Chapter 128: The Hunter and the Prey

Ten minutes until the end of the century's most talked-about charity auction.

In a luxury box at the Hofburg Palace—a bird's-eye view perch overlooking the entire auction hall through one-way bulletproof glass.

Edgar lounged lazily against the velvet sofa, swirling Romanée-Conti in his crystal glass, a flash of utter contempt crossing his deep blue eyes.

"Looks like this so-called 'Reaper' Leo got scared off by the trap we Rothschilds laid for him. The coward won't even set foot in Vienna."

Edgar snorted and drained his wine in one gulp. "And here I thought he'd be something special. Turns out he's just another turtle hiding in his shell, only brave in the shadows."

Wilmer, who'd been hovering like a lapdog the entire time, immediately sidled up with a fawning expression. "Of course! What's a Reaper compared to the great Rothschild family? Completely beneath notice! If he dares show his face, Mr. Rothschild, you could crush him into paste with a flick of your finger!"

Paxton frowned slightly. Professional instinct made him lower his voice in warning. "Mr. Rothschild, there are still ten minutes until the auction officially ends. We should remain cautious. The intelligence from the Valois family says this Leo is extremely dangerous..."

"Paxton, you're getting more timid with age."

A deep voice suddenly came from outside the box.

A middle-aged man with close-cropped silver hair strode into the light, flanked by over a dozen elite bodyguards in matching gray suits.

He appeared to be around fifty, tall and erect, his sharp-featured face etched with the coldness and ruthlessness that only years could carve. Most striking were his deep gray eyes—so profound they seemed to devour all light.

Seeing the newcomer, Edgar's face lit up with respectful delight as he rose to greet him. "Mr. Wheeler! What brings you here in person?"

The man was Elton Wheeler.

He was the current leader of the Gray Cloaks, Europe's most ancient and mysterious underground organization.

This group's history traced back to the medieval Knights Templar, and for centuries it had lurked in the deepest recesses of European power structures, controlling countless dark forces unknown to the world.

Though the Rothschild family possessed staggering wealth, when it came to true European pedigree and covert military might, even they had to show the Gray Cloaks some deference.

"I've been overseeing the perimeter defenses. Thought I'd drop by since I had a moment."

Elton settled elegantly into the seat across from Edgar, his slender fingers tapping the armrest. "But Mr. Rothschild, in my view, tonight's main course—this Reaper fellow—probably isn't coming."

"My people have set traps within a five-mile radius of the Hofburg Palace. Nothing escapes our surveillance. And so far? Not even a single suspicious person."

A mocking smile curved Elton's lips. "I'd say this Leo is just another paper tiger hyped up by Europe's underground circles. He can play king in America, where nobody knows any better, but here on European soil? He's got his tail between his legs."

"If you ask me, we're all wasting our time waiting here."

Elton glanced at his watch. "Mr. Rothschild, how about I pull half my men out? Leo's not coming anyway. Having this many people here is too conspicuous."

Edgar's eyes gleamed with approval at these words.

"Mr. Wheeler, your judgment is as sound as ever."

Edgar nodded. "Since you put it that way, let's do it. Tonight was mostly for show anyway—to prove to the Valois family that we Rothschilds are taking this seriously."

"If Leo really had the guts to come, he'd be here already. The auction's almost over and there's been nothing. Seems the legendary Reaper isn't much after all."

Elton smiled with satisfaction and was about to rise to arrange the withdrawal.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted through the box toward the auction hall below.

Through the floor-to-ceiling window, he clearly saw Leo sitting in the front row, surrounded by three stunning women.

Even from dozens of feet away, their otherworldly beauty and lethal figures made this seasoned leader of the Gray Cloaks—who'd seen countless women—feel a flash of greedy heat in his eyes.

Elton whistled, his expression turning playful as he looked at Edgar. "Mr. Rothschild, you've got quite an appetite tonight. Those three women around that Silicon Valley hick—every single one's a top-tier specimen. To have beauties of this caliber all at once... Mr. Rothschild, you're in for quite a night."

"What?"

Edgar blinked, following Elton's gaze.

The moment he looked, he froze completely.

Though Wilmer's description had mentioned the women were beautiful, Edgar hadn't given it much thought. After all, he'd seen and had his share of gorgeous women.

But now, actually seeing their faces and figures with his own eyes, Edgar's supposedly jaded heart—which he'd thought immune to such things—surged like a tidal wave!

