Chapter 118: Father and Son Turn Against Each Other

“Mr. Ashford……everything can be discussed, everything has a price.”

After learning Leo’s true identity, Silvio forcefully suppressed the fear that was about to swallow him whole. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he began to lay out his bargaining chips.

“You coming to Europe will definitely need local power support! As long as you spare my son, everything the Berlusconi family has in Italy—our ports, our underground banks, even our political connections in Rome—can all be put at your disposal!”

Andre, who was pinned to the ground with Ivy’s claw blade pressed tightly against his carotid artery, was now writhing like a worm, reeking of urine and blood, crying and begging hysterically.

“Reaper! I’m a dog! I was blind! Please just treat me like nothing and let me go! I swear I’ll never dare again…”

However, Leo merely looked down coldly at the father and son. His deep eyes did not ripple even the slightest.

Negotiate? That was a game only the weak played.

Seeing Leo’s indifferent stance, Ivy slightly rotated her wrist. The blade pressed deeper into Andre’s neck, and blood immediately began flowing even more freely.

She turned her head with a playful smile toward Serafina not far away, speaking as casually as if they were discussing dinner.

“Darling, what do you think? Should I slit his trachea first, or sever his tendons and turn him into a human stick? That might be more interesting.”

Serafina leaned against the abandoned machine, elegantly brushing her wine-red curls back with a flirtatious smile.

“Slitting his throat is too cheap for him. Didn’t he just say he wanted to play with us? Why don’t we cut off his penis and shove it into his own mouth? What do you think?”

“Good idea. Sounds exciting,” Ivy giggled, her blade already tracing along Andre’s Adam’s apple.

“No! No!! Dad! Save me!!” Andre screamed in terror, completely losing his mind.

Silvio watched the blood line deepen around his son’s neck; his heart felt as if it was being crushed by an invisible hand. He suddenly stood up and roared hoarsely:

“Stop! Put the knife down first! As long as you release my son first, I’ll give you whatever you want!”

He turned and shouted at Giuseppe, who was standing not far away.

“Giuseppe! Order everyone to unload their guns immediately! Now!”

Giuseppe nodded and was just about to step forward to issue the command.

A dull, terrifying tearing sound suddenly exploded, drowning out the howling sea wind inside the factory!

A large-caliber anti-materiel sniper round instantly penetrated the thin metal wall of the abandoned cold-storage factory, carrying overwhelming destructive force, and struck Giuseppe’s head with pinpoint accuracy!

It was like a hammer smashing a ripe watermelon. Giuseppe’s skull exploded right in front of Silvio’s eyes. A rain of red and white brain matter and shattered bone splattered everywhere, covering Silvio’s face completely.

A headless corpse collapsed straight at Silvio’s feet.

The entire scene fell into dead silence!

Those mafia gunmen who were just about to lower their weapons were completely terrified by this ghostlike, unseen death shot.

“Shadow Squad snipers never need anyone to teach them how to flip a safety,” Leo said, exhaling a puff of smoke. His voice was colder than the Siberian wind.

Silvio, now covered in warm brain matter, completely broke down.

His proud mafia empire was as fragile as a paper toy before this man. He dropped to his knees with a thud, completely abandoning his dignity as a family head, and howled in despair.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t kill us! I have intel! I have information about the ‘Nightfall Organization’!”

At the mention of “Nightfall Organization,” Leo’s eyes slightly narrowed, but he did not immediately press for details. Instead, he strode forward with long, unhurried steps toward Andre.

He lifted his polished leather shoe and stepped on Andre’s already broken right arm, still encased in thick plaster.

Then he pressed down.

The sound of bones re-shattering, mixed with the cracking of plaster, echoed chillingly throughout the factory.

“AH!”

Andre let out a miserable scream, his eyes nearly bulging out, his body convulsing like a fish out of water.

“Nightfall Organization?”

Leo ground his foot on the broken bone, looking down at Silvio with the gaze of death. His tone was full of undisguised mockery.

“With your level, you’re at best a gatekeeper in this part of Europe. Even intelligence agencies can’t touch Nightfall’s core. What makes you think you’re qualified to know their secrets? Do you think this kind of cheap lie can buy your son’s life?”

The pain completely shattered Andre’s sanity. While thrashing under Ivy’s blade, he screamed at Silvio:

“Dad!! Save me! It hurts!! Tell him! Tell him everything you’ve been hiding!! I don’t want to die!!”

Hearing his son’s desperate screams and seeing Leo’s abyss-like killing intent, Silvio trembled violently all over.

He could no longer hesitate.

“I’ll talk! I’ll tell everything! It’s true!”

“I swear to God!”

Silvio looked at the headless corpse of the steward on the ground, his psychological defenses completely collapsed. He rasped loudly:

“I know Nightfall’s bases in Europe! I know where they’re hiding!”

Leo’s foot paused slightly.

Those deep, cold eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at Silvio.

“With your position, at best you’re a minor local boss. Even intelligence agencies can’t map Nightfall’s core base. How could you possibly know?”

“Because… because Russia!”

Silvio, as if grabbing the last lifeline, gasped frantically.

“Nightfall’s current leader, ‘Mourner,’ and their most elite killers are all deserters from Russian special forces! These madmen are terrifying in combat, but their supply lines in Europe are tightly monitored!”

“They need large quantities of untraceable Soviet heavy weapons, special ammunition, and even military nerve agents that cannot be exposed!”

Silvio swallowed a mouthful of blood and saliva.

“Only the Berlusconi family’s maritime smuggling network in all of Southern Europe can move that kind of cargo! I personally sent shipments to them three times, so I know the approximate locations of their transit points and core bases!”

A flicker of realization passed through Leo’s eyes.

No wonder. Mourner, Paul Wolf, was originally from Russia’s Alpha special forces. It was natural that he would gather a group of former Russian operatives under him. For such a group to establish themselves in Europe without detection, they would indeed need a local smuggling network to transport illicit goods.

On the side, Ivy, in her fiery red coat, let out a mocking laugh.

Her claw blade still rested against Andre’s neck, her narrow eyes full of disdain.

“I thought so-called top international assassins were so noble. Turns out they still have to rely on Italian street gangs to smuggle guns for them. How low-class.”

Serafina, leaning against the machine and twirling a strand of her wine-red hair, replied flirtatiously.

“You don’t get it, Ivy. The more they hide in the gutter, the more they need sewer rats like these. But I have to admit, this old man holding onto this kind of deadly intel isn’t completely stupid.”

Leo ignored their banter.

He took a deep drag of his cigar and slowly exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

“Good. This information buys his life.”

Leo lifted his foot off Andre’s broken arm, his gaze shifting indifferently toward Ivy.

Ivy pouted. Though somewhat unsatisfied, she obediently sheathed her blood-stained dark red claw blade and stepped back behind Leo with graceful movements.

“Thank you… Thank you, Reaper! Thank you for sparing me!”

Feeling the blade of death finally lifted from his neck, Andre was overwhelmed with relief.

He clutched his broken arm and crawled out of the blood pool, tears and snot running down his face as he crawled toward Silvio.

“Dad! We survived! We don’t have to die!”

A faint look of ecstatic relief even appeared on his pale face.

He thought that as long as his father handed over the information, they had escaped death.

However.

Watching Andre crawl toward him, Silvio’s face—stained with brain matter and blood—showed no joy of survival. Instead, it carried a terrifying, lifeless coldness.

Slowly, he pulled a gilded Beretta pistol from inside his dark red velvet suit jacket.