Chapter 3

A bodyguard stepped forward, pulled out a stack of bills from his pocket—about ten thousand dollars—and slapped it on the table, "Take the money and get lost."

Victor finally looked up.

He glanced at the stack of bills, then at the bodyguard, a cold smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"You..." The bodyguard was about to lose his temper when Amelia waved her hand.

"Forget it, why bother with someone like him," Amelia said coldly. "Just throw him out."

The two bodyguards exchanged glances and walked toward Victor simultaneously.

They were both carefully trained bodyguards of the Martinez family, skilled fighters—dealing with an ordinary person should be a piece of cake, right?

Just then, the door of the lounge was suddenly kicked open.

Two thugs covered in tattoos burst in, holding gleaming daggers in their hands.

"Nobody move!" the lead thug shouted viciously. "Hand over everything valuable!"

The incident happened so suddenly that the Martinez family bodyguards hadn't even reacted before they were knocked to the ground by the two thugs in a flash.

Amelia's face turned pale as she instinctively backed away.

Having been pampered since childhood, when had she ever seen such a scene?

"Don't come closer..." Amelia's voice was trembling. "I... I have money, I'll give you money..."

"Money?" One thug walked over with a sinister grin. "I don't just want money, I want you too!"

With that, he slapped Amelia across the face.

The crisp sound of the slap echoed through the lounge.

Amelia was knocked off balance and fell to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

"Take her!" The thug grabbed Amelia by the hair and dragged her toward the door.

Amelia struggled in terror, letting out piercing screams.

But the howling of the snowstorm covered everything—no one could hear her.

The other thug noticed Victor still sitting on the sofa.

He hadn't moved from start to finish, hadn't even changed his expression, as if nothing had happened.

"You got a death wish?" The thug waved his dagger and walked viciously toward Victor. "I hate pretentious people like you the most!"

Victor slowly put down his newspaper.

He looked up at the thug.

Those eyes were as calm as stagnant water, yet as deep as a bottomless abyss.

The thug suddenly felt a chill run up his spine, and the dagger in his hand became unsteady.

Something was off about this man.

Victor moved.

His movements were so fast they were almost invisible—he simply shifted slightly to the side and dodged the stabbing dagger.

Then his hand clamped onto the thug's wrist like an iron vice.

A crisp sound of bones breaking.

The thug let out a scream and dropped the dagger.

Victor followed through with an over-the-shoulder throw, slamming the thug hard onto the ground.

The entire process took less than three seconds—clean and efficient, without a single wasted movement.

The thug dragging Amelia froze. He hadn't expected his companion to be taken down instantly.

But his professional instincts made him react quickly. He dropped Amelia, pulled out his dagger, and charged forward.

Victor didn't even glance at him. He casually grabbed the ashtray from the table and threw it precisely at the thug's temple.

The thug fell to the ground and passed out.

The entire lounge fell into an eerie silence.

Amelia sat slumped on the floor, staring at Victor in terror.

Hurried footsteps came from outside the room.

Three thugs rushed in. Seeing their two companions lying on the ground, their faces immediately turned savage.

"You're dead!"

All three lunged at Victor simultaneously.

Victor sighed, put down his newspaper, and stood up.

This time, his movements were even faster.

The first thug hadn't even seen his move before he was chopped on the side of the neck and knocked unconscious on the spot.

The second thug's dagger was only halfway through its thrust when Victor grabbed his wrist and used a joint-lock technique—his entire arm was dislocated.

The third thug tried to run but was kicked in the knee by Victor and fell to his knees with a scream.

In less than ten seconds, all five thugs had been subdued.

Victor dusted off his hands and walked out of the lounge without looking back.

Amelia struggled to her feet, wanting to chase after him, but her legs were still weak.

By the time she finally made it to the doorway, the corridor was already empty.

Soon, airport security and an ambulance rushed to the scene.

"Ms. Martinez, are you alright?" The security captain recognized Amelia and asked with concern.

"I'm fine." Amelia wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. "Where's the man who saved me just now?"

"What man?"

"A man in a black jacket, about thirty years old, six feet tall..."

As Amelia spoke, she suddenly froze.

Wait, could that man be...

No, impossible.

She shook her head, dismissing the absurd thought.

The security captain shook his head, "When we arrived, there was only you and these thugs in the room. We didn't see anyone else."

Amelia was stunned. She looked at the bodyguards, who also shook their heads to indicate they didn't know.

That man had disappeared like a ghost.

JFK International Airport, New York.

Four stretch Rolls-Royces were parked side by side outside the VIP passage, attracting countless stares from passersby.

Four middle-aged men in fine suits stood by the cars, looking respectful.

They were the patriarchs of New York's four major families—John Morgan of the Morgan family, William Rockefeller of the Rockefeller family, Charles Vanderbilt of the Vanderbilt family, and Andrew Carnegie of the Carnegie family.

Each of these four men was a major figure in New York.

But at this moment, they stood respectfully in the cold wind, waiting for someone's arrival.

"The plane has landed," John glanced at his watch. "Lord Shura should be coming out soon."

The other three nodded, anticipation showing on their faces.

Shura, a legend of the underground world, the King of Assassins.

He suddenly disappeared three years ago, and everyone thought he had retired.

But three days ago, they received news—

Shura was about to arrive in New York.

For the four major families, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

If they could gain Shura's support, their position in the underground world would become even more secure.

The VIP passage door opened.

The four patriarchs immediately straightened their backs, their faces showing the most respectful smiles.

However, the person who walked out wasn't the Shura they were expecting, but a man wearing a silver mask.

"Iron Wolf?" William recognized the person. "Where is Lord Shura?"

Iron Wolf, one of Shura's twelve Silver Mask Assassins, ranked third, with strength second only to Shura.

"Lord Shura has already left," Iron Wolf's voice was cold. "You can go back now."

"What?" The four patriarchs looked at each other. "Wasn't Lord Shura supposed to be on this flight?"

"Lord Shura's whereabouts are not for you to inquire about."

Iron Wolf coldly swept his gaze over them, "Remember—Lord Shura doesn't want to be disturbed. Whoever dares to leak Lord Shura's information will face the consequences."

With that, Iron Wolf turned and left, leaving the four patriarchs dumbfounded.

"Damn it!" John slammed his fist on the car in frustration. "We finally learned that Shura was coming to New York, but we can't even meet him!"

"Forget it," Charles sighed. "Since Lord Shura doesn't want to see us, we can't force it. As long as he's in New York, we'll have a chance."

The four men could only reluctantly get in their cars and leave.

Meanwhile, Victor had already boarded a plane to New York.

Shortly after takeoff, his phone rang.

"Grandpa," Victor answered the call.

"Victor, you're out?" An elderly but vigorous voice came through the phone.

"Yes, I just got on the plane."

"Good, good, good!" Max's voice was full of relief. "Three years—you finally made it through. By the way, your engagement to Amelia—it's time to honor it."