him; it seemed he had seen him somewhere. He hurriedly stopped his steps, turned his head to look at the back, and tried hard to recall.

"Isn't this Malèna's husband, Antonio Scordia? Didn't he die?"

"Malèna has already followed Don Corleone to America. What do you think will happen if he finds out?"

"Are you crazy? Don't talk nonsense, hurry up and pack your things!"

It was the woman packing things on the side who reminded Renato, making him once again unable to suppress the thought of the beautiful woman who had appeared in his midnight dreams countless times. He immediately followed behind slowly on his bike...

Antonio walked through the town all the way, walked on the dirt road by the sea, and walked toward the direction of home. In his mind, he kept thinking about what the scene of reuniting with his wife would be like. Did she miss him as much as he missed her? Would she be disappointed? Would she cry? How should he comfort her? He was just thinking wildly like this.

Renato, who had been following for a long time, wanted to remind him, but he didn't dare. In recent years, the Corleone family's influence in Sicily had grown stronger. They were famous and notorious; no one dared to talk nonsense.

Renato endured the conflict in his heart and watched as Antonio walked to the door of the house that belonged to Malèna and Antonio, where there were refugees on both sides, but only the house in front of him was clean. He watched him knock on the door, and watched a strong, muscular man walk out from inside, stunned for a moment, and then politely invite him into the house.

The small leader poured a glass of wine for Antonio: "Mr. Scordia, I have to tell you the truth, but I hope you can stay calm."

Antonio restrained the idea of exploding and nodded: "You say."

"More than two years ago, news of your death arrived..." After the small leader told the truth from beginning to end, he said: "Now, she has gone to America. She is living very well. She shouldn't be affected by your news, don't you think, Mr. Scordia?"

Antonio was silent for a long time. He could distinguish truth from falsehood; the mafia member in front of him would definitely not lie to him, because there was no need. He just thought like this, occasionally taking a sip of wine.

The small leader didn't disturb him, and even patiently poured him wine.

Until he drank more than half a bottle, Antonio asked: "How is her life now? You know, I don't want to hear that she is very good."

"I don't know the specifics either, I just heard from the brothers who came back from there that they live in a villa by the sea in New York, which is a wealthy area. She gave birth to two children, both boys. I don't know anything more. Do you know? I could have gone there too at the time. Damn it, why didn't I sign up?" The small leader grumbled and patted him on the shoulder: "I think you'd better not have any small ideas. Really, I'm not lying to you, she is living really well. And you look like this now, not to mention whether you can make her happy, you can't bear the consequences of angering us."

Antonio used his sound arm to push away the small leader's hand, staring at him with red eyes: "Listen, I won't look for trouble, I won't disturb Malèna, but that's not because of your threat. You are a group of spineless cowards, shameless parasites who bully their own people. I'm not afraid of you. I just want Malèna to live better. I am a person who should have died, and I shouldn't disturb her good life."

After saying that, he picked up his tattered luggage and got up to leave.

The small leader shook his head boringly: "Hey, Mr. Scordia, you can't leave yet." Following his voice, three underlings on the side silently surrounded him.

Antonio threw his luggage on the ground, bent his body and bowed his steps, and raised his sound arm: "Want to kill me? Come on! Let's see who is better, I'll fight you to the death." After finishing, he was about to go up and fight.

The small leader waved his hand helplessly, and the three underlings instantly leaned forward and pressed the rampaging Antonio to the ground.

Squatting down and looking at the struggling Antonio, the small leader said slowly: "Don't be anxious, Mr. Scordia, we have no malice. But we have no right to decide your affairs, so we need to contact America, and then we can decide your final destination, understand? But you can rest assured, although we are the mafia, we won't kill innocent people indiscriminately. You have clearly stated that you won't disturb Ms. Malèna's peaceful life, I think you won't have any trouble, so you need to wait here patiently for a period of time."

After speaking, regardless of Antonio's reaction, he directly let his three underlings tie him up, and then urgently contacted America...

Wang Yan thought about the process his subordinates told him, which was acceptable. Now that he had arrived here and felt the life here, it could be said that there would be few opportunities to return to Syracuse in the future. Maybe it would be when he was old, or one day when Malèna had a whim and wanted to go back to see the house by the sea where they met and had a beautiful past, would they go back.

Since Antonio was sensible, there was no need to kill him; just don't let him appear in Syracuse. Give him some money to send him away, find a small place to marry and have children, isn't that good?

As time passed, this matter gradually dissipated. Even if people gossiped, they only talked about it when they were bored at home; absolutely no one dared to talk big outside.

The Corleone family was the true local emperor in Syracuse and even the entire east coast of Sicily; everyone from top to bottom was their people. And either openly or secretly, they manipulated other families; they were the giant on the surface and the uncrowned king of Sicily in the dark.

Looking at Malèna, who was seriously making clothes for the unborn child, Wang Yan smiled faintly, got up and walked forward to pick up the second one, who was curious about the world but unable to move, and followed his eldest son to toss around the room. The villa was full of laughter...