Ivy's wine-red plunging gown outlined her blazing-hot figure to perfection, her flawless skin glowing seductively under the lights.

Serafina's black lace mermaid dress clung to her curves like they were carved by a master sculptor, her ample breasts straining against the fabric.

Charlotte's emerald silk haute couture paired with her exquisitely refined mixed-race features created an aura of aristocratic coldness laced with fatal allure.

With those three women standing there, every other woman in the auction hall instantly faded into insignificance.

"My God..."

Edgar swallowed hard, his greed practically materializing in his eyes. "Mr. Wheeler, you're absolutely right. These three women... they're the ultimate gift God could give a man!"

Seeing this, Wilmer's heart leapt with triumph as he eagerly claimed credit. "Mr. Rothschild, how could I dare deceive you! What does that Silicon Valley nouveau riche have to deserve such premium women? Only you are worthy of being their master!"

"Well said."

Edgar tugged at his tie, unable to contain his impatience. "The moment the auction ends, bring that Warren fellow and his women to the box! I don't want to wait another second!"

Ten minutes later.

With the auctioneer's final hammer strike, this auction that had shocked all of Europe finally came to a close.

Guests began filing out in orderly fashion under security guidance.

Yet Leo remained firmly planted in his VIP seat, not moving an inch.

He casually pulled a cigar from his jacket. Charlotte immediately leaned forward obediently, lighting it with a windproof lighter.

Just as the crowd thinned considerably...

Accompanied by a burst of chaotic, arrogant footsteps, Wilmer arrived with Paxton and over a dozen heavily armed Gray Cloaks guards, aggressively surrounding Leo's seat.

"Mr. Franklin."

Wilmer wore a vicious smile borrowed from his master's authority, pointing down at Leo from his superior position. "The auction's over. Mr. Rothschild is waiting for you in the box's private lounge. Hurry up and bring your women with you."

Watching Wilmer's petty triumph, Ivy and Serafina barely suppressed their amusement, though their beautiful eyes gleamed with the cold light of someone looking at a dead man.

Leo exhaled a stream of blue smoke, rising to his feet with unhurried composure as he straightened his black tailcoat.

"Lead the way."

Leo's voice was utterly flat, devoid of any inflection. "Wouldn't want to keep your master waiting."

Under Wilmer's "escort" along with the dozen heavily armed guards, Leo and his three companions traversed corridor after heavily guarded corridor, finally arriving at a luxury box deep within the Hofburg Palace.

The box's lounge was spacious as a small palace.

Edgar sat enthroned in the central European-style seat of honor, wine glass in hand.

Elton stood beside him like an iron tower, while over thirty bloodthirsty Gray Cloaks assassins filled the surrounding space.

The instant Leo entered with his three companions...

Edgar's and Elton's gazes latched onto the three women like starving wolves, swallowing greedily.

As for Leo, walking at the front, they completely dismissed him as a lamb ready for slaughter.

"Mr. Franklin, I've heard so much about you."

Edgar withdrew his gaze, putting on the genteel airs characteristic of old European nobility, raising his glass in false courtesy. "Though you stole quite a bit of our thunder at the auction, the Rothschild family has always been magnanimous. We like making friends with capable people."

Edgar set down his glass, leaning forward slightly as he bared his fangs:

"Let's cut to the chase. As long as you hand over that Supreme Black Card for my safekeeping, and..."

Edgar extended his finger, pointing brazenly at the three stunning women behind Leo, a lecherous smirk curling his lips. "As long as you obediently offer up these three women to stay here and keep me and Mr. Wheeler company tonight."

"Do that, and I guarantee your tech empire will have smooth sailing in Europe. The Rothschild family absolutely won't cause you trouble. Hell, I'll even smooth over that little unpleasantness between you and Wilmer."

"What do you say? Pretty good deal, right?" Edgar's tone dripped with the condescension of someone bestowing a favor.

Wilmer clenched his fists excitedly on the sidelines. Elton was already rubbing his hands together impatiently, as if ready to pounce on the women the next second.

Faced with these idiots who didn't know death was staring them in the face...

Leo stood perfectly still.

He took a deep drag from his cigar, the ember glowing and dimming in the shadowy box.

Then Leo slowly raised his eyes.

Those previously inscrutable pupils now held no pretense—only a savagery cold enough to freeze souls and a death aura as deep as the abyss itself.

"And if... I refuse?"

Leo looked at Edgar, still basking in his smug satisfaction on his throne, and exhaled another stream of smoke.