CHAPTER 99: CHAPTER 52: THESE ARE MY RULES

Friendship or death?

This question is easily answered, but my words made Amir and Duke tense.

Kenny, this lunatic, actually threatened the other party at their own base.

Even God might be closing his eyes because bloodshed is likely to follow.

I did this because we’re a crime syndicate; if we’re too weak, we’ll only be looked down upon.

Fack!

The man’s face with the earring turned ugly, his chest heaving; he was suppressing his inner anger, and the eyes of the two subordinates behind him were fixed on us, the atmosphere filled with a strong smell of gunpowder. "Can you take responsibility for your words?"

I sensed the other party’s timidity.

If it were Amir, he would definitely say now, Fack, who are you trying to threaten?

But the Chinese gang member in front of me clearly had a hint of worry.

The gaze meeting mine became flickering. His eyes frequently scanned the surroundings, as if seeking help, or possibly on alert, fearing we might launch an attack.

There are only two types of interactions between gangs, cooperation, and war.

Making money together, or with guns and death; there’s no third way.

They were checking around, looking for our reinforcements.

"You’re questioning me." I did not retreat, appearing very assertive.

Taking out a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it slowly, with the cigarette dangling from my lips, I took a step forward, pressing against his chest, looking down at him, "I want to talk to Wang now."

"Wait a moment."

The man with the earring spoke sternly, then nodded to his subordinates, signaling them to keep an eye on me, and he walked into the Chinese restaurant.

Standing on the street, many passersby couldn’t help but glance at us.

Here in Chinatown, although foreigners aren’t scarce, I don’t look like a tourist.

The two gang members at the restaurant’s entrance seemed a bit nervous, Kenny Clark, the butcher of Miami, the executioner; my influence has grown.

Johnny doesn’t even have a title, but I got one, not self-given, but a form of recognition from the dark world.

It represents power and prestige.

Amir tugged on my clothes, "Johnny gave us a difficult problem, if you can’t solve it, he’ll have an excuse to deal with you."

I certainly understand, "Yes, but we have no choice."

"Will it succeed?" Amir was somewhat worried, Triad has a significant influence in the United States.

"That depends on God’s mood."

Fifteen minutes later, the man with the earring walked out of the restaurant, his gaze at me had changed.

"I heard you killed the Koreans?"

WHAT?

Amir looked at me in shock. Koreans? When did Kenny have a conflict with Koreans?

"You know about it?"

I looked at the man with the earring with some curiosity.

"I’m He, He Nianzhu. We have conflicts with the Koreans, so we pay close attention to them. News from the Korean community says the largest crime syndicate in the Seoul Gangnam district, Fire Bear Gang, has disappeared from their Miami branch.

From members to the branch head, everyone vanished.

You just happened to appear at their stronghold."

WHAT? Amir recalled my words, I have matters to deal with.

You killed the Koreans?

My good buddy seemed to have discovered a new continent.

Duke couldn’t believe what the man said—one person against two platoons of enemies? How could that be possible?

"I want to talk to your BOSS now, He!"

"Alright then, please."

The Chinese man’s attitude changed; Miami’s butcher, like a dangerous sign, altered their stance, no longer tough.

He opened the restaurant’s door, and I led Duke inside.

Inside, four suited bodyguards blocked me.

I handed over the gun I was carrying to them.

The bodyguards escorted us to a private room.

Inside was a round table, a man in a T-shirt was making dumplings.

I curiously watched him, as the boss doing a chef’s work.

The man placed the dough in his hand, added meat filling in the middle, then pinched it with his hands, his movements were proficient.

The man looked up at me, "Please sit."

I sat across from him.

"Are you Kenny Clark?"

The man wiped his hands, poured me a cup of tea.

Green tea, Chinese, Korean, and Japanese people like this kind of tea.

The taste is bitter, with a tea aroma, different from the black tea we drink.

"That’s me." I confirmed my identity.

"You’re impressive; you single-handedly took out the Costa Ricans, you defeated the Koreans, now, you’re a legend."

Wang spoke of my exploits, but I didn’t feel happy.

Because this isn’t what I wanted.

Observing the other party’s expression, I found Wang didn’t care about my achievements.

Wang picked up his teacup and drank, "I’m a chef who smuggled into Los Angeles. Three years later, I joined a gang, came to Miami. So I often cook." Wang pointed to the dumplings he made with a smile.

"Are you curious? A chef became a gang boss? When I was smuggling, I saw the darkest side of this world; can’t survive, you’ll feed the fish, so, for survival, I can do anything."

It turned out during smuggling, his hands were filled with bloodshed.

I remained silent, listening to Wang’s story.

"I’m a cold-hearted person. So, don’t threaten me."

Wang’s smile was confident, he poured himself another cup of tea, "Our Chinatown has nothing to do with your Upper East Side, why do you want to see me?"

"My BOSS Johnny hopes your ice doesn’t appear in the Upper East Side."

"We aren’t selling in the Upper East Side."

"Johnny hopes you won’t sell it to other gangs in the Upper East Side."

"Haha, Johnny hopes?" Wang laughed happily, "Why should I care about his feelings, business is business. I sell to buyers; what they do has nothing to do with me."