Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who kill their fathers!

Metropolis.

A black Oldsmobile Ciera glided quietly down a narrow street.

The streets were a tangled mess of roads, like a web spun by a drunken spider.

After passing by a series of houses, the car finally came to a stop on a gravel-paved private driveway.

Bang!

The car door opened, and several men in black suits carried unconscious women from the back seat into the building.

In the spacious hall, Frank Gallo, who had been waiting for a while, picked up a cigar as he watched his men bring in the women.

Frank was a big guy, with a bulldog face and a hooked nose.

His Sicilian heritage gave him oily skin with a constant tint of dark cinnamon.

"This batch of women is top quality."

One of his men tossed the three women to the ground and said, "The rich guys will definitely be satisfied."

Frank stood up and examined the women on the ground, taking a satisfied puff of his cigar.

"Not bad, especially this one."

He reached out and touched the face of a blonde girl.

She had both the body and the looks of a top-tier beauty.

Frank was the leader of this gang.

But unlike other gangs that dealt in drugs or arms smuggling, Frank's business was riskier, yet far more profitable—trafficking women and children.

Sending young and beautiful women to the beds of powerful men in exchange for political protection and money had been his long-running trade.

"Take her to my room."

Frank, eyeing the blonde girl's exposed skin, suddenly felt a wave of interest. He instructed his men to take her to his room.

In the dimly lit room.

Frank's fingers caressed the girl's face, nodding as if he were admiring a piece of art.

His fingers, like spider legs, crawled from her chin, over the dried bloodstains, and reached her forehead.

"Mmm..."

Martha McDonald slowly awoke.

Her head throbbed with pain, and her body felt unusually weak.

Rubbing her bleary eyes, she was puzzled as to why she seemed to be lying in a bed.

Wasn't she just at a bar drinking with her girlfriends?

A handsome young man had come over to offer a toast, and she and her friends laughed and accepted a drink.

After that, her memory became blurry, and she couldn't remember anything.

As she struggled to open her eyes, she suddenly felt something moving on her forehead.

She looked at the unknown object and saw that it was fingers.

The owner of those fingers—a large, potbellied man—was smiling down at her like a demon.

"Ah!"

Terrified, Martha McDonald let out a scream.

She desperately tried to retreat, but Frank grabbed her arm and dragged her to the foot of the bed.

Bang!

Frank, showing no mercy, punched Martha in the face.

Martha immediately felt a sharp pain.

Dizzy and dazed, she lost all strength to resist.

Just as Frank was about to indulge himself, a voice suddenly came from behind him.

"Hey, Frank."

"Damn it! I told everyone not to come in!"

Frank, his mood ruined, angrily turned around.

But before he could react, someone grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall with a thud.

Dazed, Frank instinctively tried to fight back but was met with a punch to the stomach.

The blow struck him like lightning, and he clutched his stomach as he slowly crumpled to the floor.

Through the pain, he struggled to lift his head and saw the face of a man wearing black-framed glasses.

Peter looked down at Frank, who was groaning and clutching his stomach, then glanced at the girl curled up on the bed.

Shaking his head, Peter grabbed Frank and dragged him outside.

Peter had originally planned to simply rob this gang's headquarters and kill all the scumbags involved in trafficking women and children, but he hadn't expected to run into this situation.

Bang!

Frank was dragged into the living room and was kicked hard.

Letting out a painful groan, Frank glanced around and saw his subordinates lying on the ground, also groaning. His heart sank.

"Sir, there's money here. If you want it, you can take it all!"

Realizing that Peter wasn't someone to mess with, Frank immediately surrendered.

"You're wrong. The moment I walked in here, all the money became mine. So I don't need your permission to take it."

Peter made it clear that he had come here for the money.

He casually pulled a chair over, sat down, and picked up a handgun from the floor.

"But I might still let you go."

Peter pointed the gun at Frank. "Since you love showing off your manhood, why not do it now? Go ahead, show your men."

"What?!"

Frank, shocked, stared at Peter in disbelief.

"Go ahead."

Peter ordered all the subordinates lying on the ground to stand up. "Stand in front of your boss and watch him perform for you."

Frank swallowed hard, terrified, and began pleading with Peter.

"Sir, I... I was wrong. Please, let me go. I'll give you all my money. You can have anything you want."

Seeing Frank's pitiful and terrified face, Peter lost interest in playing with him and immediately fired a shot, hitting Frank in the lower body.

Bang!

Frank collapsed to the floor, clutching himself in agony.

The other gang members, seeing Peter shoot, attempted to retaliate but were quickly taken down by bullets, instantly killed.

In the bedroom, Martha McDonald sat with her back against the door.

Although she couldn't see what was happening outside, Peter's earlier words made her heart race.

Is this guy a demon?!

Though she was grateful that Peter had saved her, she found his methods disturbingly twisted.

Still, she clenched her fists, feeling a surprising sense of satisfaction.

For dealing with such scum, this kind of method was just right.

While her thoughts raced, "Bang!—a sudden gunshot outside startled her.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The muffled sound of gunfire echoed outside, followed by the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the floor.

Everything fell deathly silent. Martha McDonald held her breath, terrified.