Watching Dragan tremble uncontrollably, the man before him asked gently, "It seems your relationship with your nephew isn't quite as good as you claimed?"
Dragan hurriedly shook his head, his face wearing a fawning smile he hadn't even noticed. "He's just a kid. What does he know? Next time! I'll definitely convince him next time."
Hearing the contradiction in his words, Wesley simply shook his head in silence.
This guy had already fried his brain with drugs. If he weren't still useful, Wesley wouldn't have wasted another word on him.
All right, truthfully, he was already done talking anyway.
He casually pushed open the car door and called to the two suited men still standing outside. "Take him away. Don't let him wander off!"
Hearing that, Dragan seemed to realize what was happening, and his mind cleared somewhat. He struggled to break free from the men in black as they dragged him away, clinging to the car door and begging loudly, "Wesley! Believe me, give me one more chance! I'll definitely convince the kid!"
"Once I take over the company, I'll pay you back every penny I owe!"
"Double! No, triple! I'll pay you back three times over!"
Wesley didn't bother responding to Dragan's pleas. After glancing at the wet patch on his pants, he continued with a hint of disgust, "Get him a clean pair of pants and wash him up!"
Then, ignoring Dragan as he was hauled trembling out of the car, Wesley took out a handkerchief and covered his nose. Only then did he pull out his phone and make a call.
"Boss!"
"How did it go?"
A man with a very deep voice answered from the other end.
Wesley reflexively lowered his handkerchief, straightened his collar, and sat up before replying respectfully. "Dragan screwed up. We lost one man, but we left no body behind. They shouldn't be able to trace anything back to us for now."
The person on the other end remained silent. After a moment's hesitation, Wesley added, "I'll contact his mother's attending physician first and have them hold off on issuing a diagnosis. We'll have them assess her condition as potentially improving. That should delay the inheritance and the board meeting."
This time, the person on the other end finally spoke again, his voice giving away no emotion. "Do as you think best."
After a brief pause, he continued, "I've heard that someone on the Upper East Side has already reached an agreement with the government and joined the alien wreckage recovery effort."
"Policy could change at any moment. We need to take care of things in Midtown as soon as possible."
Only after hearing the call end with a series of beeps did Wesley let out a quiet breath.
He wiped the phone screen, then slipped it into his pocket.
Then he looked at the seat where Dragan had been sitting. His brows knitted, and he ordered coldly, "Take it to the car wash!"
The car started up and drove smoothly into the distance.
Meanwhile, Luca was also in a car, listening to Shamira's report.
"So my uncle really did find himself a powerful backer?"
Running his fingers over the mechanical prosthesis he had just gotten, Luca quietly considered what Shamira had told him.
"Young Master Luca, they sent six gunmen. They're clearly part of an organized group."
"I recommend we strengthen your security team while investigating whom Dragan has been in contact with recently."
Shamira was confident that if it came down to a straight gunfight, she could easily take out those six attackers herself, and could handle twice as many.
But killing the enemy and protecting one's own people were two different things, and she couldn't guarantee she'd always be at Luca's side.
Now that they knew someone was watching them from the shadows, they needed to take precautions.
Luca had no objection. He didn't think a few special gadgets would let him handle every possible danger. Expanding his security team was undoubtedly a wise move.
However, it would be difficult for Luca to use the company's security resources right now.
"Do you have anyone suitable to recommend, Aunt Shamira?"
What Luca had in mind was spending some money to hire a security company temporarily.
Although he couldn't access the company's funds, the family had plenty of assets in other investments and trusts.
But when she heard his question, Shamira hesitated and spoke softly. "Actually..."
Seeing her hesitate, Luca was a little puzzled, but he still gestured for her to continue.
"Madam has a private combat unit. It isn't large, but every member is an elite."
Seeing Luca's confused expression in the rearview mirror, she went on to explain.
"Officially, they're company weapons testers. They also take on odd mercenary jobs overseas."
"Officially?" Shamira's explanation immediately piqued Luca's curiosity.
"Yes, mainly so they can get equipment and move around more easily."
"Um... In fact, whenever Madam has something she can't handle openly, they're usually the ones who take care of it."
"Damn..."
Though Shamira had been vague, Luca understood what she meant.
"Good grief! An assassination squad? Is corporate warfare among arms dealers really this hardcore?!"
He had never expected that the mother in the original owner's memories—the gentle and considerate woman at home, the formidable businesswoman at work—would secretly have a force like this at her disposal.
But thinking again about how American capitalists operated, Luca wondered if perhaps he was just too naive.
"Can these people be trusted?"
Well, the question was somewhat redundant.
For people trusted to do the Orange Family's dirty work, reliability was probably the most basic requirement.
Still, given the circumstances, Luca had to confirm everything openly before he could feel at ease. He was young, and he wasn't familiar with the squad.
If they looked down on him as the young master and had ideas of their own, calling them back to protect him would be like inviting wolves into the house.
But Shamira replied firmly, "Young master, please rest assured! Every member of the squad is a veteran from the Sokovian battlefield!"
Hearing the name Sokovia put Luca somewhat at ease.
As for why soldiers from Sokovia were trustworthy, that had to do with the Orange Family's origins.
Neither of Luca's parents came from a traditional American family.
Based on what Shamira had told him over the past few days, pieced together with the information in the original owner's memories, Luca's father—the late Herman von—had a relatively simple background. He was of Chinese and Italian descent, and both his parents were descendants of immigrants from a few generations back.
By more traditional standards, Herman had married into the Orange Family.
His mother, Gina Orange, had a considerably more complicated background.
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